Page 29 of Full Moon
Chapter 14
Feray
What would Fi thinkif she saw what I had done today? The thought gnaws at me as Easton does his best to talk me down off the mental cliff I'm teetering on. With wolves, it's kill or be killed, and now I am a killer. Wolven culture views death and murder differently. Battles to the death over position are as commonplace as applying for a job at a local store. If you're strong enough, the job is yours. If you lose the fight, you lose your life—unless you're spared. Which is ill-advised, as the wolves in the pack have explained to me.
My father once spared someone. And that same male was the one I had taken my claws to, ripping his throat out.
I lied to my mates, telling them my wolf shielded me from the murder. But the truth is, I was right there with her, savoring the feeling of my claws tearing through his throat. The sensation of tendons and arteries popping and gushing ichor onto my skin satisfied something deep within me in a sick way.
It's perfectly natural,Easton's words replay in my head when I confessed the lie to him. For whatever reason, I can't lie to him or Diaval. They agree that Torben and Khal will have a hard timeunderstanding the savage side of me just yet. Shaking my head, I lead the guys out the back door of the alpha house into the swirling snow squall.
Two wolves from the pack, Alec and Dorian, guide us toward my father's house. The snow is knee-deep in places, and drifts reach up to my hips. Through the pack bond, they explain that a tremendous storm is on the horizon and we'll likely be snowed in for a few days. They assure me the house is stocked with food and firewood. I thank them, and when the house comes into view, they leave us to finish the journey alone.
"A storm is upon us," I shout over my shoulder. "They said we'll probably be snowed in for a few days. The house is stocked, so we'll be fine."
Through the bitter wind, the house finally comes into view—a dark silhouette against the wintry landscape. The sharp apex of the roof catches my eye, its peak like a knife cutting through the sky. The fascia is intricately carved with images of wolves, their forms dynamic and fluid as they chase each other to the peak. The wood itself is painted black as night, contrasting with the wolves, which are white as snow. I stop and stare, entranced by the carvings, noting others along the window sills and around the door frame. Ancient sigils mark the threshold.
Easton steps forward, his fingers tracing the sigils. "It's a warding for the house. Magic users will be killed the minute they enter." His voice is detached, eyes following every stroke carved into the wood. "The wards can only be removed when the house is burned to ash. By a phoenix." His fingers rest on a symbol that I can only assume stands for the mythical bird.
"Are there seers among the wolves?" Diaval asks, his gaze shifting from the sigils to me.
"There is one, very old and close to the end of her time. She waits for me." My voice feels detached, hollow, as I reach out with my senses. An overwhelming sadness washes over me. "She's the one that helped my parents escape." I stare at the threshold. The weight of history and my parents' sacrifice hangs heavy in the air. With a deep breath, I reach out and turn the doorknob, pushing the door open. Stepping over the threshold, it feels as if the house inhales and relaxes, almost as though it's been holding its breath for years.
The lost heir has returned.
My mates fan out, lighting lamps and candles that flicker to life, casting a warm glow that pushes back the shadows. Sheets cover all the furniture, a ghostly reminder of the pack's custom when someone dies. "What do you want us to do?" Khal asks, breaking the heavy silence.
I exhale roughly, drawing in another deep breath that feels like I'm inhaling the weight of the house itself. The atmosphere feels suffocating, like a tomb. I stare at the room, vision blurred by overwhelming sensations. The collective presence of the entire pack buzzes in my mind—a cacophony of mumbled words and emotions I can't quite decipher. Strong hands grip my jaw, guiding my gaze upward into Diaval's hazel-green eyes.
"Focus on my voice," he says. "Being connected to so many lives can be overwhelming."
Mate, your nest grows. Sssilence the other voicesss behind a door.His dragon's voice hisses soothingly in my mind.
"How?" I ask, seeking guidance from a part of him that holds ancient knowledge.
I will help...I feel the slithering presence of his dragon, talons and scales brushing against the edges of my consciousness. My eyes close as I turn inward, following the dragon's lead. He conjures a wall of darkness, a bubble of night that envelops the pack's voices.Touch here...His tail indicates a spot, and I obey. A door forms at my touch.Open it when needed... They can knock when you are needed...I open my eyes, meeting Diaval's gaze with newfound clarity. I dip my chin in acknowledgment. Diaval kisses me softly, grounding me before he steps away. My mind is finally silent.
My eyes move to Torben, and as if he feels my gaze, he turns. "Can you please locate the bedrooms on the second floor?" My voice trembles slightly. "Khal, help him clear a room and set the mattresses on the floor together. We sleep together tonight." I bite my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling it roll down my chin.
"As you wish, little wolf." Torben replies. Khal gently tugs him toward the stairs, and they disappear.
"You're not okay, my flame," Easton says softly. He uses his thumb to wipe the blood away, then guides me through the living room.
A line of picture frames catches his eye. Years of memories of my father and mother line the red oak table, their faces captured in warmer, happier times. One photo, in particular, draws me in—my mother in profile, her resemblance to me uncanny. "How old was she here?" I ask.
"About two years older than you are now," Diaval answers. "Your mother hid her heats for years to put off the marriage, not knowing he was her mate. It took them several years to conceive for the first time. That one didn't come to fruition."
"I didn't know that was possible," I whisper.
"For wolves, it's not. Your father suspected she was dosed with poison to lose the heir. It's what prompted them to run. They fled the minute your mother's scent changed."
"How do you know?"
Diaval picks up a sandstone disk with strange carvings. "It's the secret language of dragons. It was left in case a dragon was called to search for them. It says what happened, what your father suspected." He hands me the disk, its weight heavy with unspoken truths.
I stare down at it, its texture rough against my fingers, yet it resembles nothing more than a simple coaster. "My father hid it well. It looks just like the others meant for drinks to rest on."
"It was well planned. For generations, we have known to search for sandstone items bearing messages. Sandstone is common in dragon nurseries; we can sniff it out easily. My gaze shifts to Easton, who is examining ancient books lining the walls.
