Page 98 of Full Moon
Chapter 43
Khal
Over the last month,I've been moving my uncle's people like pieces on a chessboard, keeping them away from the route I suspect we'll take south. It's been a delicate dance of misdirection—suggesting new ventures, offering enticing opportunities closer to Vasserdell, finding them alternative sources of income near the coast where they can't interfere with our plans. All the while keeping our true path hidden from eyes that would report back to him in a heartbeat.
My uncle may be family, but blood means nothing to a man who nearly killed Feray with his "test." He's proven which side he's on, and it isn't ours. I hold Feray tightly now, letting her draw as much strength from me as she needs. Her shift is more powerful than she realizes—I can feel it thrumming beneath her skin like a caged storm waiting to be unleashed. There's something almost terrifying about it, something ancient and vast that's holding back until the right moment to reveal itself.
I can't help but wonder what she's truly capable of when that moment finally comes. As more information trickles in from my network, an icy dread settles in my chest that has nothing todo with the frozen landscape around us. Our blood—my blood, basilisk blood—can suppress a magic user's ability to cast.
The thought almost stops my heart.
Was Fiadh a victim of this too? Did the magic schools dose her with basilisk blood the same way they dosed Feray? The idea leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, rage and guilt churning together into something toxic. My people's blood, used as a weapon against innocent children. Used to steal their birthright before they even knew they had one.
I take a quick screenshot of the message from the scientist and send it to Revelin. He can receive messages no matter where he is in the realms, and he needs to know what I suspect. I don't expect a response—he's probably knee-deep in his own chaos with Fi—but at least I've done my part. I shove my phone back into my pocket, the weight of it suddenly heavy with implications, and follow the others back into the Alpha house to pack.
"We're traveling light!" Feray's voice echoes down the hallway as she sprints ahead, her energy infectious despite the gravity of what we're about to do. I can feel the tension buzzing beneath the surface of her excitement—the nervous energy she's trying so hard to hide from the rest of us.
As I'm about to turn the corner, Diaval steps in front of me, blocking my path. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his ancient eyes—something cautious, something that speaks of rituals older than most civilizations.
I raise an eyebrow. "What's up?"
"When Easton and Torben approach my dragon, tell them to do it from the left and bow." He adjusts his tie, clearlyuncomfortable discussing the intricacies of dragon etiquette. "It's important they show respect. My dragon tolerates them because of Feray, but tolerance can become something else if protocol isn't followed." The unspoken threat hangs in the air between us. His dragon could eat us. His dragonwantsto eat us, probably. Only Feray's bond keeps us safe.
"Feray will let you know when it's safe to climb onto my back," he continues. "I want you to carry the egg. As dragon-kin, my dragon will respect you as its warden. The egg will be safest with you." His words carry a weight that makes my pulse quicken. He's entrusting me with the future of his species—or at least, the possibility of a future.
I nod, shaking his hand firmly. "Consider it done. Are you going to feed now?"
"Yeah, the pack only needed four moose, so they're offering the fifth one to me for our journey." He tilts his head slightly, placing a hand on my shoulder with a grip that speaks of centuries of predator instinct. "I'll be protecting her from above. Easton is ready to launch off my back and join the fight if it comes to that."
"Good. I'll let the others know." We shake hands again, a silent agreement passing between two apex predators who have found common cause in protecting the woman they love.
"I already packed for you and Diaval," Feray says when I enter the room, grinning as she waves what looks like a leg of lamb in my direction. Grease glistens on her fingers and chin, and there's a feral gleam in her eye that makes my heart skip.
I laugh, the tension easing just a fraction. "I hope that was done before you started eating."
She bares her teeth playfully, ripping a chunk off the bone with a ferocity that makes me both proud and slightly wary of what those teeth could do to an enemy. She nods, still chewing, before turning back to the table loaded with food that the pack has prepared for our journey.
"She did. I made sure of it," Torben says, stacking several backpacks together in a configuration that catches my attention. I tilt my head in question, and he lifts one of the packs to show me. "Like this, they'll fit over one of Diaval's spines, so they won't slide off during flight." He pulls a sketch from his pocket—a rough drawing of Diaval's back, with detailed markings showing where to secure each pack between the massive spines. It's surprisingly thorough for a man who claims to be "just a bear."
"Looks like Diaval's thought of everything," I say, feeling a strange mix of relief and unease settling over me. We're ready. As ready as we can be. But there's still so much that could go wrong—councils with kill orders, basilisks who might be hunting us, enemies we haven't even identified yet. And deep down, I know the hardest part is yet to come.
Feray's eyesglow a chilling ice blue just before the heavy doors to our room creak open. The change is subtle but unmistakable—a warning to those who know what it means, a reminder that the woman standing before us commands nearly a thousand wolves with nothing more than a thought. Her people pour in, efficient and silent, gathering the bags with practiced hands that speak of military discipline. These aren't servants. They're soldiers.
"It's time," she says, her voice steady, but there's a tightness beneath her smile that betrays the nervous energy vibrating through her.
As we step out of the room and into the long, shadowed hallways, I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves. She's trying to keep it together, trying to be the Luna her people need. But I've known her long enough to recognize the signs—the small, almost imperceptible tremors in her hands, the way her breath hitches slightly when she thinks no one's watching, the rigid set of her shoulders that speaks of someone carrying a burden too heavy for any single person.
She stops suddenly at the main entrance and wraps her arms around her aunt, pulling Astrid into a tight embrace that speaks of everything she can't say with words. I catch the momentary softness in her eyes as she kisses both of Astrid's cheeks. "I'll be back as soon as possible."
Astrid clings to her niece for just a moment longer than protocol allows, her eyes full of unspoken worry and the kind of fear that comes from having already lost one person you love to this war. "Be safe, Thyra," she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.
"We will be." The confidence in Feray's voice is startling, almost fierce, and I see the spark ignite in her eyes—the wolf rising to meet the challenge ahead. "I won't hold back. Not this time. Not ever again." Her gaze shifts to her uncle and cousins standing a short distance away. She nods to them, a brief dip of her head, respectful but distant, before turning and continuing down the hallway.
"Why didn't you hug your uncle and cousins?" I ask, jogging a few steps to catch up, genuinely curious about the protocols of wolf royalty.
"It's not done," she replies, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite the gravity of the moment. "I can greet them by pressing my cheek against theirs. Since I'm mated and a royal, it's improper to hug them unless they're direct maternal or paternal family." She lets out a soft laugh that breaks some of the tension. "Besides, my cousins are my age—it's just icky." Her laughter is contagious, and I chuckle despite everything.
"Tor, Easton, remember to approach Diaval from his left and bow to him," I remind the others as they fall into step beside us. "Protocol. His dragon is tolerating us, not welcoming us." They nod, their expressions serious.
