Chapter 232

I was three and a half months now, pregnant with Aureon’s cubs, my belly round and heavy and full.

Any day now, I would be giving birth to them.

He was worried. Of course he was. He was worried about everything, about me, about the cubs, about whether I was ready to make the journey back to the island, especially in my condition. He fretted and hovered and followed me around the house like a shadow, and every time I winced or sighed or shifted my weight, he would appear at my side with his golden eyes wide, his hands already reaching.

"Are you alright? Do you need to sit? Should I get you water? A cushion? Something to eat?"

"Aureon."

"What? What is it? Is it the cubs?"

"It is nothing. I moved."

"You moved."

"Yes."

"To do what?"

"To move, Aureon."

He did not find this reassuring. He worried about the journey, most of all. The island was far, and I was enormous, and he was convinced that if we traveled now, I would give birth somewhere in the mountains with only rocks for company.

But thank the gods, there had been no more word about Khemari’s movements. Not yet. Not since the last message, which had come a few weeks ago. He was gathering, but slowly. Slowly enough that we had time. Time for the cubs to be born. Time for me to recover. Time, perhaps, for a journey.

But not yet. Not until the cubs were here.

So we waited. We waited, and we prepared, and we lived our lives, and every day the cubs grew bigger and my belly grew heavier and Aureon grew more anxious. And every day, I told him the same thing.

"It is fine. It will be fine. We have time."

And every day, he nodded and pretended to believe me.

And then, one ordinary day, the day came.

It started like any other. The sun rose, the children woke, the house filled with noise and chaos. And by midmorning, I had wandered over to Lisa and Raon’s home, the way I did most weeks, to sit with Lisa and Layla and talk about nothing at all.

Lisa was holding her new son.

He was beautiful, a little peacock beast folk, a year old now, the same age as my pearlings. His hair was a strange, gorgeous blend of green and blue, soft as feathers, and his face was round and cherubic, his little eyes bright and curious. He looks to be about eleven years old in his man form.

Victor sat nearby, watching, and he looked better than he had in months.

Since Marcus’s death, Victor had been hollowed out, grieving, lost. He had loved his son fiercely and losing him had nearly broken him. But now, with a new son to love, something had come back to him. A light. A purpose. A reason to get up in the morning.

They still missed Marcus. They would always miss Marcus. But the happiness had returned to the house, and the whole family was healing.

Raon doted on the new child. He held him, fed him, sang to him, carried him around on his shoulder like a badge of honor. And the name they had given him, Marcavian, was a memorial and a blessing all at once. They had originally wanted Avian; a name Lisa had loved for years. But at the last moment, she had added Marc to the front, to remember their fallen son, to carry him forward into the new life.

Marcavian. A beautiful name for a beautiful boy.

I was talking with him when my stomach seized.

The pain hit like a fist, sudden and total, knocking the wind clean out of me. I gasped, my hand flying to my belly, and Lisa was on her feet at once, Marcavian looked confused.

"Krys? Krys, what is it?" Lisa frantically asked.

"The cubs," I managed. "The cubs are coming."

And then Aureon was there.

He had been outside, waiting outside, and he must have heard the commotion, must have felt it through the bond. He burst through the door, golden eyes wild, and took one look at my face and understood.

He lifted me up, cradling me against his chest, and ran.

The whole way home, he called for my other mates, shouting their names, and the house erupted. Leon came running. Ravin came running. Veylan, Soryn, Eryx, Caelion, all of them, scrambling, gathering, calling for blankets and water and everything they would need. Aureon carried me inside, laid me down, and knelt at my side, his face pale, his hands trembling.

"Please," he whispered. "Please let them be fine. Please let her be fine."

Ravin, as always, was the cool one.

He took charge, calm and steady, the way he had at every one of my births. He sent the others running for supplies. He positioned Aureon at my head, told him to hold me. He checked me, assessed the situation, and nodded.

"It is time," he said. "And it will be fine. Push, Krys. When you are ready, push."

The pain was hard. Harder than some, easier than others. Four cubs, all at once, was no small thing, and my body strained and fought and screamed. But Ravin guided me, and Aureon held me, and my other mates stood around us, steady and sure, and slowly, one by one, my children came into the world.

Four cubs.

Two boys. Two girls.

All of them white with bold black stripes, perfect little tiger cubs, with their father’s markings and their father’s golden eyes. The boys squalled and squirmed. The girls, my daughters, opened their eyes and looked at the world with a calm that was almost unnerving.

And then, around the two girls, a soft blue light wrapped itself.

The blue bind. The blessed bind. The azure sovereign.

