Chapter 34
Torben
The desolate landscape of what was once the birthplace of my mate sends a chill down my spine. The hairs on my arms stand on edge. This isolated farm, long forgotten like the main village, carries an air of abandonment.
But beneath the surface of this collapsed farmhouse, something more sinister lingers.
Large claw marks, etched into what remains of the standing structures, tell a tale of violence and chaos. Deep gouges speak of a creature unleashed on a rampage, hunting with a ferocity that left its mark on every surface.
I keep a running tally of the damage, each scar a testament to the strength of the entity that once terrorized this place. It becomes clear that the creature that attacked was formidable—possibly even stronger than I am when I shift.
The realization adds a layer of terror to the mystery we're unraveling.
Feray, grappling with the weight of her past, discovered a blanket bearing what was intended to be her name: Thyra, meaning thunder.
Perhaps my beautiful mate was born during a horrible thunderstorm, and it inspired her name.
The last name—a connection to the elder gods and the lands beyond the frozen mountains of the north—makes me wonder which of the northern packs her bloodline hails from.
The changing hue of Feray's coat also captivates my attention. Now a pure white. I recall lessons from my past, where some animals adapt their fur color from brown to white as winter approaches, using it as camouflage.
I'm starting to suspect that come spring, Feray's fur may transform, taking on the qualities of a timber wolf. The change will help her blend seamlessly with the landscape.
"Feray, come look at this." Diaval calls her over, and she looks up at me expectantly.
Smiling, I bend down and help my beautiful mate stand as she cradles Easton's growing phoenix chick to her chest. In front of Diaval is a smaller trunk, its top ripped off. It's filled with baby clothing and blankets.
Feray carefully sets Easton down and pulls items out one at a time, examining each. She sniffs every piece, and sometimes a small smile crosses her lips. I can tell when she finds an item with a tiny bit of scent remaining.
A soft rumble escapes her lips, and she sets those items aside.
"We found this." Khal offers her a picture.
The same red-headed woman from before is in this image. Feray dives into her bag, pulls the other picture out, and compares the two.
"It's her." Her voice is barely audible. Her hands tremble, holding the two pictures side by side.
Her eyes become fixed on the image of the family. I sit down and pull her into my lap.
Tentatively, she touches the man's face, then looks up at Diaval. "Do you think this is my dad?"
The uncertainty in her voice gets my bear's attention. We become hyper-fixated on her micro-tells, waiting to see when she needs us to shore her up.
Something protective and fierce rises in my chest. She looks so young right now. So vulnerable.
Diaval clears his throat and draws a deep breath. "From what the evidence points to, I can safely assume these are your parents and that's you in the image."
His tone is different from when he's completely sure of something. I stare up into his eyes, almost challenging him. The minute Feray's gaze drops to the image in her hand, he double-blinks at me.
Khal mouths: They'll tell me later.
With a quick dip of my head, I acknowledge what they're telling me. Diaval suspects something he's not ready to share with Feray.
This can either be very good or very bad. Given how this town looks, I have a sinking feeling it will not be good news.
"You look a lot like your mom, little wolf," I whisper softly.
A soft laugh escapes her lips. "I definitely have her hair. Bright red and completely unmanageable." Another chuckle as she studies the photo. "My dad is handsome. I can see why mom chose him. He looks strong, like you."
She leans back and nuzzles my cheek before kissing it.
My heart aches. She's comparing her father to me. A man she'll likely never meet. A man I suspect is dead somewhere in this rubble.
"He looks like a rather powerful male. Your mom chose wisely." I smile, trying to keep her on the lighthearted side of this find.
My suspicions, combined with all the claw marks and destruction, point to a grim truth: her parents didn't make it out alive.
Which raises the question—how did she survive?
I'll deal with that question later when I can talk to Diaval.
"Hey Feray, let's go hunt for Easton's next meal. If we can get a deer, we can share it with everyone." Khal offers, and I know it's because Diaval needs to tell me something he doesn't want Feray to hear.
"That's a great idea. Tor, do you mind watching Easton while we go hunting?"
Feray reaches over, picks up Easton, and stuffs him inside my flannel shirt. His tiny talons grip the fabric, and he chirps contentedly against my chest.
"Sure. Go take a break. We can search more after you get back and we have lunch."
Feray squeals and kisses my cheek before turning around. Khal has already shifted. She runs to him and climbs up onto his back, riding off into the mountains on the back of a thirty-foot basilisk.
"Well, that went easier than I thought." Diaval steps closer. "Pay attention, Easton. I know you'll be back to your old self sooner than later."
Easton squawks at Diaval.
"Don't be so sassy. It's unbecoming of you."
"Can we get to the point before she gets back?" I'm getting irritated at the constant back and forth between the two ancients.
"Yes. I suspect her parents are the missing alpha and Luna, and that they didn't survive the attack."
Diaval's thought process aligns with mine. I nod.
"You agree?" He arches a brow.
"Yeah. Follow me."
