Chapter 62
SIXTY-TWO
T hora’s hand drifted unconsciously to her flat stomach, imagining her mother’s desperation—pregnant, in love, forced to choose between family obligations and personal happiness.
“Eight months later, as they traveled to a neutral location to attempt reconciliation with both families, their vehicle was forced off Serpent’s Pass.” Louisa’s voice faltered for the first time. “By the time search parties located the wreckage, both Karina and Nikolai had perished from their injuries.”
A ripple of shared grief passed through the assembly. Even decades later, the wound remained raw. Thora sat perfectly still, trying to process that these strangers had mourned parents she’d never known.
“Their infant daughter was never found,” Louisa continued. “Some believed she had been thrown clear of the vehicle. Others feared...”
She didn’t finish the thought, but the implication hung heavy in the air. Abduction. Murder. Darker possibilities that explained a missing child.
“For decades, we believed the Tiikeri-Saberfang lineage was lost forever.” Louisa’s gaze fixed on Thora. “Until rumors reached us of a sabertooth bounty hunter with remarkable tracking abilities and unprecedented resilience in Enchanted Falls. A young woman who matched the age Karina’s daughter would have reached.”
Thora’s heart hammered against her ribs as the pieces aligned—her unknown origins, her sabertooth nature, the strange dreams of falling that had plagued her childhood.
“How can you be certain?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt. “The timing matches, but that’s circumstantial evidence at best. Any decent court would throw out such a flimsy case.”
Aleksander rose again, approaching her with deliberate steps that belied his apparent frailty.
“Blood recognizes blood,” he said simply. “But we need not rely on mysticism alone.”
From his pocket, he produced a small velvet pouch. With reverent care, he withdrew a delicate gold chain with a pendant—a tiger carved from amber, frozen mid-leap.
“This belonged to your mother,” he explained. “A Tiikeri heirloom passed down through generations of firstborn daughters. It contains old magic that recognizes its rightful owner.”
He held it out to her. “If you are truly Karina’s daughter, it will know you.”
Thora stared at the pendant, suspended between skepticism and a strange, magnetic pull. Enchanted Falls had exposed her to enough magic that she couldn’t dismiss the possibility outright.
With cautious movements, she extended her hand.
The moment her fingers brushed the amber, warmth flooded through her palm. The tiger pendant glowed with inner light, casting golden shadows across her face. Gasps rose from the assembled pride members.
“The heir returns,” someone whispered.
Thora couldn’t tear her gaze from the glowing pendant. Her sabertooth purred with recognition as if reuniting with a long-lost friend. The rational part of her mind scrambled for explanations—heat-reactive materials, embedded technology, collective hallucination—but her body seemed to understand what her mind resisted.
“Your mother wore this every day until she left with Nikolai.” Aleksander closed her fingers around the pendant, his weathered hand warm against hers. “It has waited for you, as we have waited.”
“I don’t know how to be what you want,” Thora said, the confession wrung from her by the weight of expectation she felt from every side. “I track people down, collect my pay, and move on. I don’t do family. I don’t do legacy.”
A murmur rippled through the assembly, but Aleksander silenced it with a raised hand.
“You need not know yet.” His tone gentled, revealing the grandfather beneath the alpha. “Today, we merely acknowledge what blood and magic have confirmed. You are Thora Tiikeri-Saberfang, daughter of Karina and Nikolai, heir to two ancient lineages.”
The formal words settled over her like a cloak she wasn’t ready to wear. One by one, the pride members approached to introduce themselves—cousins and great-aunts and distant relations whose names blurred together. Each bowed their head in subtle deference, acknowledging her position even as she struggled to comprehend it.
By the time the ceremony concluded, Thora’s head throbbed with information overload. She found herself wandering the formal gardens behind the main house, seeking solitude to process the seismic shift in her identity.
“Heavy thoughts cast long shadows.”
Thora turned to find Elder Willow kneeling beside a flowering herb bed, her silver hair catching the late afternoon sun. A small basket filled with freshly harvested plants sat beside her.
“Do you make a habit of appearing wherever I’m having a personal crisis?” Thora asked, not entirely displeased by the woman’s presence.
Willow’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I was here first, dear one. You simply wandered into my garden path.”
Thora glanced around, noting the meticulously tended herbs. “This is Tiikeri land.”
“And they graciously allow me harvesting rights for my healing work.” Willow pinched a sprig of something fragrant between gnarled fingers. “Nature recognizes no clan boundaries, and neither should those who work with her gifts.”
She studied Thora with penetrating eyes. “You’ve accepted the pendant. A significant step.”
Thora touched the amber tiger now hanging against her collarbone. She hadn’t consciously decided to wear it, yet somehow removing it after the ceremony had seemed impossible.
“I accepted a piece of jewelry, not a crown,” she countered.
“Tiger royalty and bear clan leader.” Willow’s knowing smile made Thora distinctly uncomfortable. “Historical enemies finding common ground. Your parents crossed pride lines against tradition, and now you follow a similar path.”
Heat crept up Thora’s neck at the implication. “Artair and I aren’t?—”
“Aren’t what?” Willow interrupted gently. “Drawn to each other despite every logical reason to maintain distance? Finding healing in each other’s company? Beginning to imagine a future neither of you anticipated?”
The accuracy of Willow’s assessment struck uncomfortably close to thoughts Thora had barely acknowledged to herself. She’d begun catching herself thinking of Artair at odd moments—wondering what he’d think of a sunset, how he’d react to a joke, whether he’d like the taste of a particular dessert.
“I barely know him,” she protested weakly.
“Knowledge comes in many forms.” Willow tied off her bundle of herbs with practiced efficiency. “The mind can be the slowest to recognize what the heart already understands.”
Thora’s fingers drifted to her shoulder, finding the distinctive birthmark that had become a part of her. “I’m nothing like my mother. I never even knew her.”
“Yet you carry her mark.” Willow nodded toward Thora’s hand. “That pattern appears in old photographs. Karina had the identical birthmark, in precisely the same location.”
The certainty in Willow’s voice made denial pointless. The birthmark, the pendant’s reaction, the strange sense of familiarity she’d felt walking the Tiikeri grounds—all pieces of evidence she couldn’t rationalize away.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” she asked, unable to mask the vulnerability in her question.
Willow straightened, ancient eyes suddenly piercing. “That, my dear, is entirely your choice. Legacy can be a gift or a burden. You may embrace it, reject it, or shape it into something entirely new.” She patted Thora’s arm with surprising strength. “But whatever path you choose, know that you no longer walk alone.”
The elder gathered her basket and departed, leaving Thora with tumultuous thoughts and no clear direction. She pulled out her phone, finding three missed texts from Artair.
Everything okay? Meeting still happening? Let me know if you need anything.
The simple messages affected her more than they should have. No demands, no expectations—just quiet support offered freely, there if she wanted it.
She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. What she wanted most right now was to stop thinking, to lose herself in physical exertion until her mind quieted.
Need to hit something. Your gym still open?
His reply came seconds later: Always for you. I’ll be there.
For you . Two small words that shouldn’t have made her heart beat faster.
Yet they did.