Chapter 118

The next day, we headed out again with the dawn painting the sky in strokes of pink and gold. The three week old cubs and my two month old cubs took turns feeding from my breast in the early morning light, their small mouths working with greedy enthusiasm. My four older cubs drank my milk from clay bowls, lapping away happily. They were able to eat meat now, being a year old, tearing into strips of dried crowhen with growing teeth. And in six months or so, they would be two years old. They would be in their teen years, gangly and awkward and testing boundaries, and by their third year they would be adults, fully grown and ready to claim their place in the world. I could not believe my babies were growing so fast, could not believe how quickly time slipped through my fingers like sand.

We traveled for hours through the winding mountain road, the path narrowing as cliffs rose on one side and steep drops yawned on the other. The air grew thinner, cooler, carrying the scent of pine and stone. I was riding on Caelion’s back, my arms wrapped around his neck, when we rounded a bend and saw them.

A large group had stopped along the road, wooden wagons filled with supplies that glinted in the sunlight. I could see barrels of salt, bundles of dried meat, sacks of medicinal herbs, crates of metal ore, rolls of leather, bags of grain, weapons wrapped in cloth, and rare materials that sparkled like captured stars, fabrics and gems that looked valuable enough to start a war over.

But the large group had been surrounded.

Stonehorn warriors circled the wagons like vultures, their massive bodies covered in rough gray hide that looked like living rock, their horns jutting from their foreheads in cruel curves. They were built like mountains given form, each one towering over the frightened group of wolf beast men who huddled together on the defense.

Their leader, I assumed, was enormous even for a Stonehorn. He stood head and shoulders above his own men, his chest broad as a wall, his eyes small and cruel in a face that looked carved from granite. He did not consider what he was doing robbery. He considered it taxation.

He told the leader, a thin wolf beastmen with graying fur, "You cross Stonehorn land carrying enough wealth to feed a tribe through winter. Half belongs to us."

The leader refused, his voice shaking but firm. "These supplies are not ours to give away. They belong to the alliance between Wolf and Tiger. Please, let us pass."

That was when the leader started taking them anyway.

He backhanded the leader, sending him sprawling into the dirt. His warriors moved toward the wagons, ripping open crates, laughing as they scattered contents across the road.

I turned to say something to Veylan, to ask what we should do, when I noticed he had gone completely still beside me.

His body was rigid as stone, his silver eyes fixed on one of the defenders, a wolf beastmen who stood protectively before a wagon of medicinal supplies. The man had dark fur threaded with silver, sharp cheekbones, and a familiar cast to his features that I could not quite place.

Then I saw the family resemblance, unmistakable now that I looked, the same bone structure, the same shape of the eyes, though Veylan’s were silver and the man’s were gray.

Veylan recognized him. That was clear from the way his claws dug into his palms, from the way his breath came shallow and fast, from the way his face went pale.

Ravin noticed first. He always noticed everything.

"You know him," Ravin said. It was not a question.

Veylan said nothing. His jaw worked, muscles twitching beneath the skin, but no words came.

I looked at him and realized this was not simple hesitation.

But they look so similar it was uncanny. So I asked, "Is that your brother?"

Veylan answered quietly, "By blood."

Not yes.

Just by blood.

Then his brother saw him. His brother could be injured, surrounded by Stonehorn warriors, but still visibly shocked when he saw Veylan standing on the cliff road. His mouth opened, eyes widening with recognition and something else, something that looked almost like hope.

"Veylan?"

Veylan froze.

His brother almost looked relieved, his shoulders dropping, his stance shifting like the cavalry had arrived.

The stonehorn leader chose that moment to humiliate Veylan’s brother.

The Stonehorn leader did not immediately kill him. He was enjoying himself too much for that.

He made him kneel.

Veylan’s brother refused, his chin lifting with defiant pride, so a Stonehorn broke his weapon with a single blow and slammed him into the ground, grinding his face into the dirt.

The stonehorn leader laughed, the sound like boulders grinding together. "Tiger allies? This is what the wolves send to negotiate? Soft. Weak. Pathetic."

Veylan’s brother spat blood at his feet.

The stonehorn leader kicked him hard enough to send him rolling across the road, his body crashing against the wagon wheels.

Veylan still did not move.

But his claws came out, sliding from his fingertips with a soft snick that I heard even from where I stood.

One of the Stonehorns attacked an innocent worker, a young wolf barely old enough to travel who tried to protect an injured elder. The Stonehorn raised his massive club, the weapon descending with lethal force.

This was what finally changed things.

Veylan moved before he even realized he had decided.

One second he was standing beside me, rigid with old pain, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

The next he had crossed the road in a blur of black fur and fury, knocking the weapon aside with a clash of steel on stone that rang through the mountains like a bell.

His brother stared up at him from the ground, blood trickling from his lip, his eyes wide with shock.

"You came."

Veylan had his back turned when he spoke. "Do not misunderstand," he said, his voice cold as winter. "I am not here for you."

The other mates followed without being asked, without hesitation, without command.

Ravin walked past him, his sword already drawn, his mane catching the sunlight like fire.

Leon took the opposite flank, his sword spinning in his hands, his grin feral and ready.

Aureon cracked his neck, his stripes seeming to darken with the promise of violence.

Soryn’s tail slid across the dirt, his coils bunching as he prepared to strike.

Caelion drew water from a nearby stream, the liquid rising to circle his wrists like living weapons.

Veylan looked at them, his eyes darting from face to face, searching for judgment and finding none.

Ravin simply said, "You ran toward them."

"So we ran after you."

