Chapter 40 #2
Steady steps carry me to my closet, my heart thrumming with anticipation and a touch of anxiety that I refuse to let show. Today is a day to be among my mates and people, to wear my scars with pride rather than hiding in shadows like the frightened girl I used to be.
As I reach for the pale blue gown, the soft fabric cool against my fingers, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. The empire waist flatters my figure, and I secure the ribbon under and over my breasts with practiced motions, feeling the satisfying firmness as everything settles into place.
The marks of my mates stand out against my skin, vivid and unmistakable—badges of honor that I wear with fierce pride.
Diaval's scale glints on my chest, resting over my heart like a piece of him I carry always.
Easton's feather pulses with warmth in my hair, responding to my emotions with a glow that brightens when I'm happy.
I slip on the bone collar, feeling its familiar weight settle around my neck like an embrace from ancestors I never knew.
The bracers go on next, the ancient bone warm against my skin despite the cold material.
Each piece is a testament to my ancestry, a physical reminder of the strength of my bloodline and the queens who wore these relics before me.
My eyes fall on my mother's diadem, and my heart aches with a familiar longing that never quite fades. It's a bittersweet reminder of the woman I never had the chance to know—her laugh, her voice, the way she might have brushed my hair or sung me to sleep.
As I gently pick it up, my fingers brushing the cool metal, I think of my aunt. Astrid is the closest connection I have to my mother's legacy, a living bridge to the past that I'm only beginning to understand.
Placing the diadem on my head, I feel its weight settle—both physical and emotional—and Easton's feather slips free to frame my face with a touch of golden elegance.
The warmth it emits is comforting, like a gentle embrace, like Easton himself standing behind me with his hand tenderly caressing my scarred cheek.
The sensation brings a smile to my lips. I am never truly alone.
My shoes click sharply on the tile floor as I walk down the halls, each step echoing like a heartbeat keeping time with my resolve.
I hold my head high, feeling the warmth of my wolf's confidence flood through me like liquid courage.
As I pass, pack-mates bow deeply, their eyes flickering to the scar I now bear—not with pity or horror, but with respect.
They see what this mark means. They know what I survived to earn it.
Our eyes shift together, my vision transforming as colors become muted and sounds sharpen, the world taking on the clarity of my wolf's senses even while I remain in human form.
We assess each pack mate as we walk, reading their health and their hearts, ensuring everyone is safe and will be well-fed thanks to our efforts in the hunt.
I find my mates in the library, engrossed in the history books of our pack that line the walls from floor to ceiling. Their heads lift one by one as I enter, smiles blooming slowly across their faces like sunrise spreading across the mountains. But Easton's smile doesn't reach his eyes.
My heart clenches with concern as I hesitate, then cross the room and slide myself between him and the tabletop, forcing him to acknowledge me. My hands move on their own, framing his beautiful face as I gently kiss his lips. "I'm okay," I whisper against his mouth, my breath mingling with his.
"Are you sure?" he asks softly, and I feel his lips brush over the scar on my cheek with a tenderness that makes my eyes sting.
"I'm okay because of you," I reply, smiling as I touch the feather woven into my hair. "Every hit I took, our bond healed me almost instantly. I'm grateful for your unexpected gift." I kiss him again, savoring the feel of his lips, the taste of him, before we part with a shared hum of contentment.
Turning to Diaval, I playfully slap his shoulder, earning a soft growl that vibrates through his chest. "You squished it like a grape," I tease, laughing at the memory of his massive dragon foot coming down on the wendigo with devastating finality.
"That I did. It was efficient," Diaval responds, his lips quirking into a satisfied smirk.
"Our family was too close to it for me to use my fire—I couldn't risk burning you to a crisp along with the monster.
" He kisses me sweetly, one hand cupping my unmarred cheek, before passing me along to Khal and Torben like a treasure being shared among kings.
Torben pulls me against his broad chest, and I melt into his warmth as Khal steps behind me to press a kiss to my bare shoulder. "You were intense out there," Khal says with a playful grin that I can feel against my skin.
"She was incredible," Torben agrees, kissing my temple with a reverence that makes my knees weak.
"All I could think about was keeping my mates and pack safe," I confess, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
"My wolf told me what to do. We had to rip the being out of its chest—she said it's like a battery that powers the main body?
