Chapter 18
Feray
There's so much 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 one hundred 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.
In one fluid motion, he scoops me up to sit on the desk. I part my legs, allowing him to step between them. Our lips still ghost over each other with every movement.
Easton loves playing this game. Being so close I can taste him and hear his heartbeat, yet far enough away that I yearn for his touch.
"One day, my eternal..." His lips press against the corners of my mouth. "We will know peace."
His tongue darts out, licking at the seam of my lips, and I open for him. His kiss is patient and slow, stoking a fire within me.
It doesn't last as long as I would like.
With Easton, it's always a slow burn, a constant simmer until one of us breaks and gives in to desire. He never says he wants me; instead, he shows me. Every gentle caress, lingering kiss, or hug out of nowhere—but exactly when I need it—speaks volumes.
"Peace would be nice. So would having this every day," I murmur, lightly nipping at his bottom lip.
"Patience, my flame. Everything in due time."
He tilts his head to the side, looking over my shoulder. The door opens, and I hear heavy footsteps on the stairs.
Torben must have scented my need.
"Little Wolf..." He has that growl in his voice, the tone that tells me he's ready to go at a moment's notice.
Reaching out, I pull Easton closer to me, noticing his hesitation as he started taking a step back. A low, warning growl escapes my lips—a protective instinct over my time with Easton flaring up.
"Later, Tor... Easton needs me."
Normally, I don't mind the idea of being shared between my mates, but right now, Easton wants my full attention. Torben nods and turns back up the stairs. I catch him adjusting himself as he disappears beyond the wall.
I turn my attention back to Easton, my heart still pounding, my desire for him burning ever brighter.
Both of my ancient mates relish their alone time with me. Their old-school sensibilities from a time long forgotten sometimes need to be explored for their comfort.
Easton is a gentleman in every sense of the word.
He always double and triple-checks to make sure my desires match his.
In a way, it's just as sexy that he honors my choices as it is when the younger mates take charge and demand my attention.
"Are you lost in your head?" he asks softly, running a finger between my eyebrows and down the bridge of my nose to my lips.
"Yes and no. Yes, because I love my time with you when I get to see a side of you so few others get to, or have gotten to.
" I lean forward and gently kiss his lips.
"No, because I'm trying not to give in to my wolf, so staying focused is important.
" Gently, I nuzzle his cheek, softly letting my wolf rumble to him.
"I love hearing her, feeling her vibrate your chest, making her presence known.
" Easton's voice is full of awe as he traces the tops of my breasts, feeling the rumble of my wolf.
I draw in a deep breath, feeling my ribs expand.
I tilt my head back, feeling his shift's warmth embrace me as if wrapped in his wings.
His fire and my ice make my blood sing as his hands move to my lower and mid-back, holding me as I arch backward, bathing in the warmth.
His phoenix sings again to me as his lips press against my sternum. Easton pulls me tight to him, our breaths heaving in unison. His hand slides up my back to my neck, and we sit there, staring at each other. His eyes burn as bright as the sun.
My hands slide up and frame his cheeks, the light scruff on his jaw tickling my palms. His lips are perfect and full, his eyes wholly focused on me. Time seems to stand still as I stare into his fiery gaze.
"Let me worship you, my flame," he whispers, his voice trembling with anticipation. He presses his cheek against mine, and those words send shivers down my spine.
I nod, and he's in motion within seconds. Leaning back, his hands move to the buttons of his suit jacket, deftly unbuttoning them. I reach up, placing my hands on his shoulders, my thumbs stroking his collarbones.
My hands slip between the vest and jacket to slide it off his shoulders.
I follow the path of the jacket, my fingers gripping his biceps, stopping just above his elbows.
His own hands move to the vest, beginning to undo the buttons with a steady, determined rhythm.
Our eyes remain locked, a silent understanding passing between us as he tears the vest away.
Before he can stop me, I grip his tie and pull him to me tightly, our lips crashing together in a fierce, desperate kiss.
The heat of it sears through me, igniting every nerve.
Warmth envelops me, and my eyes pop open, watching the flames dance over his skin, burning away the dress shirt.
The sight is mesmerizing, a display of raw power and passion.
Before he can ignite his pants, my hands dive for them, unfastening them with urgency. His underwear quickly follows, and he presses me back. Before he can accidentally ignite the dress shirt I'm wearing, I take it off and toss it and the sash to the far side of the desk.
The minute the silken fabric is gone, his hand slides up my abdomen, forcing me to lie back. Hooking his arms under my knees, he grips my thighs and pulls me to the edge of the desk.
I watch as he bends over me, his lips finding my nipple, and he bites lightly over the piercing.
Gasping, I arch up toward him as he hums against my breast while his tongue flicks over the tip. Every flick sends jolts of pleasure straight to my now molten core. Moaning softly, I reach for him, and he grabs my hands and pins them to the desk. He shakes his head as he releases my nipple.
"Patience, my flame... I want you burning so bright you rival my phoenix.
" A sensual smile crosses his lips slowly, and I try to clench my thighs from the pulse of need that hits me.
Easton leans over me, the heat of his body engulfing me.
He nips my earlobe. "When you come, I want this mountain to roar with you.
I want the earth to shake and the bond to explode with colors. "
He raises up and arches a brow, looking at me. That arrogant cock of his head and the tight line of his lips tell me he means every single word. He's a man on a mission, and if I die in his arms, it will be worth it.
Easton prides himself on his attention to detail, and that extends to every aspect of his life. Our bedroom antics are where his senses are laser-focused. I swear he can play every nerve in my body like the strings on a harp.