Chapter 182

There were certain things motherhood prepared you for. The sleepless nights, certainly. The endless crying, the constant feeding, the low grade anxiety that hummed beneath every moment of every day. I had learned to expect those things, had accepted them as the tax levied against anyone foolish enough to love something more than they loved themselves.

But motherhood had not prepared me for this.

I stood beneath the shade of a broad-leafed tree near the edge of the beach, one hand resting beneath the pronounced curve of my six month pregnant belly as I watched my four oldest sons train with their fathers. Atlas, Chase, Ryder, and Jasper. My first babies. My golden boys.

Except they did not look like babies anymore.

Their second birthday was still two months away, but lion beastmen matured differently from humans; so differently that looking at them sometimes gave me emotional whiplash. In their lion forms, I could still see my cubs: the golden fur, the oversized paws, the playful tails, the ridiculous expressions whenever one of them got caught doing something he absolutely knew he was not supposed to be doing.

But in their human forms? That was different.

They looked somewhere around fifteen or sixteen now. Young, clearly still teenagers, but no longer little boys. Atlas had grown the tallest, his golden hair thickening into unruly waves that fell around his face no matter how often I tried to smooth them down. His shoulders had broadened during the last few months, though he remained leaner than Ravin. He had inherited his father’s strong jaw and those same amber eyes that seemed to notice everything.

Ryder was almost as tall, and even though he was biologically Ravin’s cub, he had more of Leon’s quieter build; broad through the shoulders, narrow through the hips, already moving with the calm confidence. Chase had grown into a beautiful combination of both his older lion brothers, all golden hair and warm eyes and a grin that usually meant he had done something he was not supposed to do.

And Jasper... Jasper was trouble. Not because he did anything especially terrible, but because he had somehow developed the face of someone who was going to make my life absolutely miserable when he got older. He smiled too easily. He laughed too easily. And apparently, the young island girls had noticed.

I narrowed my eyes at the group of four females sitting near the edge of the training field. Again. They had been there yesterday, and the day before, and unless I was imagining things which I was not; they had been there the day before that too. One of them whispered something to her companion, another giggled, and then all four looked toward my sons with expressions I knew entirely too well.

Absolutely not.

I crossed my arms over my chest and felt the familiar, irrational surge of protective fury that my mates also have when it came to our daughter Levy. Caelion, standing beside me with his arms loose at his sides, followed my gaze toward the girls, then looked back at me with those pale blue eyes that missed nothing.

"What?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild.

"Nothing," I replied, not looking at him.

"You are making the face."

I turned my head to stare at him. "What face?"

"The one you make before deciding someone is a threat."

"I am not deciding anyone is a threat."

Caelion glanced toward the girls again, watching as one of them began twisting a flower between her fingers while staring openly at Atlas. My eyes narrowed further, and Caelion’s lips twitched with the barest hint of amusement.

"They are children," he said.

"So are my sons."

"Yes."

"They are looking at them," I pointed out, my voice tight.

"I can see that."

"Why?"

Caelion slowly turned his head toward me, his expression patient in that way that made me want to push him into the ocean. "Krys."

"What?"

"They have eyes."

"So?"

"So our sons are growing." He paused, letting the words hang in the humid air. "Into their forms. Into themselves."

I did not like where this conversation was going. "They’re babies."

Caelion looked toward the training field, where Atlas had just knocked Chase backward during a sparring match. Chase rolled with the impact, came up immediately, and tackled his brother around the waist. Both hit the sand hard, sending up a cloud of dust that sparkled in the sunlight. Ravin shouted something about technique. Leon shouted something completely different, probably profanity. The boys ignored both their fathers and started wrestling in earnest, all snarls and laughter and flying sand.

I pointed triumphantly. "See? Babies."

Caelion smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made me want to wipe it off his face. "They are all taller than you."

"That means nothing."

"They hunt."

"Supervised," I snapped.

"They train with weapons."

"Only until recently, before that it was wooden weapons," I countered.

"Atlas killed a boar last week."

"It was a small boar."

Caelion stared at me with those unreadable blue eyes. "It weighed more than you."

"Apparently I weigh no more than a feather to you lots, including my children," I muttered.

A laugh came from behind us, warm and familiar. I turned to find Veylan approaching with Niku perched on one shoulder, the ten-month-old cub gripping handfuls of his father’s silver hair while Veylan wore the deeply resigned expression of a man who had accepted his fate as a climbing structure.

"What is funny?" I asked, my voice sharp.

"You," Veylan said simply, adjusting his grip on Niku’s front paw. "You are funny."

I frowned at him. "Everyone is against me today."

