Chapter 215

Almost a year had gone by now since we moved to the island.

The pearlings were eleven months old now, strong and bright and utterly at home in the sea. They could hold their legs for hours, could run along the shore, could swim faster than fish and laugh louder than gulls. And soon, in a single month, they would be a year old. Soon they would no longer be babies.

The pups were six months.

The boy wolves had shifted naturally, as all beast folk did at that age, their bodies knowing the rhythm without the early, painful rush their sisters had endured. Veylan had been stoic again, standing rigid and pale as he watched his sons transform. But he had not been as bad as the first time with their girls. he trusted that his children would survive.

Because this was natural. This was right. Six months was the age. Six months was how it was meant to be.

In a few months, my oldest four would turn three years old. Adulthood. My second litter would be two months shy of two years. My cheetah cubs would be four months shy. My serpent children were already one, growing tall and graceful and ethereal. They had come so far. We all had.

Life was going well.

We still watched the horizon, still stayed alert, still prepared for the day Khemari would return. But the fear had faded, settled into something quieter, more patient. After what had happened, after the humiliation and the loss, it would take him a long while to gather enough warriors to come back. We had time. We had months. Perhaps a year.

Time to grow. Time to plan. Time to prepare.

And in the meantime, I had Jasper to worry about.

My youngest of the first four. My baby, though he would whine at me all day for calling him that. He was so handsome now, a perfect blend of Ravin and Leon, his golden hair thick and wild, his body stocky and strong like his biological father, Ravin, instead of Leon’s leaner build. He was going to break hearts, this one. He already was, and he did not even know it.

"You will be three soon, Jasper," I said one evening, watching him sharpen his knife by the fire. "Will you find a mate?"

He made a face. An actual face twisted and disgusted, as though I had asked him something offensive.

"No," he said quickly. "No, definitely not."

"Why not?"

"I do not want to be sappy like you are with our fathers." He shuddered for emphasis. "All the touching and the kissing and the whispering. It is too much."

I laughed, the sound bright in the evening air. "Rude. Us being loving is why you have so many siblings."

"Yes, and I think I will be okay with siblings, then having one of my own." He paused, considering. "If I have a daughter like Levy, I would go bald. The grief she gives our fathers is frustrating. They are already losing their minds."

I let out a full belly laugh, the kind that made my ribs ache. Yes. Thank you, Levy, for scaring your brother.

"Your fathers are fine," I said, wiping my eyes.

"Daddy Ravin is probably fine, but daddy Leon? No mama, he’s is not fine. He is in denial. He thinks he is fine. He is not fine."

"He is adjusting."

"He is losing his hair," Jasper said flatly. "One strand at a time. Every time Theo looks at her."

I snorted. "You are exaggerating."

"Am I?"

Fair point. Leon had been looking a little harried lately.

I reached over and ruffled Jasper’s golden hair, and he ducked away, grumbling. But he was smiling, small and reluctant, and I knew he did not really mind.

"It is okay, Jasper," I said, my voice softening. "No need to rush. You are welcome to take your time."

"Good," he said. "Because I intend to."

"Good."

He nodded, satisfied, and went back to sharpening his knife. And I watched him, my stubborn, handsome, wonderful son, and thought that he was right. There was no need to rush. They had their whole lives ahead of them. Their whole lives to find mates and build families and break hearts.

For now, they were mine.

But it was not only Jasper who worried me.

It was Soryn as well.

My elegant, composed, unflappable Soryn had been changing. Slowly, subtly, in ways he probably did not even notice. But I noticed. I always noticed. Because the way he watched our serpent daughters, the way his eyes narrowed when the island boys came near, the way his jaw tightened at the smallest glance in their direction, was exactly the way Leon watched Levy.

Exactly.

And who could blame him? Our serpent daughters did not fall far behind Levy in looks. Not at all. They were devastating, all three of them, beautiful in a way that made people stop and stare. Like forest nymphs, with their flowing green hair and luminous emerald eyes, their movements agile and hypnotic, their faces ethereal and perfect.

And they were dancing.

Levy was singing again, her voice rising and falling like the tide, and the serpent girls were swaying to the melody, their bodies moving in ways that seemed almost unnatural, almost magical. Twisting, flowing, bending like reeds in a breeze. Their arms lifted and curved, tracing shapes in the air, their green hair fanning out behind them like living silk. Their hips rolled, their spines arched, their feet glided across the grass as though they were not quite touching it, as though they were floating just above the ground.

Seraya led them, her movements bold and sure, her emerald eyes half-lidded, her body folding and unfolding in a rhythm that seemed to have no beginning and no end. She spun slowly, deliberately, her green hair flaring around her like a halo, and then she stilled, one arm extended, one leg bent, her whole form balanced on a single point as though gravity itself had paused to watch.

Nyssara followed, softer, gentler, her movements like water finding its way through stone. She swayed, her arms lifting in slow, curling arcs, her fingers trailing through the air as though she were drawing something invisible. She bent backward, her spine curving like a bow, and then rose again, her hair cascading, her body rippling with a grace that was almost painful to look at.

And Elira, the youngest, moved like smoke. She turned and turned, her feet barely whispering against the grass, her arms weaving, her body twisting in ways that seemed to defy the joints of ordinary creatures. She dipped low, then rose, then dipped again, her green hair swirling around her like a whirlpool, her emerald eyes bright and laughing.

It was captivating. It was mesmerizing. It was the kind of beauty that made you forget to breathe.

And the island boys were staring.

They had gathered at the fence again, as they always did, drawn by Levy’s voice and the serpent girls’ dance, and they stood there with their mouths open, their eyes wide, utterly, completely entranced. One of them had his hand frozen halfway to his mouth, a piece of fruit forgotten. Another had leaned so far forward he was practically draped over the fence. A third had gone pale, then red, then pale again, as though he could not decide whether to faint or to flee.

The boys watched, and the boys sighed, and the boys fell, one by one, without ever knowing it.

The girls, of course, did not notice. They were too busy enjoying the dance, too busy laughing at something Levy said, too busy being young and free and utterly oblivious.

And then Soryn hissed.

It was a soft sound, low and warning, the kind of sound a serpent made when something was too close. And the boys, all of them, scattered like startled birds, scurrying home down the path, casting glances over their shoulders as they went.

I watched them go, then turned to my mate, who was standing beside me with a satisfied expression on his elegant face.

"You are being ridiculous," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I am being protective of our children," Soryn corrected, his voice calm, his green eyes following the retreating boys.

"They were just looking."

"They were looking too much."

Oh, god. I felt like it was déjà vu all over again. The same words, the same argument, the same protective absurdity that Leon had displayed a dozen times over the months since Levy starting growing. Now it was Soryn’s turn. Now it was the serpent girls’ turn.

"I am going to have to watch all of them do this," I muttered to myself. "Every single mate. One by one. The same ridiculous dance."

"What was that?" Soryn asked.

"Nothing," I said. "Just realizing that my life is going to be an endless parade of fathers losing their minds over their daughters."

Soryn looked at me, then back at his daughters, then back at me. And he smiled, small and knowing.

"Yes," he agreed. "It is. And you will love every moment of it."

"Will I?"

"You will."

And he was right. Because even as I rolled my eyes, even as I sighed and grumbled, I was already imagining it. Years from now, decades from now, watching my daughters grow and marry and have children of their own. Watching my sons become fathers and lose their minds just like theirs did.

Watching the whole beautiful, ridiculous cycle repeat itself, again and again and again.

I would love every moment of it.

God help me.