Chapter 226

The day had started like any other.

The sun rose pale and cold over the valley, winter settling into the land. I had spent the morning with the children, feeding them, dressing them, chasing the little ones out of the rafters where they insisted on hiding. And then Layla had come by, as she often did, and we had gone to the market together, the way we did most weeks, to trade and gossip and laugh.

It was normal. It was ordinary. It was the quiet rhythm of life.

And then the commotion started.

It began at the eastern gate, a ripple of noise that spread through the market like wind through grass. Heads turned. Voices rose. Someone shouted a name, and then another, and then a small crowd began to gather, streaming toward the gate.

Layla and I exchanged glances.

And then we heard it. Rhonda’s name.

We both froze.

The day had been normal, and then it was not, because Rhonda was here, and we had not known, and she had come all this way across the sea and the mountains, without a single word.

She arrived on a bright winter morning, with the whole of her family in tow, a procession of two sea lion and a two wolves and every species she had gathered into her life. Darius came with her, of course, her mate, the chief of the island, steady and strong and watching her every step. And so did all of her other mates. Silas the panther beast man, the one she had mated before Darius, filled with pride and watchful. Hendricks, broad and warm. Fern, slender and sharp. And Thomas, steady Thomas, who had been with her the longest.

Her children came too. Lark, her oldest, tall and composed. Damian, her sea lion pup, round-faced and cheerful. And a new little cub, born to Silas whom they named Slater. They filed into the village like a small caravan, dusty from the road, weary from the journey, but smiling.

Darius had left Mirena to act as chief while he accompanied Rhonda, because Rhonda had been homesick, and he would not let her travel alone. She had family here. Friends here. And he would give her that.

The moment Rhonda saw us, she burst into tears. And then she ran, and we ran, and the three of us collided in the middle of the market, arms wrapping, bodies crushing, sobbing and laughing and holding each other like we had not seen each other in decades.

"You are here," Layla choked.

"You came," I gasped.

"I missed you," Rhonda wept. "I missed you both so much."

We stood there for a long time, the three of us, the wives and mothers and survivors, bound by years and tears and the kind of friendship that did not fade. Out of all of us, Rhonda had the fewest children. It had been harder for her, conceiving, carrying, birthing. Her body had fought her every step of the way. But she had built her family anyway, one hard-won child at a time, and she loved them fiercely.

When we finally pulled apart, wiping our eyes and laughing at ourselves, Lark had already slipped away.

He had gone to greet my older sons, who welcomed him with the easy camaraderie of old friends. They had known each other for years, had sparred together, hunted together, laughed together. Atlas clasped his arm. Chase thumped his back. Ryder shoved him playfully. Jasper grinned and made some joke that made Lark laugh. They were comfortable together, easy, the way brothers were.

And then his eyes found Levy.

She was standing with Seraya across the yard, the two of them bent together, giggling about something only they understood, their heads close. Her black hair gleamed in the pale winter light, falling in a thick shining curtain down her back. Her dark eyes were bright. Her smile was wide. And she was, quite simply, the most beautiful thing in the entire village.

And Lark looked at her like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

He did not move. Did not speak. Just stood there, frozen, his whole face softening, his whole body leaning toward her like a plant leaning toward the sun. And she, oblivious as ever, did not even notice.

I sighed.

"How long has he been like that?" Layla murmured beside me, watching the poor boy with knowing eyes.

"Since Levy became one," I said.

Layla winced. "That is almost two years."

"I know."

"Poor boy."

"I know."

The boys finally noticed his distraction, and they dragged him off to spar, laughing and shoving, pulling him away from his hopeless staring. Lark went willingly, but his eyes lingered on Levy until the last possible moment, and then he sighed and shook himself and pretended he had not just been gazing at her like a lovesick fool.

And Levy, my oblivious daughter, wandered over to us without a care in the world.

"Mama," she said, "can we go to the stream later? Seraya wants to see the fish."

"Of course, sweetheart," I said.

She beamed and skipped off, and the reunion went on around us, laughter and chatter and the warmth of old friends. But somewhere in the middle of the morning, I started to feel strange.

It started with nausea.

A wave of it, rolling through my stomach, turning at the smell of roasting meat, at the smoke of the fires, at the faint scent of herbs in the market stalls. It came and went, came and went, until my head began to spin and my body felt heavy and strange, as though it belonged to someone else. By midday, I had to sit down, lowering myself onto a low wall and pressing a hand to my forehead, waiting for the world to steady.

Layla noticed first.

"Krys?" she said, frowning. "You look pale. Are you well?"

"I am fine," I said.

"You are not fine. You are the color of milk."

Rhonda looked at me, sharp-eyed, and something knowing crossed her face. She had been through this enough times, had fought her own body for every child she had been bless with. She knew the signs.

"Krys," she said slowly. "When was your last cycle?"

I thought about it. Counted backward. And my blood ran cold.

"I... I do not remember," I admitted. "A while. Longer than it should be."

Layla’s eyes widened. Rhonda’s lips curved.

I wanted to be sure, though. Wanted to confirm it, to hear it from someone who knew. So I left them and went to find the elder.

I found him at the edge of the village, an old lion with milky eyes and clever, knowing hands. He had been the one to confirm most of my pregnancies, he was the one who told me about my first litter. He took my wrist, pressed my stomach, and hummed to himself, his clouded eyes distant.

And then he smiled.

"Yes," he said simply. "You are pregnant. A few weeks, no more. Congratulations, child."

Pregnant.

Pregnant with Aureon’s child.

I walked home in a daze, my hand on my belly, my heart pounding. The house was quiet when I got there, the children out playing, the mates scattered. But Aureon was there. He was in the kitchen, cleaning, humming to himself, his golden eyes bright.

And when he saw my face, he went still.

"What is it?" he asked. "What happened? Are you alright?"

I crossed to him. Took his hands. And I told him.

His reaction was immediate.

He shouted. Actually shouted, a great wordless cry of joy, and then he grabbed me and lifted me off my feet and swung me around in a circle. "A baby!" he yelled. "A baby! I am going to be a father! A daddy! A real daddy!"

"Aureon, put me down, I am going to be sick!"

He put me down, but only so he could grab my face and kiss me, over and over, laughing against my lips. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. Oh by the Beast Gods, Krys. By the Beast

Gods."

He was crying. Laughing and crying, tears streaming down his golden cheeks, his whole body trembling with joy. And I laughed too, and cried with him, and held him.

The mates came running at the noise, and when they heard, the whole house erupted. Leon, Ravin, Veylan, Soryn, Eryx, Caelion, all of them gathering around Aureon, thumping his back and shaking his hand and congratulating him with gruff warmth. Aureon beamed, wiping his eyes, thanking each of them, glowing like the sun.

And Layla and Rhonda, when they heard, hugged me tight.

"Congratulations," Layla whispered.

"You are going to be an amazing mother to this one too," Rhonda added.

I hugged my stomach, my hand resting over the new life within, and I smiled. Pregnant with Aureon’s child.

Another baby. Another soul. Another addition to our impossible, beautiful family. And I could not have been happier.