Veylan’s silver eyes moved toward the training field, then toward the group of girls sitting in the shade. Understanding crossed his face immediately, followed by a slow, knowing smile. "Ah."

I hated that sound. "What does ’ah’ mean?"

"It means I understand," Veylan said, his lips curving.

"Understand what?"

"Why you look like you’re considering murder."

"I am not considering murder," I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

One of the girls stood up and waved. At Jasper. My youngest lion son noticed, and to my absolute horror, he waved back. My mouth fell open. Veylan started laughing, the sound rich and entirely too amused.

"He waved at her," Veylan pointed out unnecessarily.

"He is being polite," I said through gritted teeth.

"She smiled."

"People smile."

"She is still smiling," Veylan observed, tilting his head.

"Krys," Caelion said, his voice gentle.

"Look at her," I demanded, pointing at the girl with the blushing cheeks and the flower still clutched in her hand.

Veylan did as instructed. The girl immediately looked away, her face flushing a deeper shade of red. "Oh," he said, and there was something like realization in his voice.

I pointed triumphantly at him. "Exactly."

Caelion covered his mouth with one hand, but I could see his shoulders shaking. "You two are enjoying this."

"Very much," Veylan admitted, not bothering to hide his grin.

Niku made a little noise from his shoulder, and Veylan reached up to steady him. "You stay small," he told the cub, his voice mock-serious. "Stay small forever."

I pointed at Veylan. "See? You understand."

He immediately stopped laughing, his expression shifting to something more thoughtful. "Actually, yes. I do understand."

Caelion stared at both of us with the expression of a man who had wandered into a conversation he no longer comprehended. "You are impossible."

"Wait until your baby gets here," I told Caelion, rubbing my stomach where his child moved restlessly beneath my hand. "Then we’ll see how reasonable you are."

Caelion’s expression changed instantly. His gaze lowered to my belly, and his hand came down to cover mine, his fingers warm and strong. Our baby kicked against his palm; a flutter of movement that made his entire face soften. Then he looked back toward the girls, and his jaw tightened with new resolve.

"They are too young for our sons," he said, and there was something fiercely protective in his voice that made me smile.

"Thank you."

Veylan nodded seriously, his earlier amusement fading. "Far too young."

Caelion frowned, looking between the girls and our sons. "They appear the same age."

"Not important," I said quickly.

"How is that not important?"

"It simply isn’t."

Caelion looked toward the ocean as if asking the waves for patience. I wished him luck. I had none to spare.

---

The boys finished training around midday, four sweaty, sandy teenagers coming toward us carrying stone swords and talking over one another with the easy camaraderie they had shared since birth. I had to resist the urge to straighten all their hair, to wipe the sand from their faces, to pull them into my arms and remind them that they were still small enough to hold.

Barely.

"Mom," Atlas called out, using the shortened version of the name that had started recently. Not mama anymore. Just Mom.

I hated it. Not really. But a little.

"What?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"Can we go swimming?" He gestured toward the ocean, where the water glittered invitingly. "We’re hot."

"You just finished training," I pointed out.

"That’s why," Chase said, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "We’re covered in sand and sweat."

Ryder grinned at me, all confidence and charm. "Water removes sand."

I stared at him, unimpressed. "Very intelligent."

"Thank you."

"That was sarcasm."

His grin widened. "I still accept it."

Jasper appeared last, trailing slightly behind his brothers, and I noticed immediately that one of those girls the one who had waved; had stood up from her place in the shade. My maternal radar went absolutely haywire.

"Jasper!" the girl called out.

He turned. So did I. The girl approached holding something wrapped in a large green leaf, her movements tentative but determined. She looked around Jasper’s age in human form, perhaps slightly younger, with dark hair and a sweet face that would have been perfectly harmless on anyone else’s son.

But she was approaching my son, and that made her suspicious by default.

Jasper smiled at her, easy and open. "Hi, Mara."

Mara.

He knew her name?

He knew her name, and he said it with the casual familiarity of someone who had spoken it before, who had perhaps spoken it many times. The sound of it hit me like a physical blow, and before I could think, before I could stop myself, I was opening my mouth.

"Jasper!" I called, my voice sharp and carrying across the beach. "Come here, please. Now."

Jasper blinked at me, confusion clear on his face, then looked back at Mara with an expression that was almost apologetic.

"Sorry," he said, gesturing toward me with his free hand. "My mama’s calling me."

