Chapter 180

The trouble started with a girl named Coral.

She was sea lion, tall and confident, with hair the color of sunset and eyes that knew exactly what she wanted. And what she wanted, apparently, was Theo.

I noticed her first at the gathering circle, where the tribe met to share news and food. She found Theo near the water barrels, offered him a shell she had polished herself, and smiled in a way that made her intentions unmistakable.

Theo, bless his awkward heart, dropped the shell.

"I’m sorry," he stammered, bending to retrieve it, bumping his head on the barrel as he straightened. "I didn’t mean to... I mean, I wasn’t trying to..."

Coral laughed, a sound like bells, and touched his arm. "You’re sweet," she said. "I like sweet."

Levy saw this. Levy, my sweet girl, who had been building a sandcastle nearby with Mira, saw the touch, saw the smile, saw the way Coral leaned toward Theo with obvious interest.

The sandcastle was abandoned. Levy marched across the sand with the determination of a general going to war, her small feet leaving determined prints, her face set in lines of absolute fury.

"No," she announced, inserting herself between Theo and Coral with the precision of a blade. "He can’t. He’s not allowed."

Coral blinked down at her, amused. "Can’t what, little one?"

"Can’t bond with you. Or anyone. He’s my friend. My Theo. He stays with me."

Theo’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. "Levy, I... that’s not..."

"Yes," Levy insisted, grabbing his hand and holding it with both of hers. "Yes. You promised. Friends forever. You said."

"I did say that" Theo admitted, his voice strangled. "But I didn’t mean... I wasn’t promising..."

"Too late," Levy declared. "You promised. No take backs."

Coral looked from the child to the young man, her smile fading into confusion. "Is this your sister?"

"No," Levy said, before Theo could answer. "I’m his friend. His best friend. And he’s not bonding with anyone. Ever."

She dragged Theo away, leaving Coral standing by the water barrels with a shell in her hand and bewilderment on her face.

But Coral was only the first.

By the end of the week, three more girls had approached Theo. A wolf shifter named Freya who brought him fish. A rabbit named Thistle who offered to mend his clothes. Another sea lion, Pearl, who simply walked up and told him he had nice shoulders.

Each time, Levy appeared. Each time, she declared Theo unavailable, promised, taken, not interested, go away. Each time, she dragged him away with increasing ferocity, her grip on his hand tightening, her declarations becoming more dramatic.

"He’s mine," she told Pearl, her voice carrying across the gathering circle. "My friend. Find your own."

"Levy," Theo whispered, mortified. "Please. You’re embarrassing me."

"Good," Levy said. "You should be embarrassed. For making me chase away all these girls."

"I didn’t make you do anything!"

"You smiled at Coral. I saw you."

"I was being polite!"

"Too polite," Levy decided. "No more politeness. Only grumpy. Grumpy doesn’t get bonded."

Leon found this hilarious. At first.

He watched Levy’s antics with amusement, chuckling as she drove away yet another potential mate for Theo. He nudged Ravin, pointed out the scene to Aureon, declared that his daughter had "excellent taste in friends" and "terrible manners in sharing."

But then he made the mistake of saying it aloud. To Levy. In front of Theo.

They were at dinner, the family gathered around the cooking fire, when Leon, perhaps feeling the effects of too much sun or too little caution, spoke his mind.

"Theo’s a good boy," he said, tearing into a fish with his teeth. "He should consider bonding. When he’s of age. Good genes. Strong. Reliable. Any female would be lucky."

The silence that followed was profound.

Levy set down her shell spoon. She turned to look at her father with eyes that says "You’re a traitor.

"What?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft.

"I said Theo should bond," Leon repeated, oblivious. "When he’s eighteen. In man form. Then he can choose a proper mate and..." he glanced at Theo, who was trying to become invisible, "...get the hell away from my daughter."

The words hung in the air like a bad smell.

Levy’s lower lip trembled. Her eyes filled with tears. Not the dramatic tears of a child seeking attention, but the genuine, heartbroken tears of a child who had been wounded where she was most vulnerable.

