Chapter 16
“Every supernatural species in existence apparently has a secret responsibility tied to the survival of reality. Honestly, at this point, I’m expecting squirrels to be guarding time itself.” ~Kara
By the time the meal finally ended, Kara was beginning to suspect troll hospitality was less “light refreshment” and more “we will continue feeding you until movement becomes impossible.”
The cavern they’d been led into sat deeper within the mountain than any place they’d seen so far.
Enormous stone arches curved overhead like the ribs of some ancient beast buried beneath the earth, their carved surfaces worn smooth by what had to be centuries of hands brushing against them in passing.
Long tables hewn directly from dark rock stretched through the center of the chamber, lit from above by hanging mineral lanterns that glowed warm gold instead of the colder blue threading through the outer caverns.
Honestly?
It was almost cozy.
If one ignored the world-ending corruption beneath the mountain.
And the fact that Kara’s unborn daughter apparently had some kind of magical restraining order against ancient darkness.
Minor details.
Nick sat beside her at the massive stone table, one arm draped possessively across the back of her chair while his other hand rested low against her thigh beneath the heavy edge of carved stone.
The contact had become almost constant over the past two weeks.
She wasn’t just his anchor, he was hers as well.
His wolf had settled some after the confrontation in the lower chamber, but not by much. Every few minutes his thumb stroked absently against the curve of her leg as though reassuring himself she was still there. Still safe. Still breathing.
Kara leaned slightly into his side and watched Verna direct a group of younger trolls between the tables with the efficiency of a battlefield general.
The elder female pointed sharply, and a steaming platter changed direction mid-stride.
Another tilt of her chin, and a stack of empty bowls vanished into the arms of a passing server.
“You need more meat,” Verna announced, sliding another plate in front of Kara with a quiet thunk.
Kara stared at it.
Then at Verna.
Then back at the plate.
“That appears to be an entire animal.”
“It is only half.”
“Oh good,” Kara deadpanned. “For a second I was concerned.”
Across the table, Aphid snorted into his drink hard enough that he had to set the cup down before he choked.
Wadim, two seats further along, looked personally offended that Kara’s portion remained noticeably larger than his own.
Somehow he’d managed to sneak away from the kids’ table without Verna forcing him to go back.
“This is discrimination,” he muttered, gesturing at his plate with a piece of bread. “I too am growing something important.”
Zara didn’t even glance up from her food. “An ego doesn’t count.”
“I’ll have you know it requires constant maintenance.”
“Clearly.”
At the smaller table just beyond their own, Torvik laughed so hard that he nearly slid off his chair, catching himself at the last second on the stone edge.
Watching Wadim willingly hold court at the children’s table for the past hour just because the troll younglings had decided he was some legendary warrior had been worth at least half the stress of the day.
Maybe more.
The little trolls adored him.
Mostly because he’d spent forty solid minutes dramatically reenacting wolf battles using pieces of bread, a spoon, and what Kara was fairly certain had been someone’s discarded napkin.
She was beginning to suspect the trolls genuinely couldn’t tell when he was being serious.
Which, honestly, explained a lot about how other realms probably viewed humans, too.
At the far end of the chamber, Gavril and Rachel sat speaking quietly with the Troll King and several elders.
Rachel’s expression remained tight around the edges, her shoulders drawn slightly forward in a way Kara had learned meant her healer instincts were screaming at her about something.
Gavril looked calmer outwardly, one hand resting easily on the back of Rachel’s chair, but every now and then his gaze drifted across the chamber toward Kara’s stomach before sweeping the room again.
Protective.
All of them were protective now.
The realization settled strangely in Kara’s chest. Not heavy. Just warm. Which was dangerous. Because hope was dangerous. Hope made you forget how quickly things could be taken away.
Nick’s hand slid gently over the curve of her stomach beneath the table.
The baby shifted immediately beneath his palm, a slow roll that Kara felt all the way up under her ribs.
It was weird because this new phenomenon had started in just the past few days.
Her stomach had doubled in size in the two weeks that they’d been in the troll realm.
The only reason she wasn’t completely freaking the hell out was because she’d already been through some things.
Having a baby much faster than she was supposed to, even for werewolf standards, was not going to be what broke her.
