Chapter 171

Morning arrived with all the subtlety of a falling tree. One moment the world was dark and quiet, the next the sun was screaming through the thin fabric of my eyelids, demanding attention I was not prepared to give.

I sat up, groaning, my body protesting every movement. It felt like I had spent the night wrestling a boulder. And losing.

Around me, the camp stirred. Ravin was already up, building up the fire. Aureon lay on his back, snoring. The children were burrowed into their blankets like grubs, only their hair visible, sticking up in every direction.

"Baths," I announced, my voice hoarse with sleep. "Everyone needs a bath."

The blankets rustled. Several small heads emerged, blinking at me with expressions ranging from confusion to betrayal.

"What?" Atlas asked, his voice thick.

"Baths," I repeated, louder. "Now. Before we eat. Before we pack. Before anyone argues."

"But Mama," Chase whined, burrowing deeper into his blanket. "It’s too early."

"Too early for what?"

"Everything. Existing. Breathing. Bathing."

I walked over to his blanket and pulled it off him in one smooth motion. He yelped, curling into a ball, his hair standing straight up like a dandelion.

"Cold," he complained. "So cold. Why is morning cold? Who authorized this?"

"Get up," I said. "All of you. We won’t reach another stream for two days. This is your last chance to be clean for a while."

"But I bathed last night," Niku protested, still not moving.

"You rolled in dirt after dinner," I said. "I watched you. You were making dirt angels."

"They were good dirt angels," he mumbled.

"Up," I said, clapping my hands. "Now. Or I will bathe you myself, and I will use the cold water."

That got them moving. The threat of cold water was apparently more terrifying than the actual cold air. They scrambled up, grumbling and complaining, their feet dragging as they trudged toward the stream we had camped beside.

The bathing was chaos. The cheetah cubs tried to escape three times. Sikai attempted to hide behind a tree, claiming he was "camouflaged" despite being clearly visible and giggling. Tavren declared that he "wasn’t dirty, just earth-toned."

"Teeth too," I said, handing out small brittle branches. "Everyone brushes."

"Again?" Zarek asked, staring at the twig with resignation.

"Again," I said. "Chew the end until it frays, then rub it on your teeth. You know how."

"I know how," he sighed. "I just don’t want to."

"Do it anyway."

The children stood in a line, chewing the ends of their branches into frayed brushes with the practiced efficiency of creatures who had done this a hundred times before. They scrubbed at their teeth with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Niku managed to poke himself in the cheek anyway. Sikai chewed his branch into a pulp before using it, as was his habit. Tavren declared that his teeth were "clean enough" after three seconds of half-hearted scrubbing.

"Longer," I said.

"My teeth are going to fall out from all this brushing," Chase complained, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth.

"That’s the paste," I said.

"It’s too much paste."

"Then use less spit."

"Impossible," he said, drooling slightly. "My mouth makes spit. I can’t stop it."

"Keep brushing," I said, trying not to laugh.

They stood in a line at the stream’s edge, shivering and complaining, rubbing herbs on their teeth and splashing water on their faces. They looked like a group of very unhappy statues, frozen in various poses of misery.

"My teeth are cold," Chase announced, foam dripping from his mouth.

"Your teeth don’t have nerves," I said.

"Then why do they feel cold?"

"Because your mouth is cold. Rinse."

They rinsed. They splashed. They complained that the water was "too wet" and the air was "too airy" and the morning was "too morning."

Finally, finally, they were clean. Or clean enough. Their hair was wet, their teeth were brushed, and their complaints had reached a level of creativity that was almost impressive.

"Can we eat now?" Atlas asked, his teeth chattering.

"Yes," I said. "We can eat."

Breakfast was quick. Cold meat from the night before, some dried fruit, water from the stream. The children ate with the single-minded focus of creatures who had forgotten food existed and were now rediscovering it with desperate enthusiasm.

Then we packed. Then we walked.

The second day of travel was easier than the first, or perhaps we were simply getting used to the rhythm of it. Walk. Rest. Walk. Rest. The children ran ahead, then back, then ahead again, their energy seemingly endless.

