Page 109 of Full Moon
Chapter 47
Diaval
What was my drake thinking?
There was no need for my dragon to knot our mate. He rumbles deep within me, content and smug.
I like how it feels. She's ours to keep.
His possessive growl sends a shiver through me as our knot deflates. The sensation of slowly sliding free is bittersweet—relief and longing mingling in the air between us. I press a soft kiss to Feray's shoulder before slipping out of bed, padding quietly to the bathroom for wet washcloths and towels.
When I return, Feray's eyes meet mine with quiet understanding. We clean ourselves in comfortable silence, discarding the spent linens in the hamper. I pull on my briefs, the fabric cool against my skin, and settle back beside her. My fingers trace lazy patterns over her warm skin, a gesture as much for her comfort as my own. The connection between us feels stronger in these quiet moments—an unspoken bond that words could never capture.
The others return, the scent of breakfast wafting through the room, and we shift to make space. There's no need for conversation. The silence is comfortable, broken only by the occasional clink of dishes as we gorge ourselves on everything they've brought. It's a feast fit for royalty, and we savor each bite, knowing the journey ahead will demand our strength.
As we finish the last of our meal, I glance out the window at the crisp whiteness blanketing the world outside. The first cavern is only a quick trip across the frozen landscape, then another brief trek to the second. Beyond that lies the descent down the mountain and through the woods we traversed to get here.
I can feel the anticipation thrumming beneath my skin, the promise of what lies ahead pulling me forward. But for now, I'm content to simply be here, with her, in this moment.
A few hours later.
Feray stands on the porch of her father's home, her posture firm and commanding as she organizes the pack for the journey ahead. There's a quiet strength in the way she carries herself, a confidence that still takes me by surprise. I never would have imagined she'd step into leadership so effortlessly, commanding respect with just a glance. But here she is, proving me wrong with every calm, decisive word.
I knew she would.My dragon huffs, his voice tinged with smug satisfaction. I can almost feel him preen, as if he'd foreseen her rise all along.
The pack shifts as one, a synchronized movement that speaks to their bond. Those staying behind gather clothing, tossing items into packs for the sled. The air fills with the quiet rustle of fabric and the soft crunch of boots on snow. Feray strides over to us, her gaze lifting to meet Torben's eyes. Silent understanding passes between them, and he nods before walking away.
"He's going to pull the sled," Feray says, matter-of-fact. "I'm going to shift after we lower the ward on the tunnel."
"Who's 'we'?" I tilt my head, studying her.
"Easton and I." She shrugs. "It was in one of Dad's journals—the child of fire and winter needs to break the ward. I'm guessing our animals will know what to do." She speaks as if it's nothing, as if she hasn't just casually revealed that she and Easton are about to tackle a ward that's been intact for over a hundred years.
Without another word, she turns to follow Torben, leaving me with questions swirling in my mind. I glance at Easton, who's quietly preparing, his expression unreadable. "The ward has been intact for over a hundred years," I murmur. "Maybe longer." Easton doesn't respond, but I know he heard me.
A soft flutter of snowflakes catches my attention, drawing my gaze upward. The delicate flakes drift lazily through the air, adding stillness to the scene. For a moment, the world feels suspended, held in the balance between what is and what's to come.
I take a deep breath of cold air before looking back at Easton, searching his eyes for what he's thinking.
"The wards were my doing all those years ago," Easton admits, the weight of his past pressing down on him. "The basilisks' ambitions had been dangerous—their desire to claim the Northdriven by reasons I never fully understood." He tilts his head, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips.
"The only reason Khal can tolerate it up here is because of his bond with Feray. Same thing with you, old friend." His tone is light but laced with truth. "Only ice dragons and storm dragons are meant to thrive up here." He winks before turning to follow Feray, leaving me with unsettling truth.
Can we survive up here without our mate?I ask my drake.
No. Not without her bite and blood. Our scale keeps us safe here. First comes the dreamless sleep, then the ice death.His voice fades, retreating so far into my mind that it's as if he's vanished entirely. His answer unsettles me more than I care to admit. The confidence I had in our safety was built on a lie I'd told myself—a comforting narrative that now crumbles under the weight of truth. I thought being a wyrm dragon, one of the oldest and strongest of our kind, would grant me certain immunities.
But it seems I owe my cold tolerance not to my strength, but to my bond with Feray. It's humbling. The realization chills me more than the frigid air ever could—a stark reminder that even the strongest of us are not invincible without the ones we hold dear.
Feray tilts her head back, letting her wolf's howl rip free from her human lips. The sound echoes through the cold air, haunting and powerful, sending a shiver down my spine. When she turns to look at me, ice-blue burns in her eyes, chilling me to the bone. The child of winter, indeed. As the wolves gather around her, Feray walks toward the ice cave, a lilting tune escaping her lips. The melody wraps around her as if the very air resonates with it.
"It's a luna song," Easton murmurs beside me. "Used to settle the nerves of the pack." I glance at the hundred and twenty-five wolves following us, their coats a mixture of snow-white and various shades of gray. They move as one—the front wolves blazing the trail while those behind step precisely into the footprints of the wolf ahead.
Khal motions to what the wolves are doing, a small smile on his lips. "It's to hide their numbers," I explain. "At a glance, it looks like only six wolves have passed through."
"That's a very smart tactic." Khal's eyes narrow as he takes in the magnitude of what's happening. His voice drops. "What if the council finds out? A pack of this size gathered is unheard of south of the mountains."
Feray's attention snaps to Khal, and she barks—sharp and commanding. The entire pack halts, still as statues. Her eyes still glow when she approaches us, a clear sign that her communication with the pack remains wide open. "If the council finds out early," she growls, baring her teeth, "then I guess I'll get my answers sooner rather than later. They will answer for the deaths of the pups the year I was born. Every single death will be repaid in their flesh and blood."