Their daughter rolled again, and Kara looked up at Nick.
His entire face softened.
Kara swore that male could go from terrifying Alpha-level predator to emotionally compromised father in under three seconds flat. It was honestly impressive.
“She likes you best,” Kara muttered.
Nick didn’t even attempt humility. “Obviously.”
“You’re smug about being preferred by a person who currently weighs less than a loaf of bread.”
“She’s already demonstrating excellent judgment, yeah?”
Kara rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest deepened anyway, settling somewhere behind her sternum where she didn’t quite know what to do with it.
Then the mountain pulsed again.
The laughter throughout the chamber died instantly, like someone had cut a thread holding the sound together.
The pulse rolled through the stone beneath their feet stronger than before, deep enough that Kara felt the vibration climb the legs of her chair and settle unpleasantly in her gut.
The water in the goblets along the table trembled.
A piece of bread tipped slowly off the edge of Aphid’s plate and landed on the stone floor with a soft, oddly loud, thud.
Every troll in the room froze.
The mineral lanterns overhead flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
Nick was already on his feet before Kara fully registered the movement, one hand braced protectively against her shoulder while his wolf surged hard enough through the bond that her own pulse stumbled in response.
At the far table, the Troll King rose slowly, the scrape of his chair against stone unnaturally loud in the new silence. His dark amber gaze moved first toward Verna. The elder female gave a single grim nod.
Well. That seemed ominous.
Kara sighed heavily. “Sometimes I miss when my biggest concern was whether I was going to sleep at the foster house or on the bench in the park.”
“And because of that struggle, you are the woman you are right now who can handle this with her shoulders back and her head held high,” Rachel pointed out quietly as she and Gavril rose from their seats and crossed the length of the chamber toward Kara’s table.
Gavril’s hand stayed at the small of his mate’s back the entire way, his stride matching hers exactly.
“While I love your confidence in me, Rach,” Kara said with what she hoped was a kind smile, “I kind of miss Jewel’s random genius facts to distract us when things were going to hell in a handbasket.”
“I can concede to that,” the other healer said graciously.
The Troll King followed a few paces behind them, his heavy boots thudding against the stone floor in a slow, measured rhythm that somehow made the silence around him feel deeper.
He stopped at the head of their table.
“It is time,” he said simply.
Nick’s arm immediately circled Kara’s waist again, drawing her against his side as she rose. “Time for what exactly?”
The king’s gaze shifted briefly toward the lower tunnels beyond the far doorway, where the warm gold light of the lanterns gave way to something dimmer and bluer and considerably less inviting.
“To show you what we guard.”
Silence settled heavily over the remaining tables.
Even Aphid stopped fidgeting with the rim of his cup.
Wadim slowly lowered the piece of bread he’d apparently been using to demonstrate tactical flanking maneuvers to the troll children. Torvik watched him set it down with the wide-eyed reverence usually reserved for relics.
“That sentence,” the historian said carefully, “has literally never led to anything emotionally healthy.”
Torvik, however, looked delighted instead of concerned. He scrambled up onto his knees in his chair. “Are we going below the roots?”
Several nearby troll adults immediately hissed sharp corrections in their language, and one of the older females reached over and pressed a firm hand against Torvik’s shoulder, easing him back down into his seat.
The little troll shrank slightly, his enthusiasm dimming.
Verna sighed and pinched the bridge of her broad nose. “This is why we do not repeat everything. Children overhear.”
Kara frowned. “Below the roots?”
The Troll King’s expression darkened.
“The deepest foundations beneath our realm.” His gaze dropped toward the floor between his boots, as though he could see straight through stone if he looked hard enough. “Places untouched for thousands of years.”
Aphid straightened slowly in his chair. “Untouched by trolls?”
“Yes.”
Well.
That was significantly worse than Kara had hoped for.
Rachel folded her arms tightly across her chest, one hand drifting up to grip her opposite elbow. “You said the darkness is older than Raja.”
The king nodded once.
“And you believe it’s waking up now because the realms are weakening, because of Raja and the Nushtonia?” Gavril asked.
“Not weakening.” Verna’s voice cut quietly through the chamber from where she stood near the head of the table. “Separating.”