I walked beside Caelion, my hand in his, watching the landscape change around us. The grass grew shorter, the air grew saltier, and somewhere ahead, I could smell the ocean.

"How much farther?" I asked.

"two days," he said. "Maybe three. Depending on the children."

"Depending on how many times we have to stop for baths," I corrected.

"That too," he agreed.

It was mid-morning when we saw them. A small group, huddled together, moving quickly across the plain. They were small, compact, their ears long and alert. Rabbits. Rabbit shifters, traveling with packs on their backs, their eyes wide with fear.

They saw us and froze. Then they ran. Or tried to. Their packs were heavy, their legs short, and they were clearly exhausted. They stumbled, caught themselves, kept moving.

"Wait," I called out. "We’re not going to hurt you."

They stopped, turning to look at us with expressions of pure terror. There were four of them. Two adults, two children. Their fur was brown and gray, their eyes dark and wet.

"Please," one of them said, her voice shaking. "We don’t have anything. We gave everything to the others. Please, just let us pass."

"We don’t want your things," I said, holding up my hands. "We’re just traveling. Like you."

They stared at me, their noses twitching, their ears rotating, listening for something I could not hear.

"You’re not with them?" the male asked, his voice suspicious.

"With whom?" I asked.

"The cheetahs," he said, and his voice dropped to a whisper, as if saying the name too loud might summon them.

I froze. The word hit me like a physical blow. Cheetahs.

Please, I thought desperately, please don’t let them be related to Rowen’s pack. Don’t let them be from the same family, the same tribe, the same bloodline as the cheetahs who had hunted us. Rowen had been Rina’s mate, and the tribe that had cause the lion’s tribe lots of grief. To the point we had to end their lives or wait for them to end ours.

Those cheetahs my mates had killed had been someone’s family. Someone’s parents. Someone’s children. And if these cheetahs were their kin, if they recognized the scent of vengeance on us, we would have more than hungry thieves to worry about.

Now, standing here with my own cheetah cubs, with Tavren and Zarek and Kaizen, I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. What if they saw my cubs? What if they smelled the leopard on them, mixed with something else, something that might remind them of their dead?

What if these rabbit shifters saw them? What if they thought we were with the cheetahs who had been terrorizing them? What if other cheetahs came, and saw my cubs, and thought we were their enemies?

"We’re not with any cheetahs," I said carefully, my heart hammering against my ribs. "We’re just a family. Traveling to the coast."

The female rabbit stepped closer, her nose twitching. She looked at me, at my face, at my hands, at the children behind me. She saw the lions, the tigers, the wolves. She saw the cubs, mixed and varied, playing together without fear.

"You’re kind," she said, and it was not a question. "I can smell it. Kindness. It has a scent. Sweet. Like clover."

"I try to be," I said, relieved.

"We thought you were them," the male said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "They’ve been following us for days. Stealing our food. Our supplies. They wait until we’re asleep, then take everything."

"Can’t you hunt?" Leon asked, his voice blunt. "Rabbits are fast. Faster than cheetahs, if you’re smart."

"We can hunt," the male said, his ears drooping. "But they don’t let us. They take our weapons. Our tools. They want us dependent. Weak. Easy to control."

"That’s evil," I said, my voice hard.

"That’s cheetahs," the female said, and there was such weariness in her voice, such resignation, that my heart broke for her.

"Are all cheetahs like this?" I asked, thinking of my cubs, of their bright eyes and their laughter. "Can’t they hunt their own food? Why do they steal from others?"

The male rabbit shrugged, a gesture of helplessness. "Some cheetahs hunt. These ones don’t. They’re lazy. Cruel. They take because it’s easier than working. Because they enjoy the fear."

"How many?" Ravin asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Five," the male said. "Maybe six. We saw tracks this morning. They’re close."

As if his words had summoned them, I heard it. A sound on the wind. The faint, distinctive call of a cheetah. Not the roar of a lion, deep and powerful. Not the growl of a tiger, low and rumbling. The chirp. The bird-like chirp of a cheetah, calling to its pack.

