Page 121 of Full Moon
Chapter 53
Torben
And so it begins.
Watching Feray has become my favorite pastime ever since the first moment I laid eyes on her. Each little bounce, every fleeting glance—I've committed them all to memory. There's something undeniably special about her, something that goes beyond being my mate.
She's perfect for us,my bear rumbles, his voice cutting through the usual silence. He rarely speaks, and I can't help but wonder if Diaval's suspicions are right—that the magic community's tampering with our water supply is behind this growing disconnect.
Feray leaps from boulder to boulder down the trail, not bothering to weave through them like she once would have. She's like a completely different person since we left the North. I tilt my head, captivated by the way she moves, her newfound agility and fearlessness shining through.
A hand lands on my shoulder, making me jump. I turn quickly, my tension easing only when I see Diaval standing beside me,his gaze fixed on Feray in the same way mine was. "You see it too," he says, arching a brow as we watch her leap here and there, her movements fluid and confident.
"I do." The words come out with a sigh. "I think I speak for everyone when I say she's finally whole."
"She is," Easton's voice chimes in from behind us. "Living in constant fear or worry isn't healthy for anyone. A little fear, a little worry—that's normal. But the way she lived before was too much. I think her sister stepped in to shield her from what was wrong." There's uncertainty in Easton's tone, like he's still pondering his own statement. I can sense his unease, a tension that mirrors my own thoughts.
The only thing I feel she's lost is her innocence in how she views the world. This thought gnaws at me as we hustle to catch up with Feray. She stands like a sentinel at the edge of the fallen wolven kingdom, where the broken remnants of the past meet the path leading to the SUV. Her posture is rigid, almost unnatural, as if she's been carved from a solid block of ice. Her focus is locked on the path ahead.
When we finally reach her, Khal and I flank her on either side. I can't see what's made her stop, but the way she stands so still tells me something is off. Slowly, I extend my hand and rest my palm on the small of her back. The chill of her skin sends a shiver through me—her body temperature has dropped, a sign that her wolf is on edge. This is new, this sudden plunge into coldness, ever since her body was purged of toxins and magic.
"What's wrong?" I whisper, leaning closer to her ear.
There's a flicker of something in her eyes as she looks down at the ground where dirt and moss meet grass. A heavy sighescapes her lips. "Is it wrong that I'm worried about going back to the cabin?" Her voice is soft, almost fragile. She takes a deep breath, her hands shifting into their mid-shift state—ice-white claws and fur glinting in the dim light. She stares at them, almost as if seeing them for the first time.
"I'm not the same," she murmurs, her hands returning to normal. "What if I scare Fi? Or Tiernan hates me? Or any of Fi's mates can't accept what I've become?"
Before I can respond, Diaval pulls her flush against his chest. He's gotten better at public displays of affection. "They're your family as much as we are. Family isn't always blood, my eternal. Your pack is your family, and you're not related to all of them."
"You're right. I just hope..." She trails off, sighing before shaking her head. "I'll cross that bridge when we come to it. No sense worrying about it now." She tilts her head to look up at him, forcing a smile before stepping away.
We all exchange puzzled glances, thrown by the abrupt shift in her mood. Without another word, Feray moves forward, stepping out into the field as if the conversation never happened.
Easton shakes his head with a low grumble. "I really hate when her wolf interrupts her when she's expressing her worries. It's like a switch flips, closing the subject."
"What do you mean?"
"Her wolf told her to stop thinking like a human. She's a mythic, like Diaval and I, and worrying about being liked is beneath us. She needs to be true to herself."
"She's a mythic?" I glance at Khal, and we share a moment of realization. It makes sense now—why we can't hear her, why she feels different.
"Yes, being the last of a species and the strongest does that," Diaval says, as if it's everyday knowledge. "It's something to do with channeling the knowledge of an entire bloodline."
"But there are still dragons left—how are you a mythic?"
"I'm the oldest and last skull dragon. The last of my particular species." His voice carries a hint of sadness. "Females determine what the babies will be. So if it's a sapphire dragoness and an emerald male, all the hatchlings will be sapphire with some emerald attributes." No female skull dragons left. The bloodline dies with him.
Khal moves ahead with his familiar, confident stride before spinning around to walk backward. "Does that mean when the time comes and we have kids, they'll all be wolves?" His voice falters at the end—a rare crack in his usual bravado.
Easton shrugs, the movement more tense than casual. "No clue. She's the first mythic winter wolf ever. Most wolves never hit mythic because there are so many of them."
"Wolves mated to another species have a fifty-fifty chance of having a wolf pup," Diaval adds. "If it's a female wolf, the odds are higher."
"As long as the child is healthy, that's all that matters to me," I say firmly. I've imagined a cabin full of cubs, teaching them to be bears. But at this point, species is irrelevant. Our child will be loved, no matter what it is.
The conversation dies as we cross into the next patch of trees. Feray is a few steps ahead, picking blueberries with focused determination. Her almost constant need to eat scares the crap out of me. I can't help but think about the food bill. It's going to be astronomical, but I'd empty the entire forest if it meant keeping her safe and fed. Feray hangry is a terrifying experience.
The warm wind wafts off the sunbathed field ahead, carrying the scent of dry earth and blooming wildflowers. It's the kind of peaceful scene that usually makes Feray relax, but today it makes her pause. Her stance shifts subtly—a small tell, but I catch it. We all do. Without a word, she changes how she's approaching the field, keeping us downwind of the SUV parked in the distance.