"You want him to leave me," she whispered.

"No, cub, I..." Leon realized his error too late. "I just meant... when he’s older... he should have his own life..."

"His own life without me?"

"Levy..."

"You want him to bond with someone else. To leave. To forget me." The tears spilled over, tracking down her cheeks. "You hate me. You want me to be alone."

"Levy, that’s not..."

"I hate you," she said, her voice breaking. "I don’t want to see you anymore. You’re not my papa. Not anymore."

She stood, ran to the house, and slammed the door with a force that made the walls shake.

Theo stood, uncertain, looking from the closed door to Leon to me. "I should... I’ll go talk to her..."

"Sit," Leon commanded, his voice rough. "Let her cool down."

"But..."

"Sit."

Theo sat.

Leon stared at his hands; at the fish he had forgotten he was holding. His shoulders slumped. The bluster drained out of him like water from a cracked vessel.

"She hates me," he said, his voice hollow.

"She doesn’t hate you," I said, reaching for his hand. "She’s hurt. There’s a difference."

"I was joking," he said, looking up at me with eyes that were genuinely pained. "I didn’t mean... I just thought... she’s so attached to him. It’s not healthy. He’ll bond eventually. Leave eventually. And then what? She’ll be heartbroken. I was trying to prepare her."

"By telling him to get away from her?"

"I said it wrong." He put his face in his hands. "I always say it wrong with her. She’s so much like you. Fierce. Loyal. She doesn’t understand that people grow up. Change. Leave."

"She’s only nine months old, Leon."

"She’s fierce," he corrected, his voice muffled. "And I made her cry. And she hates me."

"She doesn’t hate you."

"She said she did."

"Children say things when they’re hurt. They don’t mean them."

"I know." He looked up, his eyes wet. "But what if she does? What if she never..."

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

I squeezed his hand. "Go to her. Apologize. Not for wanting to protect her. For how you said it. She’ll understand."

"Will she?"

"She’s your daughter. She understands more than you think."

Leon stood, his movements heavy, and walked toward the house. He looked like a man going to his execution.

Theo watched him go, then looked at me. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause..."

"You didn’t cause anything," I said. "This was always going to happen. She’s attached to you. He sees the future. Neither is wrong. They just need to learn to talk to each other."

"Should I... should I bond with someone? To make it easier?"

I looked at him, at his earnest face, his worried eyes. "Do you want to bond with someone?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. "I’m not eighteen yet. Not really. In man form, I’m still... I’m still figuring out who I am. What I want."

"Then don’t rush. And don’t let Levy rush you either. She’ll learn. We all will."

He nodded, but he still looked troubled.

The next morning, I decided we needed distance. From the drama, from the tension, from the gathering circle where girls waited to approach Theo and Levy waited to destroy them.

I took the children into the village to see Rhonda and Mirena.

The serpent children stayed behind with Soryn for a nap. The heat was too much for them.

The three cheetah cubs went with Aureon and Veylan to hunt further into the island, eager to explore, to run, to be wild in ways that the village didn’t allow.

Rhonda’s children and Mirena’s other children were waiting when we arrived. They gathered around Levy like moths to a flame, drawn to her black hair, pale skin and her dark eyes, her easy laugh. Mira attached herself to Levy’s side immediately, her hand finding Levy’s, her dark eyes shining with adoration.

But the boys were watching too. Lark, Rhonda’s son, who had never quite given up his fascination. Mirena’s older boys, Finn’s sons, who were discovering that girls existed and that Levy was the most interesting girl they had ever seen.

Atlas noticed first. He about ten or eleven in his man form, already getting tall and strong, his lion’s nature asserting itself in protective ways that made me simultaneously proud and exhausted. He saw Lark looking at Levy, saw the way the boy’s eyes followed her as she moved, and his jaw tightened.

"Don’t," he said, stepping between them.

"Don’t what?" Lark asked, confused.

"Don’t look at her like that."

"Like what?"

"Like... like..." Atlas struggled for words. "Like you’re thinking things."

