Page 38 of Full Moon
Chapter 18
Feray
There's somuch history contained in the hidden basement chamber of my father's home.
As I descend the creaky wooden stairs, the cool, musty air greets me, carrying the weight of generations. In the dim light, the chamber feels like a sacred vault, brimming with the echoes of my ancestors.
My fingers brush against ancient scrolls and faded documents meticulously preserved in this secret space. My father's bloodline maps spread out before me, stretching back six generations on my mother's side. The intricate web of names and dates resembles a complex root system, each line branching out with the story of our family.
Underneath each name, the species of wolves is noted in careful script.
I pause, awestruck, when I realize that the last purebred winter wolf existed two hundred years ago. It's a branch of my lineage, ending with my grandmother on my mother's side. The record reveals she didn't give birth to my mother until she was onehundred and fifty—an astonishing testament to her resilience and the longevity of our species.
Turning my attention to my father's side, I discover that his father's father was more than half winter wolf. My heart races with curiosity and pride as I uncover these ancestral threads. The stories Fi's mom told about the holy war the Winter Wolves waged to retake Fenrir's most holy temple were awe-inspiring.
Those same wolves are my ancestors.
Maybe that's why I was hidden.
Determined to understand my genetic makeup, I pull out a separate piece of paper and search the cluttered desk for a pencil. The sounds of the pencil scratching against the paper fill the chamber as I create a Punnett square, coding each wolf species in my bloodline.
I jot down the codes for my parents along the margins, working my way back through two sets of grandparents. The calculations reveal a range: on the high end, I am seventy-five percent winter wolf; on the low end, somewhere between forty and fifty percent.
Easton leans over my shoulder, his warm breath tickling my ear as he double-checks my work. He nods in agreement, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Seeing you took after your mom almost to the point of being her twin, I would venture to guess the higher number is accurate." He points to the alleles on my mother's side. "You have her hair and eye color, as well as her build."
I look at the second Punnett square I created to determine which parent I resemble more, based on my father's notes. The evidence is clear: I take after my mom.
A sense of belonging and connection washes over me, grounding me in the rich legacy of my ancestors.
Later that day...
Easton and I have spent most of the day down here, cataloging everything we've found. The air is thick with dust and the musty scent of old paper, but I don't mind.
Seeing my dad's handwriting, the way he meticulously noted every detail, and reading his thoughts on everything makes me feel closer to him. It's as if he's here with us, guiding our hands and whispering in our ears.
Sighing, I close the journal I was reading and feel tears prick my eyes.
It hurts to think that my dad is gone. He was so brilliant, and I am so much like him in that sense. His absence is a raw ache that never quite fades.
Reading his notes and seeing how much attention he put into them and then the farmhouse, the love he put into my toy... My heart breaks a little knowing I missed out on knowing a wonderful and loving father and a fierce mother.
Warm arms wrap around me, pulling me against Easton's chest. The rich scent of bergamot fills my lungs, settling something deep within me.
His feather falls before my eyes, and I watch as the flames flicker along its length, dancing in a mesmerizing rhythm. He reaches up and brushes it gently out of my line of sight.
"It's interesting how that happens when you're close," I say softly.
"Your bite pulses in time with your heartbeat," he whispers back, resting his palm over my heart.
I feel my pulse speed up at his proximity. Warmth floods my cheeks, and I turn away, knowing I'm blushing a brilliant shade of crimson.
"I guess my dad's notes were right. Summer and winter, warm and cold, opposites yet equal, eternally drawn together."
"Such a shame to be eternally bound to a brilliant, loving, and beautiful woman. It's tragic, really." His breath washes over my lips as he speaks.
The gentle touch of his silken lips keeps my focus locked on him, every whisper of contact making my heart race.