I saw the way Veylan looked at them, his eyes darting from face to face, searching for judgment and finding none. His shoulders shook slightly, and I realized something profound was happening inside him, something that went deeper than the battle. I remembered the things he had told me, the whispers in the dark about a childhood where love had to be bought with pain, where approval was given only when he bled enough, where family meant nothing if you were not useful.

That hit Veylan harder than any blow could have. I could see it in the way his breath caught, the way his claws retracted and curled into fists. His childhood had taught him that family was conditional, that love was earned through obedience and suffering, that he was only worth what he could provide. I watched understanding dawn in his eyes, the slow realization that these men, these mates of mine and his, were different.

His mates were showing him that their loyalty to him was not conditional. It simply was. They did not need him to earn their support with pain or perfection. They were here because they chose to be, because he was theirs and they were his, and nothing he had done or failed to do in some past life could change that. I saw the wonder and the fear mixed in his expression, the hope that dared not believe, and my heart broke for him even as it swelled with love for the family we were building.

Aureon stepped forward, and I saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his stripes seemed to darken along his spine. He hated Stonehorns with a passion that ran bone deep, and with good reason. Their beastmen had a hand in killing his brothers and his other fathers, his mother’s other mates, when Cyrus had betrayed them all those years ago. The memory of that loss still burned in him.

The leader of the stonehorn tried to claim the resources belonged to Stonehorn territory, his voice booming with false authority. This kept the battle from being morally too simple, painted his aggression with the thin veneer of law.

"This road has been neutral ground since my grandfather’s reign," Aureon said, his voice carrying the weight of his title, the certainty of a prince who knew his own history. But I heard the edge beneath it, the barely controlled fury of a son who had lost too many because of Stonehorn treachery. "You have no right to tax anyone here."

The stonehorn leader replied with a sneer, "Then your grandfather should have guarded it better."

Now Aureon had a political reason to fight too, his family’s honor challenged, his territory disputed. But more than that, he had a personal debt to collect, a score to settle with a tribe that had taken half his family from him.

The Stonehorns were not merely robbing travelers. They were deliberately interfering with Tiger alliances, weakening Aureon’s people before he even returned home. And Aureon would not let them succeed, not again, not while he still breathed.

The battle erupted like a storm breaking around us, and I could only watch as chaos consumed the road.

Veylan’s brother tried to protect him, struggling to his feet and grabbing a broken spear from the ground. I saw him position himself near Veylan, trying to guard his back, and something twisted in my chest at the sight. During the chaos, the stonehorn leader noticed that Veylan was stronger than expected, faster, deadlier. The Stonehorn leader attacked him from behind while Veylan was engaged with another warrior, his massive horned head lowered to impale.

His brother saw it.

He threw himself between them.

The stonehorn leader’s horn tore through his shoulder, the sound of flesh parting sickening and wet, blood spraying across Veylan’s face. I gagged, my hand flying to my mouth, horror freezing me in place, still I did my best to keep the cubs quiet. I can’t let the enemies know we’re up here. Soryn was close by, he kept watch over us while still killing the stonehorn with his tail.

Veylan caught him before he fell, his arms wrapping around his brother’s collapsing weight. I saw his face then, the mask cracking, the cold indifference shattering into something raw and terrible.

"Idiot," he snarled, but I heard the break in his voice, the way it wavered on the edge of something like fear.

His brother gave a weak laugh, blood bubbling at his lips. "You’re finally acknowledging me."

Then Veylan changed. I saw it happen, watched the strategic fighter I knew vanish behind a wall of rage. He went directly for the stonehorn leader, abandoning any pretense of defense, moving like a creature possessed. He attacked with everything, all restraint gone, and I knew he was going to get himself killed.

The leader caught him with one of his horns, the curved bone ripping through Veylan’s side, and sent him crashing into a cliff wall with enough force to make me scream. I heard the impact from where I stood, saw his body hit and slide down, leaving a smear of blood on the stone.

Veylan got back up. I could not believe it. He rose, swaying, his breath rattling loud enough to carry across the battlefield.

The leader hit him again, a massive fist like a boulder slamming into his chest. I heard the crack from where I stood, the audible snap of breaking bone, and I screamed his name, my voice raw with terror. I wanted to go to him but I had our babies here, I needed to keep and eye on them.

"You cannot help him if you are dead," Caelion said, his voice grim. Like he knew what I was thinking. "Trust them. Trust your mates."

His brother tried to rise but collapsed, his own wound too grievous, his hand reaching toward Veylan with desperate helplessness. I saw that reach, saw the longing in it, and I understood something profound about their bond even as I feared for both their lives.

But Veylan was not alone.

I watched my heart hammering against my ribs, as my mates moved as one. Ravin and Leon kept the leader occupied from opposite sides, their attacks forcing him to turn, to divide his attention, to leave openings. They worked together with a precision that spoke of countless battles, of trust forged in blood.

Soryn coiled around one leg and destroyed his balance, his scales grinding against stone as he pulled, making the giant stumble and roar with fury.

Caelion used water from the stream, the liquid rising to wet the ground beneath the leader’s feet, making his footing unstable, turning his greatest strength into weakness.

Aureon attacked vulnerable areas the Stonehorn could not easily guard, the backs of his knees, his eyes, his throat, harrying him like a true tiger, his own rage barely contained.

Veylan waited, bleeding, broken, but patient. I saw him watching, calculating even through the pain, and I realized he was waiting for the perfect moment.

When the leader stumbled, caught between Ravin’s blade and Leon’s sword, Veylan moved. He climbed the Stonehorn’s massive body, digging his claws into the thick hide, and drove his blade into the soft spot beneath the jaw, up into the brain.

The leader fell like a mountain collapsing, shaking the earth beneath my feet, his body hitting the ground with a thunderous boom that echoed through the mountains. The battle took a turn in our favor.