Chapter 176

The celebration began at sunset, when the sky bled colors across the water and the air cooled to something bearable. The sea lions had transformed their central gathering area into a place of beauty, using what the ocean provided. Strings of shells hung from palm trees, clicking softly in the breeze. Patterns of colored sand decorated the ground, intricate designs that told stories of the tribe’s history, their victories, their bonds. Torches of driftwood and oil burned at intervals, casting warm light that danced across faces and made the water beyond shimmer like a mirror of stars.

There was no musical instruments. Rhythm came from the clapping of hands, the stamping of feet, the voices of the tribe raised in songs that had been passed down through generations. The sea lions sang, their voices deep and resonant, carrying across the water and echoing back from the rocks.

I sat with my mates, arranged on woven mats that had been placed for honored guests. I wore my best dress, a deep blue that Caelion had traded for, the color of the ocean at twilight. My mates surrounded me, a wall of protection and pride, their eyes scanning the crowd even as they smiled and nodded to acquaintances.

The ceremony began with the elders speaking, their voices carrying the weight of tradition. They spoke of the bonds between mates, the sacred nature of the connection, the responsibility of choosing wisely and loving fully. They spoke of the tribe’s need for strong unions, for children, for the future that would carry their people forward.

Then the selection began.

Females approached Eryx first. They came one by one, their movements graceful, their expressions hopeful. They carried offerings. A shell polished to iridescence. A fish caught with their own hands. A woven bracelet of kelp and pearl.

Eryx sat on his mat, his expression carefully neutral, his hands resting on his knees. To each female who approached, he offered the same response. A polite nod. A gentle refusal. "Thank you. I am honored. But I cannot accept."

They left disappointed but not angry. There was no shame in his refusal, only certainty. He knew what he wanted, or perhaps more accurately, he knew what he did not want.

Then the males approached me.

They were sea lions, strong and handsome, their bodies honed by swimming, their smiles confident. They brought gifts. A spear carved from bone. A net woven with skill. A promise of protection, of provision, of pleasure.

"Female," one said, kneeling before me. "I would bond with you. I would give you strong children, a secure home, a place of honor in our tribe."

I smiled, gentle but firm. "Thank you. I am honored. But I cannot accept. I am already mated to six. My bonds are spoken for."

The male looked at the men surrounding me, at the lions and tiger and wolf and snake and Mer who watched him with varying degrees of patience and warning. He nodded, understanding, and withdrew.

Another came. And another. Each received the same answer. Each left with dignity intact.

Rhonda, sitting nearby with her mates, received similar attention. She too declined, her refusals quicker, sharper, her hand finding Darius’s and holding tight. She had made her choice. She would not unmake it.

Then Mirena stood.

She moved to the center of the gathering, her tall form commanding attention, her dark skin gleaming in the torchlight. She raised her hands, and the crowd fell silent.

"I have taken a mate," she announced, her voice carrying across the water. "A second mate. My first, Finn, has given me four beautiful children. Three boys and one girl, rabbit beasts all, adorable and strong." She smiled, her eyes finding her first mate in the crowd, her expression soft with love. "But my heart is large enough for more. And so I welcome Ark to my home, to my bed, to my life."

The crowd murmured approval. A second mate was a blessing, a sign of prosperity, of strength, of a female’s ability to provide for multiple partners.

Mirena’s children came forward then, the four rabbit beasts she had spoken of. They were indeed adorable, small and soft with ears too large for their heads and noses that twitched constantly. Three boys and one girl, they looked about four or five. The girl, the youngest, had dark eyes and a shy smile. Her name was Mira.

Mira saw Levy.

She broke away from her mother’s side, her small feet carrying her across the sand until she stood before my daughter. She stared, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open.

"You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen," Mira whispered, her voice carrying in the sudden silence.

Levy looked up, surprised. "Me?"

"Yes. You. Can we be friends?"

"Yes," Levy said, delighted. "I’m having a tea party later. You can come. I have extra shells."

"I have shells too," Mira said, eager. "Good ones. For cups."

The girls smiled at each other; the beginning of a friendship formed in the space of a heartbeat.

But then my boys appeared. Atlas, Chase, Ryder, and Jasper, my four lion cubs, now eight years old and fiercely protective. They had been watching from a distance, and they didn’t like the way Mira’s brothers were looking at Levy. There was something in their eyes, a curiosity, an interest that my sons recognized and didn’t trust.

