Chapter 33
Khal
Torben and I decided last night that Feray would always have two of us with her. One dragon-kin and one other mate. In theory, Easton is the one I should be paired with. Unfortunately, given his present situation, Torben is on double guard duty.
Dried leaves, brittle echoes of seasons long gone, skitter across the cobblestone underfoot. The bare trees overhead sway in the wind, their gnarled branches rubbing against each other, producing bone-chilling creaks and unsettling whispers.
It's a symphony of eerie noises that sends shivers down Feray's spine. She's visibly jumpy, her head on a constant swivel.
The skeletal trees, devoid of leaves and adorned only with twisted limbs, cast elongated shadows on the cobblestone streets. The wind, carrying the scent of decay and memories of battles past, ruffles the feathers of the baby phoenix nestled in Feray's hoodie.
If not for her proclamation as Easton's sole guardian, I can picture her transforming into her wolf form—hackles raised, growling at every ominous sound that pierces the quiet.
Passing by some of the trees, scars of past battles are visible.
Claw marks mar their trunks, testaments to struggles endured by the long-dead inhabitants of this once-thriving town.
Two trees, their bark entwined with remnants of weapons, stand as silent witnesses to the violent history etched into Silver Falls.
Feray's unease radiates through the bond. Her head remains vigilant, scanning the surroundings for any threat.
It's heartbreaking—the transformation of my once-bold and fearless mate into someone who fears the unknown more than ever. All because she feels she couldn't protect Easton.
Something fierce rises in my chest. Determination wells up within me, and I silently vow that, as long as I draw breath, Feray will not know fear.
My heart beats with unyielding resolve. I will shield her from the shadows that seek to consume her.
Through a narrow gap in the trees, a skeletal framework emerges—a haunting reminder of what once stood as a house. A tall stone fireplace, defiant in its solitude, stands on one side like a sentinel marking the ruins of a collapsed farmhouse.
The air here carries the scent of aged wood and earth.
Feray, guided by some innate sense, comes to an abrupt stop.
Torben and I move alongside her, hands gently placed on her lower back in reassurance.
"My wolf knows this place," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves.
The revelation hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of blood-born memories she may not yet fully grasp.
My chest tightens. This is where she began. This pile of rubble and ruin is where my mate took her first breath.
Diaval, having overheard, turns to face the skeletal remnants. A sadness shades his usually stoic visage.
"Like dragons, wolves know where they were born. This was your home, I assume." He steps forward with quiet understanding and carefully pulls Feray into his embrace, mindful not to crush Easton nestled in her hoodie.
"We will face this as a family."
His words are a firm declaration. Pressing a tender kiss to the crown of Feray's head, Diaval imparts a silent promise—a reassurance that whatever lies within these shattered walls, we will confront it together.
Feray nods, finding solace in the embrace of her dragon mate. A subtle nuzzle against the underside of Diaval's jaw speaks volumes—a silent exchange of comfort that transcends words.
Stepping away, she shifts her gaze toward the tree line. Her expression is a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.
"Let's go take a look and see what we can find," I suggest gently, moving to stand alongside her.
Feray turns her haunted gaze upon me. Her eyes reveal depths of emotion swirling within.
I've come to understand that when faced with something significant, Feray retreats into contemplative silence.
She processes the complexities of her thoughts in her own time.
It's a learned defense mechanism, perhaps forged during her upbringing by witches.
Her survival meant navigating a world of magic she couldn't access.
As we approach the remnants of the farmhouse, the ground beneath our feet—scattered with dry leaves and stray twigs—seems to echo with whispers of the past.
Feray stops dead, staring at the structure, then scanning the entire property.
Remnants of a silo lean against what's left of a barn whose roof has long caved in. The barn itself has hints of the red color it used to be, boards that made up the walls now falling away. A wagon stands just outside as if set to leave.
Looking closer at the wagon, I notice several steamer trunks resting in the back. Packed and ready to go.
Glancing around, I spot the nose of a car sticking out of a small shed close to the house. It makes me wonder—why would they choose a wagon and horses over a car that can move faster?
"What's that look for?" Diaval moves closer to me as Torben takes Feray in his arms, guiding her toward a storage shed.
"Why the wagon?" I motion to it and the trunks in the back. "They have a car over there." I point toward the nose of the car sticking out from under a weathered tarp and collapsed roof.
"Maybe the car stopped working? Or it's because horses, being prey animals, sense predators faster than another predator." Diaval muses, looking between the two objects. "Did you look in the trunks yet?"
He reaches out, grabs one, and sets it on the ground before us.
"No. I'm not sure if we should be the ones to do it." I meet his questioning gaze, and he nods.
"My eternal, we found steamer trunks that are locked and undamaged. Let's see if there are any clues in them."
Diaval's tone catches Feray's attention. She stops in her tracks and changes course to head over to us.
"I'm not sure how I feel about this." She bites her bottom lip as she approaches.
"Do you want me to open it?" Torben offers. He shifts his hands to claws and motions to the trunk closest to him.
