Chapter 160

The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when the battle began.

We had made camp in a clearing surrounded by ancient trees, their branches forming a canopy that caught the last golden light of evening. The fire crackled merrily, the children were fed, the snakes were coiled in their basket, and everyone was settling in for the night. That was when Leon decided to claim his fatherly rights.

"Come, Levy," he said, his voice dripping with what he clearly thought was irresistible charm. He patted his fur cot with a hopeful smile that would have looked more at home on a begging puppy than a fierce lion shifter. "Sleep with Daddy tonight. I’ll tell you stories. I’ll brush your hair. I’ll even let you braid my tail if you want."

Levy looked up from where she was playing with a stick, her dark eyes blinking once, twice. Then she delivered her verdict with the brutal honesty only a seven month old cub could manage.

"No."

Leon flinched as if physically struck. "No?"

"No." Levy turned away, her nose in the air. "I want to sleep with Theo."

The entire camp went silent.

Ravin choked on his water. Caelion dropped the fish he was cleaning. Aureon’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly touched his hairline. Even the snakes seemed to pause in their slithering, turning their heads toward the drama with reptilian fascination.

"Theo?" Leon’s voice cracked. "You want to sleep with Theo?"

"Yes." Levy marched over to where Theo sat; poor, innocent Theo, who looked like a man who had just been told he was being hunted by a very small, very determined predator. She climbed into his lap, patted his cheek with her tiny hand, and declared, "Theo smells nice. Like bread mama makes. You smell like fish."

"I do not smell like fish!" Leon protested, his dignity in ruins. "I smell like... like a warrior! Like a protector! Like a father!"

"You smell like fish," Levy repeated, burying her face in Theo’s tunic. "Go away."

Leon turned to me, his dark eyes wide with betrayal and heartbreak. "Krys. Please. Tell our daughter this is not right."

I sighed, setting down the cup I was drinking from. "Levy, sweetie. You can’t sleep with Theo because he is a man. It’s not right in the eyes of the beast gods. Men can’t just lay with any women unless he is bonded to her. You could get Theo in trouble with the beast gods."

Levy peeked out from Theo’s clothes, her brow furrowed in confusion. "But Mama and Daddy are always sleeping together."

"That’s because Mommy and all your daddies are bonded together," I explained, trying not to laugh at Theo’s panicked expression. He looked like he wanted to vanish into the earth. "It is right for us to share a bed. You, my sweet, are not bonded to Theo. You’re just... very enthusiastic about his bread scent."

"Okay." Levy considered this with the gravity of a philosopher. "Then I want to sleep with Mama."

"That’s fine, sweetie."

"But I want to sleep with Levy!" Leon whined, his voice rising to a higher pitch. He actually stomped his foot. A grown man, a fierce lion beast who had killed Stonehorns in battle, was stomping his foot because his daughter preferred another man’s bread-scented tunic. "She’s my daughter! My baby! I helped created her! I was there when she was born! I taught her how to roar!"

"You taught her to meow," Ravin muttered, not quite quietly enough.

"I taught her to ROAR!" Leon shouted, his mane practically bristling with indignation. "And now she prefers THEO? Who doesn’t even HAVE a mane? Who smells like BREAD?"

"I love the bread," Theo said weakly, looking more terrified by the second. "I just... I really like the bread Krys makes...I’m sorry?"

"You’re not sorry enough!" Leon pointed an accusing finger. "You STOLE my daughter with your SMELL!"

"I didn’t mean to!" Theo protested.

"She just doesn’t like your smell." Caelion interjected. "Get over it."

"Traitor!" Leon hissed.

Levy, meanwhile, had climbed down from Theo and was now standing in front of her father, her hands on her hips, her expression stern. "Daddy. Stop yelling. You’re scaring the snakes."

Seven emerald heads popped up from the basket, tongues flicking, watching the drama with unblinking eyes.