Mara’s face fell. The smile that had been blooming there crumpled like paper in water, and she clutched the leaf-wrapped bundle in her hands against her chest as if it could shield her from the rejection. She nodded quickly, her eyes dropping to the sand, and turned away without another word. Her shoulders were hunched as she walked back to her friends, the leaf bundle still clutched in her hands, and I watched her go with a mixture of triumph and guilt that warred in my stomach.

I was a terrible person.

But she was walking away from my son, and that was all that mattered.

Jasper trotted over to me, his sword dragging in the sand, his expression puzzled. "What is it, Mama?" he asked. "Did you need something?"

I opened my mouth to answer and found I had nothing. No injury to report. No task that required his immediate attention. Just the wild, irrational need to insert myself between him and the girl who had been looking at him like he was the sun.

"I..." I faltered, searching for an excuse. "I wanted to know if you were thirsty. From training."

He stared at me, his head tilting in that way that reminded me so much of his father. "I have water," he said slowly. "We all do. Daddy Leon brought the water skins pouches."

"Right," I said, my face heating. "Of course. I just... wanted to check."

"Okay," Jasper said, drawing out the word. He looked back toward the beach, where Mara had rejoined her friends. She was not looking at him anymore. She was looking at the sand, her cheeks flushed, her hands twisting the leaf bundle into ruins. Jasper frowned, something like concern crossing his face. "Is something wrong with Mara?"

"Who?" I asked, my voice too high.

"Mara," he repeated, pointing with his sword. "The girl I was talking to. Did she do something wrong? She looked sad when she walked away."

Leon appeared beside me then, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his black eyes narrowing as he followed Jasper’s gesture toward the group of girls. "Who is Mara?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Jasper blinked at his father. "The girl talking to me," he said. "The one Mama called me away from."

Leon looked back toward the beach, his gaze finding Mara where she sat with her friends, the ruined leaf bundle still in her lap. His eyes narrowed further but didn’t say anything.

Jasper oblivious, turned and jogged back toward his brothers, who were watching the exchange with expressions ranging from amusement to confusion. Atlas raised an eyebrow at Jasper, asking a silent question, and Jasper shrugged in response, shaking his head.

I watched them talking amongst each other laughing about something Ryder had said and my heart pounding in my chest. Am I going to lose my son soon?

Apparently, Jasper was not the only one attracting attention. That became painfully clear during lunch, which we ate outside near the beach because the weather was beautiful and the ocean calm and blue beneath the afternoon sun. The younger children played nearby; Levy sat beside Theo as usual, guarding him from imaginary threats; Niku and Sikai dug holes in the sand that I knew would eventually collapse on someone; Tavren, Kaizen, and Zarek raced along the shoreline in their cheetah forms; and my snake children remained closer to the shaded mats laying like decorated ornaments.

My four oldest boys sat together eating enough food to feed a small army, their appetites having grown alongside their bodies. I had cooked nearly twice what I used to, and it still was not enough.

Atlas reached for another piece of roasted fish, his movements easy and graceful, when a voice came from behind him. "Atlas?"

He turned. I froze.

Another girl. A different one. She had long brown hair, small spotted ears that marked her as some kind of cat shifter, and a nervous smile that trembled at the edges. She held out a polished shell, its surface gleaming in the sunlight.

"I found this," she said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "On the beach. I thought you might like it."

Atlas stared at the shell for a moment, then took it from her hand. "It’s pretty," he said, his voice genuinely appreciative. "Thanks."

That was it. Atlas immediately returned to eating, his attention already shifting back to his food and his brothers. The girl remained standing there, waiting, her smile faltering. Atlas did not notice. She waited a moment longer, then eventually walked away, her shoulders slightly slumped.

I stared at my son, my heart a mixture of relief and something else I could not name. Ravin started laughing beside me, the sound warm and knowing.

"What?" Atlas asked, looking up from his fish with genuine confusion.

"Nothing," I said quickly.

He shrugged and continued eating, oblivious. Good. Excellent. Perfect. My sweet, oblivious child. May he remain that way forever.

Then Chase ruined everything.

He leaned toward Atlas, his voice low but carrying. "She likes you."

Atlas stopped chewing, his eyes widening. "What?"

"The shell girl," Chase said, as if explaining something obvious. "She likes you."

"No she doesn’t," Atlas said, but there was uncertainty in his voice.

"She does," Ryder confirmed, nodding sagely. "Definitely. She brought you a present."

Atlas frowned, looking down at the shell in his hand. "She said she found a shell."

Jasper laughed, the sound bright and teasing. "She brought it to you. Specifically. That means something."

"So?" Atlas asked, his face beginning to flush.

All three of his brothers looked at him with expressions of varying degrees of pity and amusement. Then Chase spoke slowly, as if speaking to someone very young or very dense. "She. Likes. You."