They carried it. My daughters carried it, just like their older sisters, just like the serpent girls, just like the pearlings and the wolf girls. just like my Levy. The power lived in them, sleeping in their blood, waiting to wake.

Aureon held his cubs, one by one, tears streaming down his face. He held each of them, kissed each of them, and then laid them gently against my chest, one by one, so they could feel me, so they could know I was there.

"Our cubs, Krys," he whispered, his voice breaking. "They are perfect. They are absolutely perfect."

I looked at him, at my young tiger prince, at the father he had become, and I smiled through my exhaustion.

"You have names for them?" I asked.

He blinked. "Yes. If you do not mind them. I thought about it, for months, I just..."

"I do not mind," I said. "You are their father."

He looked at his cubs, at each of them in turn, and his voice shook as he spoke.

"The oldest is Aevrik," he said. "The second born, the girl, is Saelira. The third is Zorren. And the youngest, my little one, is Nyvara. My perfect cubs."

Aevrik, Saelira, Zorren, Nyvara.

I looked at each of them, at their tiny faces, at their striped bodies, at the blue light that shimmered around my daughters. And I felt the love flood through me, vast and overwhelming, the same love I had felt at every birth, the same love that would carry me through the rest of my life.

Aureon turned to me, his golden eyes bright with tears.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for such a beautiful gift, Krys. Thank you for our children. I love you." And he pressed his forehead to mine, and wept.

And then the door burst open, and the children flooded in.

They came in a wave, all of them, the whole chaotic crowd of them, shoving and pushing and straining to see. They had been waiting outside for hours, held back by Eryx and Veylan, and now that the birthing was done, they were not going to wait a moment longer.

"Are they here?"

"Can we see?"

"How many?"

"Are they boys or girls?"

"Are they cute?"

"Mama, are you alright?"

"Move, you are crushing me!"

"Move yourself!"

I laughed, weak and tired and happy, and waved them in.

They gathered around the bed in a great crowd, all of them, peering at the four tiny cubs nestled against my chest. Their faces were a picture. Atlas looked stunned. Chase looked like he might cry. Ryder was grinning ear to ear. Jasper was frowning in concentration, counting them. Levy was already cooing. And the little ones, the youngest, pushed to the front, their eyes wide.

"They are so small," Levy whispered.

"They are newborns," I said. "They are supposed to be small."

"But smaller than we were."

"Everything is smaller just how you were small at one point."

"Mama."

"They have stripes," Jasper observed. "Like Father."

"Yes."

"And white fur."

"Yes."

"Why do they have stripes?"

"Because their father has stripes."

"But we do not have stripes."

"You have manes. Or you will."

"I do not want a mane."

"Too late. It is coming."

Jasper made a face, and the whole room laughed.

"Can we hold one?" Levy asked, already reaching.

"Carefully," I said. "They are very small."

She picked up Saelira, the little girl, and held her like she was made of glass, her dark eyes soft, her whole face glowing. "She is beautiful," she breathed. "Look at her little nose. Look at her little hands."

"She has blue light on her," Atlas observed, frowning.

"The blue bind," I said. "She and Nyvara carry it. It will fade soon."

"Like us?" Seraya asked, her green eyes bright.

"Like you," I confirmed. "Like all the girls."

The serpent girls crowded closer, their little sisters, reaching out to touch the blue shimmer with gentle fingers. And the pearlings, my azure daughters, pressed in too, their blue eyes wide, their little voices ringing with delight.

"Mama! New sisters!" Seraphyna exclaimed.

"So small!" Kalisseyani added.

"Can they swim?" Irysindra asked.

"Not yet," I said aloud. "But they will learn."

The cheetah boys crowded around Zorren and Aevrik, poking and prodding and asking endless questions.

"Why is he so quiet?"

"He is sleeping."

"Why does he sleep so much?"

"He is a newborn. Newborns sleep."

"Do we sleep that much?"

"No. You never slept. You screamed." I teased.

"Did we?"

"Constantly." I laughed.

They looked proud of that, for some reason.

And the wolf girls, Vaeshira and Nyselle, sat at the foot of the bed with the pups, watching with solemn, blue-flecked eyes, their little faces serious.

"They are tiger cubs," Vaeshira said.

"Yes."

"We are wolf pups."

"Yes."

"Will they bite?"

"Probably."

The room was loud and warm and crowded, the whole family pressed in, all of them talking and laughing and asking questions and reaching for the babies. And Aureon sat beside me, his hand in mine, watching his cubs be welcomed by their enormous, chaotic, wonderful family. "Look at them," he whispered. "Look at all of them. Our family."

"Our family," I agreed. And it was perfect.