I lead them across what's left of the compound to where the first of the large claw marks are.
"Whatever made these stands as tall as I do when I'm shifted." I splay my fingers and make a mock swipe at the tree. "It has hands with claws, not a paw. The marks are spread apart, not equidistant—which means the digits move independently."
I meet Diaval's eyes.
"It's not a shifter that did this."
I shake my head and move closer to what's left of the house.
Pieces of a ripped-apart door lay on what should have been the front lawn. Flipping the pieces over, the same claw marks appear. Diaval starts up the stairs, and I stop him.
"Let's wait for Feray. If we make a discovery without her, no matter how insignificant, she may get mad at us for not waiting."
I may be a berserker, but I'm not insane. Pissing off your mate and then having to sleep with one eye open isn't high on my list.
"The way the marks look..." Diaval pauses, his expression grim. "I hate to say it, but it's a demon of some sort that made these gouges."
He shifts his hands and uses his claws to mimic what the attacker had done. The distance is almost correct except for the middle finger.
"Do that again. Just stop when your claws touch."
Diaval does as I ask, and then we see it. The middle finger is longer—by a lot—than the other fingers.
"So it must be a humanoid demon, or one that has taken over a human body and distorted it."
Diaval shifts his hand back and looks around, studying things closer. A tuft of fur is stuck in the rail leading up to the porch.
"Look..."
My blood runs cold.
"Shit. Is that what I think it is?"
The sinking feeling of dread fills me. It's the same type of fur the wendigo had—the one that was chasing Feray's wolf.
"It is." Diaval stares at it, then back at Easton. "Is it the same one? Besides Feray, you got the best look at it."
Easton's chick wiggles out of my shirt and glides to the rail, hopping up to get closer to the fur. His small bird head flips left and right, tilting as he studies it.
Suddenly, he picks his head up and stares at Diaval.
"He says no. This fur is different and darker. The fur was from a bear. The one he torched was from a cougar." Diaval extends his arm, and Easton hops on, climbing up to his shoulder. "Speed versus strength. Which means the one that went on the rampage here still exists."
"Shit. She's out there—"
I turn to leave, and Diaval wraps a hand around my wrist, stopping me. A deep growl escapes my lips as I bare my teeth at him.
My bear wants its mate in his line of sight now, and Diaval is standing in the way.
"She's riding a thirty-foot-long basilisk with stone gaze and venom. She's as safe as she's going to get unless she was on my dragon's back." His irritated tone grates on my nerves. As if he expects me and my bear to not get overprotective of our mate.
I force myself to breathe.
"Let's agree on a few things here." Diaval releases my wrist. "Feray has probably been hunted since before birth."
Both ancients nod.
"If we're correct, whoever is doing it has a lot of money or power."
"Or both. And don't forget connections to someone willing to work in the dark arts and necromancy."
Easton squawks in response.
"No, it's not my ex. The attacks—especially this one—happened long before she knew I took Feray as a mate."
"To what end would someone hunt a Luna and Alpha to this point?" I shrug. I don't understand what there is to gain by their deaths.
"They weren't ordinary. If they are who we suspect, Feray is the last true Luna. The last that can unite all the packs as one." Diaval lowers his head. "The alpha's gift is lost because he didn't have anyone to pass it to before his death."
The weight of that settles over me. My mate isn't just special. She's the last of her kind.
"You think they're dead?"
I look at the state the house is in, then back at Diaval.
He reaches out, tugs me closer to the stairs, and angles me to see inside what's left of the house.
At the foot of the stairs, the white of a skull can be seen sticking out from under a burned board.
My stomach drops.
"The fire didn't burn anything structural, apparently." Diaval's voice is quiet. "What it looks like is that someone burned this place to hide the bodies. Or it was done to bury them. Running on the assumption that maybe Fi's parents knew Feray's..."
"That's how they ended up with a wolf being raised as a witch."
I bite my bottom lip, swallowing that revelation.
"It's possible. But we don't know. We don't want to deliver a false narrative to our mate.
It's only a theory—one with a sound basis—but conjecture nonetheless.
" Diaval walks away from the house. "They should be back soon.
We will do whatever Feray wants. Whatever she needs us to be, we will be it. "
He walks off with Easton on his shoulder.
For being a grumpy bastard, this is the most selfless thing I've seen the ancient do.
I stare back at the skull and wonder which of her parents it belongs to.
The bone is old, yellowed. It's been here for years. Decades, maybe. Waiting for someone to find it. Waiting for Feray to come home.
Shaking my head, I walk back toward where we set up camp. My stomach is in knots thinking about what this discovery is going to do to our mate.
I ponder what I can do to lessen the impact of finding at least one skeleton.
There's no right answer. I've run through every scenario in my head. They all end with my mate in tears—either a mess or on a rampage.
Neither will be pleasant to deal with. One will be more manageable than the other.
But when she breaks—and she will break—I'll be there to hold her together.
That's all I can do. That's all any of us can do.
Be the strength she needs when her own runs out.