Atlas’s face turned red, the flush spreading from his neck to his hairline. I immediately felt terrible for him, and strangely relieved. He was still young enough to be completely mortified by the idea of a girl liking him. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Atlas looked toward me, his eyes wide and pleading. "Mom."

I pretended to be fascinated by my own food, studying the grain of the wooden plate with intense focus. "Yes?"

"Do girls give shells when they like someone?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

I took an unnecessarily long drink of water, stalling. "Krys," Ravin whispered, nudging my ribs.

"Quiet," I whispered back.

Atlas waited, his expression desperate. I finally looked at him, meeting his amber eyes with what I hoped was maternal wisdom. "Sometimes people give gifts because they want to be friends," I said carefully. "Gifts don’t always mean... romantic things."

Relief flooded Atlas’s face, his shoulders dropping. "See?" he said to his brothers. "She just wants to be friends."

Chase groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Mom."

"What?" I asked, trying to sound innocent.

"You’re lying," Chase accused.

"I am telling the truth," I corrected.

Leon leaned closer to me, his voice low and amused. "You handled that well."

"Thank you."

"You lied," he pointed out.

"It was a half lie," I corrected him.

He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. "Fair enough."

We continued eating in companionable silence, the tension of the afternoon slowly dissolving beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun and the rhythmic sound of waves against the shore. Around us, the tribe moved through the patterns of daily life; children laughing, fires crackling, the distant calls of other beast men returning with their catch. Peace. Normalcy. The simple, profound blessing of an ordinary day.

I knew I was being unreasonable.

The thought sat heavy in my chest, familiar and unwelcome. I knew it with the same certainty that I knew my own name, knew the beat of my own heart. My sons were growing. Not just physically; though their broadening shoulders and deepening voices made that undeniable, but in the ways that mattered most. They were becoming themselves, separate from me, building lives and connections that existed beyond the circle of my arms.

And I wanted to stop it.

Not forever. I was not so foolish as to wish them small forever, to chain them to childhood when their destinies called them toward something greater. But for now; just for now, I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to hoard these moments like a dragon guarding gold, keeping them close and safe and mine for as long as the world would allow.

My gaze drifted to where Jasper sat with his brothers, his golden hair catching the light as he laughed at something Ryder said. He looked happy. Unburdened. Completely unaware of the girl who had walked away with crushed hopes clutched in her hands, or of the mother who would have moved mountains to keep that innocence intact just a little longer.

I wanted to keep them.

The thought rose unbidden, sharp and aching. I wanted to keep them as they were; loud and hungry and occasionally insufferable, yes, but mine. Mine to protect. Mine to guide. Mine to love with the ferocity that only mothers understand, that primal, ancient knowing that these creatures had once been part of my very body, and that some invisible cord still connected us, heartbeat to heartbeat, breath to breath.

But even as I thought it, even as I clung to the selfish desire to pause time, another truth pressed against my ribs like a bruise.

Soon; sooner than I was ready, sooner than my heart could bear they would leave.

Not physically, perhaps. Not immediately. But they would find their mates, those destined partners who would see them not as boys or sons or cubs, but as men. As equals. As lovers. They would build families of their own, create homes where I would be welcome but not central, where another woman’s voice would be the first they sought in the morning and the last they heard at night.

The pain of it stole my breath.

I looked at Atlas, at the strong line of his jaw that so resembled Ravin’s, and imagined a woman standing beside him, her hand in his, her body rounding with his children. I looked at Chase, at his quiet confidence, and saw him someday guiding his own sons through their first shifts. Ryder’s laughter would one day be shared with someone who knew him better than I ever could. And Jasper... Jasper would smile at someone else the way he smiled at me now, with complete trust and absolute adoration, and that thought nearly broke me.

They would love other women.

They would choose other women.

And I would have to step back, gracefully, gratefully, and let them go.

My throat tightened, and I reached for my water, taking a long drink to hide the emotion that surely showed on my face. Ravin’s hand found my knee beneath the table, his thumb brushing against the fabric of my dress in silent understanding. He knew. He always knew.

I set the cup down and looked at my sons again. They were so beautiful it hurt. So full of potential and promise and life. And they were still here, still mine, still gathering around me like I was the center of their universe.

For now.

For this moment, on this ordinary afternoon, they were still my boys.

And I would treasure it, them; while I could, hoarding these memories against the day when they would walk away toward futures I could not share, carrying pieces of my heart with them and leaving me, as all mothers are eventually left, standing in the doorway with love enough to fill the world, and arms suddenly, terribly empty.