The rabbit shifters froze, their eyes going wide with terror.

"They’re here," the female whispered. "They found us."

"Get behind us," I said, moving without thinking, placing myself between the rabbits and the sound.

"But your cubs," the male said, his voice confused. "You have cheetah cubs. Won’t they think you’re with them? Won’t they be suspicious?"

I looked at Tavren, at Zarek, and at Kaizen. They stood beside me, their small bodies tense, their eyes alert. They had heard the call too. They knew what it meant.

"Let them be suspicious," I said, my voice steady. "These are my children. No one touches them. No one touches any of us."

The chirping came again, closer now. From the tall grass to our left. Then from the right. They were surrounding us. Hunting us.

Ravin moved to my left, Leon to my right. Aureon stepped forward, his tiger form rippling just beneath his skin. Soryn’s snakes hissed from their basket, sensing danger.

The grass parted, and they emerged. Five cheetahs, lean and spotted, their eyes cold and calculating. They moved with a slowness that was somehow more terrifying than speed, confident in their advantage.

They saw us. They saw the rabbits cowering behind us. They saw my cubs.

The largest one, a male with scars across his nose, stopped. His eyes narrowed, flicking from me to Tavren, to Zarek, to Kaizen. Confusion flickered across his face.

"Well," he said, his voice a purr that raised the hair on my arms. "What do we have here? Lions protecting rabbits. Tigers protecting... what? Lost cubs?"

"These are my children," I said, my voice steady despite the fear hammering in my chest. "And these rabbits are under my protection. Leave them alone."

The cheetah laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "Your protection? Little female, you don’t understand how this works. But first, I’m confuse..." He stepped closer, his eyes scanning my mates. "None of your males are cheetahs. So how do you have cheetah cubs?"

My blood ran cold. I hadn’t expected that question. "Their father died," I said quickly, the lie coming easily. "Before they were born."

The cheetah’s eyes shifted from the cubs to me, his gaze traveling over my body with an appraisal that made my skin crawl. He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the musk of him, the hunger that was not just for food.

"I want you, female," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for me. "You don’t have to mate with me. We can pleasure each other physically. No commitment. No bond. Just... pleasure."

I stared at him, understanding dawning cold and sharp. He was like Ken. Rina’s cousin. A man who didn’t believe in the beast gods’ way, who rejected the sacred bond between mates, who took what he wanted without the burden of connection or consequence.

"No," I said, my voice hard.

He smiled, showing teeth. "I wasn’t asking."

A roar shattered the air, so loud it shook the ground beneath my feet. Ravin moved in a blur of gold and fury, placing himself between me and the cheetah, his mane bristling, his teeth bared.

"Back off, cheetah," Ravin growled, the sound rumbling from his chest like thunder. "Touch her and you die."

The cheetah’s eyes widened, just slightly. He had not expected defiance. He had expected fear, submission, the easy prey he was used to.

He looked at my mates, at the line of warriors standing behind me. Lions. Tigers. Wolves. A snake. A fish? He looked at the determination in our eyes, at the readiness in our stance.

"Another time," he said, his voice silky with threat. "We’ll meet again, little mother. And you... I’ll remember you."

He backed away, slowly, his pack following. They melted into the grass, disappearing as quickly as they had come, leaving only the echo of their chirping calls behind them.

I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding. My hands were shaking. I pressed them against my stomach, feeling the flutter of my unborn child, grounding myself.

"They’ll be back," the male rabbit said, his voice hollow.

"Maybe," I said. "But not today. Today, we walk. Today, we live."

"Why did you help us?" the female asked, her eyes wet with tears. "You don’t know us. You have your own children to protect. Why risk it?"

I looked at her, at her small family, at the fear and gratitude warring in her expression. I thought of my own family, of the love that bound us together. How could I just watch someone get hurt in front of me?

"Because someone has to," I said simply. "And today, that someone is us."

We walked together after that, the rabbit shifters and our family, moving as one group toward the coast. The cheetahs did not return, though I felt that this wouldn’t be the last time we saw them.

But we were not weak. We were a family. And we were getting closer to the sea.