" My voice lifts with uncertainty, a question rather than an answer.
Easton's eyes light up, a puzzle piece clicking into place behind his golden gaze.
"That's it!" he exclaims, practically leaping across the room to grab an old tome from a high shelf.
He slaps it down on the table with enough force to send dust motes dancing in the afternoon light, flipping rapidly through yellowed pages until he finds what he's looking for.
"Look—details about the creation of wendigos," he says, jabbing his finger at the faded text.
"You're more right than you know. Only a high-ranking mage or warlock can create one, and they require.
.. gods, they require sacrifice. Shifter sacrifice, specifically.
The soul of a shifter bound into the corpse of an animal to animate it. "
The blood drains from my face. "The magic council," I breathe. "They're the target for whoever's hunting me with these creatures. They're the ones with the knowledge and the power to—"
Diaval turns me to face him, his eyes shifting to the serpentine slits of his dragon as his inner beast rises to the surface.
"It's worse than that," he says, his voice dropping to a deadly quiet.
"Someone on the shifter council is sacrificing other shifters to create these monsters.
They're working with the mages. And they're likely responsible for poisoning the wolves twice over the past two decades—killing those unborn babies to try to find and eliminate you. "
The words hit me like a physical blow. Anger surges through me, white-hot and blinding, and I tremble with its intensity.
The betrayal cuts so deep I can barely breathe—the shifter council, who should have protected their own kind, murdering them instead.
Using their blood and souls to create abominations.
To hunt me.
To silence me before I could become what they feared.
And then—between what Diaval and Easton just said, between the pieces that have been floating around the edges of my consciousness for months—everything suddenly clicks into place with chilling clarity. I freeze, my body going rigid as the implications crash over me like an avalanche.
I think about all those times they drew blood from me at the magic school—the "routine tests" that happened more often than they should have. I think about the extra herbs at my ascension ceremony that burned my skin and made me scream. The words the coven spoke that shattered my amulet.
They weren't accidents.
They were experiments.
I stumble away from the table, my eyes wide, staring at the book and my mates as my world tilts on its axis.
"They knew," I whisper, my voice cracking.
"They all knew what I was. The magic school, the shifter council—everyone knew.
" My breath quickens, coming in short, sharp gasps that don't seem to bring enough air into my lungs.
I feel light-headed, the room spinning around me as years of confusion and pain suddenly make terrible, terrible sense.
All those years of being mistreated, of being handled like I was worthless when I was the opposite.
The taunting and isolation, the cruel whispers behind my back, the tears I cried in my tiny room because I never fit in and no one would tell me why.
"Why didn't the shifter council take me away from the magic school if they knew?
" The question tears out of me, raw and bleeding.
Tears flow freely down my cheeks, carving hot tracks over my new scar.
"Why leave me there to suffer for years? Why let me believe I was nothing?"
I'm spiraling, I know I'm spiraling, but I can't stop the panic attack from taking hold.
My heart races. My hands shake. My vision narrows to a dark tunnel with no end.
"They all feared what you would become," Diaval explains, his voice cutting through the chaos in my mind.
He waves off the others as he steps into my space, his dragon crooning to me—a deep, rumbling song that speaks to something primal in my soul.
He knows what I need right now.
A bigger predator. A protector. Something ancient and powerful that makes my wolf feel safe enough to let go.
Diaval opens his arms, and I dive into them without hesitation, pressing the bridge of my nose to the warm column of his throat.
I breathe in his scent—smoke and sandalwood and something that smells like the heart of a mountain—trying desperately to catch my breath, to anchor myself in the comfort and safety of his presence.
His arms wrap around me, strong and sure, and his dragon continues its crooning song as I fall apart against his chest.
The council knew.
The mages knew.
Everyone who should have protected me instead conspired to destroy me—and when poison and binding and isolation didn't work, they created monsters to finish the job.
But I'm still here.
Still breathing.
Still standing.
And now I know exactly who my enemies are.
Let them come, my wolf whispers, her voice fierce and certain despite my tears.
Let them send a hundred wendigos. A thousand.
We'll kill them all, and then we'll find the cowards who created them.
And we'll make them wish they had succeeded in killing us before we ever learned the truth.