Page 31 of Full Moon
Chapter 15
Diaval
That cantankerous bastardcatches me off guard as I look down at my mate in my arms. My heart races, my thoughts tangling in a web of shock. He has taken over, his song merging with hers, binding us irrevocably to Feray.
If she dies, we die.
The realization hits me like a blow to the chest—Easton's existence is also inextricably tied to the lifespan of our mate. Feray releases my wrist, her tongue gently lapping at the wound until it seals. I can feel her strength in that simple act, an ancient power coursing through her veins.
Her wolf is larger and more formidable than any I have ever seen, a relic from a time long forgotten. Both of her parents' bloodlines carried the markers, and somehow, Fenrir has granted my mate access to an ancient form that eclipses all others.
Khal's voice breaks through my thoughts. "We should go back into the house." He wraps his arms around himself, shivering.
But Feray stands there, unmoved by the chill. Her dress clings to her, her bare shoulders dusted with snowflakes. She is not cold. Not even slightly. Winter wolves are rare, their bloodlines ancient and powerful. When she reaches full maturity, her wolf will stand almost four and a half feet tall at the shoulder. Her eyes, a striking otherworldly hue, and her pure white coat reveal her true nature. Even now, her wolf is nearly a foot taller than the others. Whether or not she reaches her full size, she will always be the largest and strongest of any wolf alive. The sight of her fills me with awe and fierce protectiveness.
Our fates are now intertwined, our lives bound to hers. Whatever comes, we will face it together, bound by a destiny as old as the mountains themselves.
We guide Feray back into the house, the warmth of the hearth enveloping us as Torben tends to the stove, keeping dinner from burning. The rich aroma of spices fills the air. Feray pulls the fresh bread from the oven, the golden crust crackling under her touch as she slices it and serves it. Easton sets the table with care. Khal has found bottles of mead and wine, pouring glasses with a practiced hand.
I watch my mate and our bond-mates move about the kitchen, their movements synchronized in a dance of familiarity and comfort. Yet, deep down, a gnawing feeling tells me they don't fully grasp what just transpired. Slowly, I turn on my heels, my fingers brushing against the cool surface of the sandstone cylinders. I pull them out, the markings catching the firelight.
These are the research notes Claridon had meticulously recorded about his betrothed's bloodline. Lyra's mother was more than half winter wolf. The clinking of the sandstone cylinders as I read them eventually draws everyone's attention. Suddenly, a forkful of chicken is waved in front of my face.
"Eat," Feray says, her voice a gentle command. "You need it. You're not meant to deal with the cold like I am."
The concern in her eyes makes me set the cylinders down. I take the offered bite, savoring the full-bodied flavor. "I'll eat," I promise, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. Smiling against her, I pull back, searching her face.
The unearthly blue now rising in her eyes—a telltale sign of the winter wolf caged within her chest. Knowing what she truly is and the immense potential she holds fills me with fierce pride. I join my mate and bond-mates at the table, the weight of the knowledge swirling in my mind. My hands tremble slightly, but I steady them.
"You have that look in your eyes, Diaval. What did you discover?" Easton asks. He's been around me far too long; he can read me more easily than the others.
Reaching back, I grab the sandstone cylinders and offer them to Easton. He takes them and begins to read, his eyes scanning from top to bottom. Slowly, he turns one to the left, continuing in silence. As he reads, his eyes blaze with fiery intensity before he looks up at me, then shoots a glance over to Feray. "This changes everything."
"What changes?" Feray's gaze shifts from me to Easton.
"If your father's research is correct, you are more than what you seem," Easton says, laying the cylinders on the table.
"What Easton is so gently trying to say is..." I pause as everyone focuses wholly on me. "The reason your fur is so white is that you are part winter wolf, not lunar like we had suspected." My words strike her like a physical blow, and she pushes back from the table.
Her eyes shift, their burning yellow hue transforming to an almost white-blue, wolven and fierce. Looking deep into my mate's eyes, I see the truth has awakened a dormant power within her. The last of the spells buried deep within Feray snaps, and her face goes preternaturally smooth. She looks down at her plate, nodding slowly before rising from the table, her dinner barely touched. My eyes follow her as she heads up the stairs.
"Winter wolves are fierce like worgs, with horrid dispositions. Unlike other wolves, winter wolves don't need a pack to muster their full power. But with a pack, they are damn near unstoppable," Easton explains.
I watch the other bond-mates, each in varying states of shock.
"What do we do?" Khal asks.
"Anything Feray wants," I say. The only answer I have.
"Let's go." The words hang in the air like a commandment. "Feray needs her pack." Deep in my soul, I know she needs all of us together tonight. How she needs us remains to be seen. I pat the inside pocket of my jacket, feeling the cool glass of the tonic she takes to prevent pregnancy. Just in case what I feel may happen does happen, we cannot chance her becoming pregnant this early into our journey.
The door to the shared bedroom is wide open. The floor is lined with mattresses covered in sheets and blankets, a makeshift haven. Feray sits with her back to us, staring out the window at the snowstorm raging beyond the glass.
"My eternal?" I call to her.
Slowly, she turns to face us, the white-blue glow still in her eyes. She just stares, and the room's atmosphere becomes charged, primal. "Yes?"
"Are you alright?"