Leon immediately dropped to his knees, his anger vanishing in the face of his daughter’s disapproval. "I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. I just... I just wanted to sleep with you. To protect you. To keep you safe."

"I have Mama for that," Levy said, climbing into my lap. "And daddy Soryn too. And daddy Ravin for rides. And daddy Caelion for swimming stories. And daddy Aureon for roaring lessons. And daddy Veylan for... for..." She frowned, trying to remember what Veylan did.

"I growl menacingly," Veylan supplied helpfully.

"Yes! That!" Levy beamed. "Everyone has a job. Your job is..." She thought hard. "Your job is to not smell like fish."

"I don’t smell like fish!" Leon wailed.

"When she’s asleep," I whispered to him, trying not to laugh at his devastated face, "you can sleep with her. Calm down, you big baby."

"I am not a big baby," Leon muttered, but he was already moving his bedroll closer to mine, his eyes fixed on Levy with the intensity of a predator watching its prey. "I’m a concerned father. A devoted father. A father who is being emotionally manipulated by baked goods."

"Go to sleep, Leon," Aureon said, his voice thick with barely suppressed laughter. "Tomorrow you can shower to wash the fish smell out."

"You’re an idiot," Leon growled at Aureon.

The children went to bed, finally, the excitement of the day catching up with them. My snake babies coiled together in their basket, their bodies forming a living nest of emerald, soft breathing and occasional tongue-flicks the only signs they were awake. Atlas and Ryder, feeling very grown-up and important, positioned themselves on either side of Ravin, their young chests puffed out, their eyes trying to stay alert.

"We’re helping guard," Atlas whispered to his brother.

"Big brothers protect the family," Ryder agreed, his voice already heavy with sleep.

"That’s right," Ravin said softly, his hand resting on both their heads. "You watch the left, I’ll watch the right. Together we’re unstoppable."

"Unstoppable," they mumbled in unison, and within minutes they were both snoring softly.

Levy was a warm weight against my chest, her breathing even and peaceful, her small hand clutching my tunic. Leon, true to his word, had crept closer once she was asleep, and now he lay with his head near her feet, one hand resting protectively on her ankle, his eyes closed but his body still radiating the tension of a man who was prepared to fight anyone who disturbed his daughter’s rest.

Around us, the jungle sang its night song. Crickets and frogs and what other animal there is. The fire crackled low, embers glowing. My mates settled into their bedrolls, their bodies forming a protective circle around the children and me.

It was chaotic. It was ridiculous. It was the most ridiculous bedtime battle I had ever witnessed, and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

But as I looked around at my sleeping family, at Leon’s possessive hand on Levy’s ankle, at Theo’s terrified-but-flattered expression, at the snakes coiled together like a pile of precious jewels, at the lion cubs snoring softly against Ravin’s flank...

It was perfect.

A peaceful night, wrapped in chaos, surrounded by love.

I closed my eyes and smiled.

---

It was the third day of traveling when we finally broke free of the jungle’s dense embrace.

The trees thinned, the undergrowth gave way to tall grasses and wildflowers, and the air grew lighter, fresher, carrying the scent of open sky instead of damp earth. We crested a small hill, and there it was; a stream, wide and clear, tumbling over smooth stones with a sound like laughter.

"Bath time!" Levy shrieked, already stripping off her tunic with the enthusiasm of a child who had spent three days covered in travel dust, tree sap, and what I suspected was crushed berry juice.

The announcement was met with mixed reactions.

Atlas and Chase exchanged looks of resignation, but they didn’t run. That was the difference, I realized with a start. They didn’t run. I remembered when they were small; when the mere mention of a bath had sent them scattering like startled rabbits. Chase had once climbed a tree and refused to come down for two hours rather than submit to soap and water. Atlas had hidden in a grain pot, covering himself in wheat kernels, convinced he was invisible.

Now they simply sighed, shifted to their human forms, and began unlacing their boots. Growing up, I supposed, changed many things.

