My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 123

Chapter 123: Chapter 123 HOVERING PREDECESSOR

KIERAN’S POV

Whatever tempest Celeste was trying to whip around me, it all faded at the thought of my son.

“Daniel,” I answered, my voice softening despite the tension still clawing through the room.

“Dad!” His words tumbled out, breathless and excited. “I need your help. I’m in the kitchen and I think I almost got it right this time, but—well, there’s one thing missing.”

I blinked, confusion tugging my brows together. “Missing from what?”

“The elixir!” he declared, as though I should’ve known, waving his hands for emphasis, hair sticking up from the number of times he must have dragged his fingers through it. “The one from Dr. Ainsworth’s notes—the energizing drink for wolves. I found it in Grandpa’s library, and he was really famous for powerful potions even stronger than Alcanor’s.”

A chuckle rumbled through me, and I didn’t even flinch when a door upstairs slammed—courtesy of Celeste, no doubt.

“Let me get this straight, Danny, you’re telling me you’re trying to brew one of Alcanor’s fabled elixirs?” I asked, my lips twitching despite myself.

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Not Alcanor, dad. Dr. Ainsworth. His elixirs were much stronger than Alcanor’s.”

I nodded, trying to feign seriousness to match his. “Right. Got it.”

He nodded. “Mom’s been working so hard lately, and I thought that if I could make the elixir for her, then she wouldn’t feel so worn down.”

His earnestness hit me square in the chest.

Gods, the way he adored his mother—so fierce, so unyielding. If only I’d given her even half of that consideration.

I leaned back on the couch, letting the weight of the day loosen just enough to savor the purity and comfort of my son’s presence.

“So, what’s missing?” I asked, humoring him.

“Angelica root,” he said at once, his voice dropping to a whisper as though it were a forbidden treasure. “I checked the cabinets twice, and I asked Chef, but we don’t have any.”

Angelica root. A harmless herb, hardly the stuff of legends.

Still, at the sight of him standing there in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stubborn determination burning in his eyes, it was all I could do not to laugh.

“You’ve already tried making it?” I asked.

There was a pause. Then, sheepishly, “Twice.”

I bit down a chuckle, shaking my head. “And?”

“...The first one tasted like boiled socks,” he admitted. “The second exploded. Chef may or may not smell like rotten eggs for a while. He’s refused to keep helping me.”

My laugh broke free then, low and warm. “Daniel...”

“I’ll get it right,” he insisted. “If I can just find the last ingredient, I know it’ll work.”

I wanted to tell him legends were just that—legends. That no root or herb could breathe new strength into Sera.

But the words died on my tongue. I couldn’t bear to puncture his iron belief.

Instead, I leaned forward, resting my forearm against my knee. “Listen to me, champ. Angelica root’s hard to come by here, especially this late. Even if I wanted to get it, there’s no guarantee I could get it to you in time.”

His silence carried disappointment, and I felt it like a weight.

“But,” I added quickly, “I’ve got a better idea.”

His head lifted, his eyes lighting up. “Better than Dr. Ainsworth’s elixir?”

“Much better,” I said solemnly. “Because instead of relying on an old doctor’s scribbles, we’ll come up with something ourselves. Something only you and I know about. A secret recipe that’s just for your mom.”

His breath caught, excitement reborn. “Really?”

“Really.” I let a smile curve my lips, and he mirrored it. “We’ll work on it when you return, and we’ll make it so good she’ll believe it is one of Alcanor’s fabled elixirs.”

“Yes!” His voice burst out, brimming with glee. “Dad, that’s genius! We’ll call it... We’ll call it the Blackthorne Brew!”

I chuckled. “Careful, that sounds like something that should come with a warning label.”

He laughed, and the sound lifted the heaviness from my chest.

For a while, we talked—half-serious debates over ingredients, whether honey would overpower ginseng, whether cinnamon was too obvious.

He scribbled notes like a little scholar, his enthusiasm infectious.

For those few minutes, the world outside didn’t exist. There were no rogues, no threats, no cantankerous women clawing at my shoulders.

Just my boy and his impossible dream of giving his mother the moon in a bottle.

“Okay, bud,” I chuckled when a yawn cut him off mid-sentence. “I think you should head on to bed.”

He nodded. “Okay. Oh—Dad, by the way, Grandpa said you should call him.”

I stiffened. I’d judiciously ignored my father’s calls all day. But if he was sending Daniel to me, I knew I could no longer avoid the conversation.

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