The four of them surrounded Levy and Mira in a protective circle, crossing their arms, puffing their chests, glaring at Mira’s brothers with expressions of fierce, ridiculous determination.

"Nobody looks at our sister," Atlas announced, the oldest and most authoritative.

"Nobody talks to her," Chase added.

"Nobody breathes near her," Ryder finished.

Jasper, the youngest of the four, just growled, showing teeth that were already sharp and promising.

I put my face in my hands.

It was happening already. Just like with their fathers, just like with every male in my life, my own sons were being overprotective, surrounding their sister with a wall of aggression that would drive away any potential friends, any potential mates, any potential happiness.

Mira’s brothers looked confused, then offended. The oldest rabbit boy crossed his arms. "We weren’t doing anything. We just wanted to see."

"See what?" Atlas demanded.

"Our sister’s friend," the rabbit boy said. "She’s new. We’re being friendly."

"Too friendly," Chase decided.

"Go away," Ryder said.

"Now," Jasper added, his growl deepening.

I looked at my mates; at the way they watched the scene with identical expressions of approval and recognition. They saw nothing wrong with this behavior. They thought it was natural, necessary, and good.

I shook my head in defeat. My daughters, Levy and my snake girls, would have a hard time finding mates if their fathers and brothers acted like this. The males in my life seemed determined to surround my children with walls of protection so thick that nothing, not even friendship, could penetrate.

I was dreading the day my snake girls shifted. I just knew it was going to be the same thing. Three serpent daughters, surrounded by four serpent brothers, six lion brothers, and three cheetah brothers. all of them protective, all of them fierce, all of them determined to keep their sisters safe from the world. It would be a nightmare. A beautiful, loving, suffocating nightmare.

After the ceremony, the tribe ate. Food was laid out on woven mats, fish and fruit and roots cooked in the earth. The children gathered in groups, eating with their hands, laughing and talking and playing.

Jisep sat apart, watching from a distance. He had a plate of food, but he wasn’t eating. He was watching Levy, his eyes following her as she moved, as she talked to Mira, as she laughed at something the rabbit girl said.

I nudged Leon.

"Go," I said, my voice low. "Apologize."

Leon looked at me, his expression stubborn. "I did nothing wrong."

"You terrified a child."

"I protected my daughter."

"She was playing tea party."

"He was looking at her."

"Leon," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of threat. "Go apologize. Or I will ignore you for a week. No talking. No touching. No sharing a bed. You will be a stranger in your own home."

Leon’s eyes widened. He looked at me, reading the determination in my face, knowing I meant every word.

He stood, his movements stiff, his expression pained. He walked across the sand to where Jisep sat, the boy watching him approach with wide, frightened eyes.

"I’m sorry," Leon said, the words coming out rough and awkward. "I shouldn’t have yelled. You can play with Levy. If you want. Just... be careful. She’s delicate."

"I’m not delicate," Levy called from nearby, overhearing. "I can wrestle."

"Not helping," Leon said through gritted teeth.

Jisep nodded, his voice small. "Thank you. Sir."

Leon nodded back, his jaw working, and returned to my side. He sat down heavily, his expression that of a man who had been tortured.

"Happy?" he asked.

"Progress," I said, watching as Levy immediately returned to her new friend, as Jisep slowly relaxed, as the children began to talk again. "At least there’s some progress."

The boy still looked uncomfortable, his shoulders hunched, his eyes darting to Leon every few seconds. But he was trying. He was staying. He was brave.

I sighed, leaning my head against Leon’s shoulder. He stiffened, then relaxed, his arm coming around me.

"He’s a good kid," Leon admitted grudgingly.

"He is," I agreed.

"I’ll try to be better," Leon said, the words barely audible.

"I know," I said. "That’s all I ask."

The celebration continued around us, the sea lions singing, the torches burning, the shells clicking in the breeze. Mirena sat with her two mates, her children playing at her feet. Rhonda laughed with her mates, Hendricks, fern, Thomas, and Darius, their bond evident in every touch. Eryx sat alone, lost in thoughts.

And I sat with my family, surrounded by love and chaos and the endless, complicated, beautiful mess of being alive.