With a slight nod from Feray, Torben rips the top off.
Within the trunk, women's clothing is neatly folded. Feray leans closer and sniffs, trying to catch a scent. The only thing we can smell is the eucalyptus leaves resting on the right side.
"They're used to mask the scent of a shifter. It distracts you enough with its pleasant scent to not search further." Torben takes a protective stance, watching over Feray.
With a shaky hand, she reaches out and pulls several tops free. Under one, a single red braid of hair rests. The same color as Feray's.
Her mother's hair. It has to be.
"I wish Fi were here. I'd ask her to do a locator spell to find my parents." Feray lifts the braid to her nose and sniffs, then pouts.
I can only assume no scent remains.
"If they're out there, we'll find them." Diaval says with confidence.
Easton's chick squawks, chiming in the best he can.
"I'm guessing my compatriot agrees." Diaval motions to Easton.
Feray keeps digging and pauses halfway down. There's a blanket in a sealed plastic bag. Someone went through considerable trouble to protect it.
Opening it carefully, Feray's hands tremble. I move to stand behind her, lending her my strength.
The minute the bag is open, she shoves her face in it.
The action catches me off guard, and I look at Torben.
"She's hoping for a scent. Then she can recognize the owner." He smiles, waiting and watching.
When Feray lifts her head, tears rim her eyes. Her cheeks turn pink as she strains to hold back the emotions threatening to escape.
"It's mine..."
She offers me the bag and dives into Torben's arms, causing Easton to squawk—reminding her he's still in her hoodie between them.
Gently, I pull the material out of the bag. It's her baby blanket.
Hand-sewn in the corner is Feray's birth name: Thyra Feray Jokull with her birthdate and weight.
My throat tightens. Someone loved her enough to sew her name into this blanket. Someone kept it protected for twenty-five years, waiting for her to find it.
At least now we know who she is. But her parents remain a mystery.
I pass the blanket to Diaval, and he makes a clicking sound in the back of his throat.
"You know something..." I stare at him as he tugs me away from the others.
"Her parents are the missing alpha and Luna from Crescent Valley." He looks over at Torben as he leads Feray to sit by the small stream on the property.
"Are you sure?" I glance at Feray for a moment, then back to Diaval.
"She bears the mark of her mother's bloodline. The male came from Dunnum to meet the Luna in Crescent Valley—how it's always been done." He stares at Feray, then back at me. "Her disappearance caused a rift in the process. No Luna, no succession of power."
The implications hit me like a wave. She's not just any wolf. She's royalty.
"How does the succession happen?" We walk further away, keeping an eye on where Feray is.
"The present Luna gifts the next Luna her powers and memories. From what I can tell, Feray has the power, but not the memories and knowledge of how to use it." He arches a brow.
"So what does that mean?"
"It means her mother is dead. Upon her death, Feray inherited the power. As for her father, without a new alpha to pass the power onto, it's lost to the void."
Diaval's dragon rises in his eyes, and I know he will destroy the world to protect what is his.
My own basilisk stirs, scales rippling beneath my skin. If anyone tries to harm our Luna—our rightful Luna—they will turn to stone before they take another breath.
"Do we tell her what we suspect?" I keep an eye on Feray, playing with Easton's chick on her lap. She looks so young right now. So fragile.
"No. I have a bad feeling we'll find all the evidence we need for her to piece it together herself. Our job is to protect and support her however she needs us."
Diaval removes the next trunk and rips the top off. More clothing—this time belonging to a man. We share a glance. Her father's.
One last trunk remains. A smaller one.
Nodding at Diaval, he takes it down and rips the top off using his talons.
Baby clothing. And a picture on top.
The woman from the earlier photograph. A man with broad shoulders. And a baby wrapped in a blanket.
Diaval hands me the photo, and I stare at it. The same woman, the same house in the background.
"I'm eighty percent sure that's the missing alpha and Luna," Diaval whispers.
I study the faces. The man has strong features, dark hair, an alpha's bearing. The woman—she has Feray's hair, Feray's delicate jaw. And the baby between them...
My mate. Before the world tried to break her.
"We won't know for sure until we get to Crescent Valley."
"What do we tell Feray?" I hate keeping secrets. Given my family background, some secrets are kept to keep others safe. But this feels different. This feels wrong.
"We show her the picture." Diaval stops and stares at me.
The silence speaks volumes. We show her what her parents looked like, but not who we suspect they are until we have concrete proof.
"Agreed. Do we tell Torben?"
"We have to. Then we make him swear to keep it a secret until we know for sure. I'll tell Easton as soon as I can mentally link to him again."
We decide to sit back and watch Feray explore the wreckage of what was the home of her birth. Torben urged her to search the house last so we can do that as a family.
Whatever the bear saw that made him say that can't be good.
I watch Feray by the stream, Easton's chick hopping around on the rocks beside her. She looks peaceful for the first time since we arrived in Silver Falls.
She doesn't know yet that she's the lost princess of the wolves. That her birthright is a throne covered in blood and mystery.
But she will. Soon.
And when she does, we'll be right beside her.