Page 36 of Full Moon
Chapter 17
Khal
Diaval’sinsanely terrifying knots and flare finally fell free of Feray, and I scoop her up into my arms. Instinctively, she curls around me, her forehead resting against the pulse in my throat. The heat of her body and the reassuring weight of her in my arms ground me, calming the remnants of my adrenaline-fueled shift. I carry her back to our room, feeling every step echo in my chest.
Once there, I gently place her on the bed, curling her up in the cool, soft sheets. I wrap myself around her, drawing her close, and her warmth seeps into me, chasing away the lingering fear and tension. Her familiar scent fills my senses, soothing me more than I thought possible.
“We have to finish searching the house,” she yawns, rolling to face me. Her voice is soft and heavy with exhaustion, her eyes half-lidded but still sparkling with determination. I brush a stray lock of hair from her face, feeling the delicate rise and fall of her breath against my skin. It’s rare that I get time alone with Feray anymore. Now that there are four of us in the bond, she tries her best to spend time with each of us. My fingers thread throughher hair, working through the knots. The strands feel like silk under my fingertips, and I savor the rare intimacy, each stroke a quiet promise of my love.
Several hours pass, and Torben eventually enters, finding me still curled around Feray, holding her as if she might slip away. He looks us over and smiles softly, a hint of melancholy in his eyes. Then, in a whisper, he confesses, “Is it selfish that I wish she didn’t take the tonic? I mean, if it was safer?” His hand moves to rub the back of his neck, a gesture that betrays his inner turmoil. He turns to look out the window, lost in thought.
Gently, I angle Feray’s head off my chest just slightly, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. “Not selfish. We all want a family with her. But not knowing what is coming for us... it’s just not safe.” Deep in my chest, I cage the sadness that wells up at that thought. The weight of our uncertain future presses heavily on me. “It will come eventually,” I murmur, clinging to that fragile hope. I want to be better than my parents were. To give our future children the father my father wasn’t and didn’t get to be.
“When she wakes up, we’ll start searching the house more. Diaval and Easton are reading the books on the shelves in her father’s study.” Torben looks back at me, an icy determination in his eyes. “They suspect that Lyra’s family was trying to bring back the winter wolves. They were selectively breeding certain bloodlines for the ancient markers.” He shakes his head, a shadow of dread crossing his face, then looks back towards the door.
“What are you trying to say?” I ask, arching a brow as I watch the emotions flicker over his face.
“They got lucky Claridon was her mate. He apparently bore the markers too.” Torben drops that bombshell and exits the room, leaving me reeling with that hunk of history.
Several hours later…
I must have fallen asleep at some point. Feray’s slender hand cups my cheek, turning my head to face her as she plants a kiss on my lips to wake me up. My heart flutters at her touch, and I can’t help but smile. “Wake up, sleepyhead.” Feray nuzzles my cheek playfully, her breath warm against my skin.
I kiss her back gently, uncertain how sore her body still is. “Are you up to heading back downstairs?” I ask, my voice tinged with concern.
“We need to find more clues if my dad left them for me or anyone.” She shrugs, walking over to the bags. Glancing over her shoulder, she gives me a wicked grin as she pulls out one of Easton’s expensive dress shirts. It’s paisley in hues of green and purple, the patterns resembling the eyespots in his tail plumes. The shirt, matched with her fiery red hair, makes her look every bit the phoenix compared to the doctor himself.
I watch, captivated, as she buttons the shirt and then reaches into Diaval’s bag, stealing the sash from his favorite silk robe. She wraps the sash around her waist twice, making a belt for herself. Barefoot, she heads to the door and down the stairs, her movements graceful and predatory.
I follow behind her, my eyes fixed on her every step. Feray pauses, looking into the sitting room. I can’t shake the feeling that she might have received additional gifts from the ancients that she can’t or won’t talk about. There’s a slow incline of her head to the right before she moves off the stairs. Just as I’m about to say something, Diaval spots Feray on the move and raises a finger, stopping me.
The air is thick with unspoken questions and the weight of our mission. Feray’s confidence and the mystery surrounding her ignite a fire within me. It urges me to press on, to uncover the secrets that lie ahead.
Feray pauses before a bookcase, her eyes fixated on it with an intensity that suggests she’s searching for something specific. I watch as her head tilts slowly to the left, then back to the right, her focus unwavering. She stretches up, reaching for a statue on the top shelf, but she’s several inches too short, even on her tiptoes. Her head whips around, and her eyes lock onto mine, a silent plea for assistance.
“What do you desire, precious?” I ask, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, waiting for her response.
“The wolf statue and the vase. I can’t tell which one it is,” she replies, pointing up at the two items. She glances over her shoulder, feeling the weight of the others’ gazes.
“Nice dress,” Easton remarks, and I stifle a laugh.
“The belt is a nice addition as well,” Diaval says with a smirk.
“No shoes, little wolf?” Torben, ever practical, is the only one concerned about her lack of footwear.
Dramatically, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head. It takes everything within me not to burst out laughing. I reach up and retrieve both items, bringing them down to her. Her eyes take on a ghostly ice-blue glow as she examines the two objects. She takes the vase from my hands, her expression one of deep concentration. We watch in silence as she turns the vase over and over in her hands. The lid obviously either spelled or glued shut. Suddenly, she shakes her head and drops the vase to the floor without a word. It shatters into a hundred pieces, revealing a key glued to the base, standing on edge.
A preternatural stillness envelops her, a trait the ancients attributed to the winter wolves. They can stand so still that they appear carved from ice. Until now, I never fully understood it, but here it is, clear in Feray’s instinctive stillness. Like at the bar, when she would freeze and stare, she appears almost statue-like. It’s all instinct, something she didn’t know she had, but it’s completely natural for her kind.
We watch as Feray bends down, her movements deliberate and graceful, and picks up the key. She turns it over in her hand several times, her eyes fixated on it with an intense curiosity.
“Where does it go, my flame?” Easton asks gently, his voice a soothing contrast to the fire blazing in his eyes from his shift.
Feray’s eyes, a tumultuous mix of ice and flame, clash with Easton’s before lowering back to the key. She moves slowly across the room, each step measured. Oddly enough, she stops dead in front of another bookcase. Her head moves almost serpentine-like as she studies the shelves, an aura of mystery and determination surrounding her.
Her movements catch Diaval’s attention, and he steps closer. “What do you see? Or not see as it is?” he asks, his eyes searchinghers. Feray continues to tilt her head, her eyes narrowing in concentration.
“It’s here. I can’t see it. I smell it. There’s air coming from behind the shelving.” Feray’s nostrils flare several times as she sniffs at the shelves. Her senses heightened.