"I’m thinking she’s pretty," Lark said, honest and unafraid. "She is pretty. Everyone says so."

"Don’t think it," Atlas commanded. "Don’t say it. Don’t... don’t."

Chase, Ryder, and Jasper joined him, forming a wall of brothers, golden, fierce, and ridiculous. Niku and Sikai, not to be outdone, positioned themselves on either side, completing the circle of protection.

"She’s busy," Niku announced.

"Very busy," Sikai agreed.

"With us," Jasper added.

"Playing," Chase clarified.

"Not looking," Ryder finished.

Levy, oblivious, continued her conversation with Mira, discussing shells or tea parties or some other vital matter. She didn’t notice the wall of males surrounding her, protecting her from glances she wasn’t receiving.

Mirena’s neighbors son, Jisep approached, a shell in his hand, his expression hopeful. He had been practicing, he said. He had found the perfect shell. He wanted to show Levy.

Atlas stepped forward, his chest puffed, his voice dropping into a growl that was impressive for a ten or eleven year-old.

"No," he said.

Jisep stopped, confused. "I just want to play."

"Play with something else."

"Like what?"

"Rocks," Atlas suggested. "Trees. The ocean. Not my sister."

"Atlas," I said, intervening. "That’s enough."

He turned to me, his expression earnest. "Mama, he’s looking at her again. With his eyes. I don’t like his eyes."

"His eyes are normal eyes. He just wants to play."

"I don’t mind playing," Atlas said, his voice tight with the effort of being reasonable. "I can play. We can all play. But his eyes are only on Levy. Not on the game. Not on the shells. On Levy."

I looked at Jisep, at his shell, at his hopeful face. He was eight, maybe nine. A child. With a crush, perhaps, or simply a fascination with a girl who was different from the ones he knew.

"Atlas," I said, kneeling to his level. "People look at Levy because she’s pretty. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean they’re going to hurt her. It doesn’t mean they’re bad."

"But they want her," Atlas said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I can see it. They want to take her away. Like... like bonding. Like mating. Like..."

"Like growing up," I said gently. "Which happens to everyone. Including you. Including Levy. You can’t stop it by glaring at boys."

"I can try," he muttered.

I laughed, despite myself. "Yes. You can try. And I love you for trying. But right now, let the boy play. Let them all play. Watch, protect, but don’t smother. There’s a difference."

Atlas looked at me, his golden eyes troubled. "I don’t like the difference," he said. "I like smothering better."

"I know," I said, pulling him into a hug. "I know. But Levy needs friends. Not just brothers. Let her have friends."

He sighed, a sound of resignation and love and worry all tangled together. "Fine," he said. "But I’m watching. All of us. We’re watching."

"I know," I said. "And that’s exactly what she needs."

The children played, eventually, Levy and Mira and the boys, under the watchful eyes of brothers who would not look away, who would never look away, who would spend their lives standing between their sister and the world.

And I watched them, my heart full and aching, knowing that this was only the beginning. The first of many conversations about boundaries and protection and love that could suffocate if it weren’t careful.

Leon found us at midday, his eyes red, his expression sheepish. He approached Levy carefully, like a man approaching a wild creature, and knelt before her.

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice rough. "I said it wrong. I didn’t mean... I don’t want you to be alone. I want you to be happy. With Theo. Without Theo. However you want. Just... happy."

Levy looked at him, her head tilted, her expression unreadable. Then she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his mane.

"I don’t hate you," she whispered. "I was mad. But I don’t hate you."

"I know," Leon said, his voice breaking. "I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry."

"I love you, Papa."

"I love you too. More than anything. More than the sun. More than the moon. More than..."

"More than fish?" Levy asked, her voice muffled.

"More than fish," Leon confirmed, solemn.

"That’s a lot," Levy decided.

"It is," Leon agreed hiding his smile.

They held each other, father and daughter, forgiven and forgiving, and I watched them, knowing that this scene would repeat, again and again, as she grew, as she changed, as she became someone who needed protection and freedom in equal measure.

And knowing, too, that Leon would struggle with that balance every single day. As would I. As would all of us.