"Come on, you lot," Ravin called, wading into the stream. The water came to his knees, clear and cool, the stones beneath his feet smoothed by years of current. "Last one in has to dry the snakes."

That got them moving. The boys; Atlas, Chase, Ryder, and Jasper raced to the water’s edge, shedding clothes with abandon, splashing into the stream with whoops and hollers that scattered birds from the nearby trees.

I followed more slowly, helping Levy out of her remaining clothes, holding her hand as we stepped into the water. She squealed at the cold, then laughed, splashing water at me with both hands.

"Mama! It’s freezing!"

"It’s good for you," I said, though I was shivering myself. "Builds character."

"What’s character?"

"It’s what makes you strong enough to dump water on your brothers."

"Oh!" She liked that idea very much, and immediately began wading toward the boys, cupping water in her small hands, plotting mischief.

I leaned back, letting the current flow around me, washing away the sweat and grime of three days’ travel. The sun was warm on my face, the water cool on my skin, and for a moment, I could almost forget the weight of grief, the burden of power, the constant vigilance. I was just a mother, in a stream, with her children.

On the bank, Soryn had gathered the snakes.

I watched him, fascinated. He had laid out a soft cloth on a flat stone, and one by one, he lifted the coilings from their basket; Syren, Vaelis, Rhyzar, Kaelor, Seraya, Nyssara, Elira, and placed them in a shallow pool he had created by damming a small section of the stream with rocks.

They were perfect. Quiet. Obedient. They didn’t fuss or fight or try to escape. They simply coiled in the water, their scales gleaming as Soryn gently poured water over them, his fingers working between their coils, cleaning away dust and debris.

It was so different from the cubs. So blessedly different.

I remembered the first time I had tried to bathe Atlas and Chase together. It had taken three adults, two hours, and by the end, everyone was soaked, the bathroom was flooded, and the boys had still managed to stay partially dirty by rolling in the drying furs immediately after.

The snakes simply enjoyed it. Seraya actually seemed to be smiling, her tongue flicking in contentment as Soryn rubbed a soft cloth along her back. Elira wound herself around his wrist, not to escape, but to be closer, to feel his touch.

"They’re so good," I called to him.

Soryn looked up, his emerald eyes soft. "They like the water. It’s in their nature. The cubs fought their nature. We embrace ours."

Caelion waded over to help, his own bath evidently finished. He lifted each snake from Soryn’s gentle hands, drying them with a soft cloth, his fingers checking each scale, each coil, ensuring they were clean and content.

"Syren is getting so big," Caelion observed, holding the eldest coiling up to the light. "He’ll be as long as your arm soon."

"They all are," Soryn agreed, pride and wonder mixing in his voice. "Every day, they’re longer. Stronger. Soon they’ll be too big for the basket."

"Then we’ll get a bigger basket," I said.

"Then we’ll need a wagon just for the snakes," Ravin called from where he was helping the boys wash their hair.

"Then we’ll need a second wagon for the wagon," Leon added, splashing water at him.

"Then we’ll need a—"

"Stop," I laughed, interrupting their nonsense. "We’ll manage. We always do."

After the bath, the world seemed softer, cleaner, and more manageable. The children were drowsy, the sun was setting, and the air carried a chill that made the warm furs feel like a blessing. We made camp on the banks of the stream, the water singing us a lullaby.

The snakes, clean and content, coiled together in their basket, their scales gleaming like polished jewels in the firelight. The cubs, exhausted from their splashing, fell asleep almost before their heads hit the furs. Levy curled against my side, her hair still damp, smelling of clean water and childhood.

"How many more days?" she mumbled, already half asleep.

"Three," I whispered, stroking her hair. "Maybe four. Then we’ll be home."

"Home," she repeated, the word soft and sweet on her lips.

I looked around at my mates, at my children, at the life we had built from chaos and love. Home. Yes. We were going home.

And for the first time since we had left, the word didn’t feel like a memory. It felt like a promise.