Chapter 231

Today was my second litter’s birthday.

They turned two years old.

Two years. It felt impossible, and yet there it was, the proof of it standing right in front of me. In their human forms, they looked about sixteen. Sixteen, with the whole world ahead of them, with the confidence of youth and the sharp, unfinished edges of almost-adulthood. Sixteen, with bodies that had stretched and changed overnight, with faces that had sharpened into something new, with voices that had settled low and steady.

Levy was stunning, as she always was. Her black hair gleamed like wet obsidian, thick and shining, falling past her shoulders in heavy waves. Her dark eyes were bright and fierce, framed by lashes that made half the women in the village jealous. Her body was tall and lean and graceful, all long limbs and easy movement, and when she walked, people turned to watch. She was beautiful. She had always been beautiful. But now, at sixteen, she was becoming something else entirely. Something that made the world stop and stare.

And Niku and Sikai were handsome. Dark-haired and steady, their faces sharpening into the men they would become, their shoulders broadening with every passing month. They looked like their father, both of them, the same lean built, the same watchful eyes. They would break hearts, those two, without ever meaning to.

If they were back in my old world, they would already be dating.

Sixteen. That was the age, back home. That was when it started. The awkward first crushes, the sweaty first dates, the first fumbling hand holding, the first devastating heartbreak. At sixteen, the whole world cracked open, and everyone started pairing off like it was some grand, desperate race to not be left behind.

And my Levy would not get a moment’s rest.

She already did not, to be fair. The boys had been circling her ever since she started filling out. Lark, and Jisep, and Finn, and half the young males on the island. And now, some of the younger males here, in the pride, had begun to take notice too. They watched her in the market. They lingered near the training grounds. They found excuses to be wherever she was.

But at sixteen, at this age, at this level of beauty, it would become a siege.

She would not be able to walk through the market without being stared at. She would not be able to train without an audience. She would not be able to breathe without someone sighing over her.

And she, oblivious Levy, would not even notice.

Poor thing. Poor me.

But today was her birthday, and I was determined to enjoy it.

Winter was ending. Finally. The snow had begun to melt, the days had grown longer, and the world was slowly waking from its long white sleep. The paths were clearing, the ice was receding, and the children had been released from their prison at last.

They went out to play, and they ran wild.

The whole village was out. Everyone, after the long confinement, emerging from their homes like animals from burrows, blinking in the pale winter sun, breathing in the cold clean air. The children found their friends and the shrieking began, the whole valley filling with noise and laughter and the thunder of running feet.

Snowballs flew. Forts were built and destroyed and rebuilt. Wars were declared and truces signed and wars declared again. And the cheetah boys, my three golden cubs, challenged everyone in sight to races.

And they won.

They tore through the snow like golden arrows, their long legs pumping, their bodies low and fast, their laughter trailing behind them like smoke. They beat the village boys, one after another, leaving them gasping and laughing in the drifts. They beat Jasper, which Jasper did not take well. They beat Atlas, which Atlas took with grace. And then they beat Ryder, which was the mistake.

"You let us win," Tavren accused, hands on his hips.

"I did not," Ryder said.

"You did. You are a lion. You are bigger than us. You should be faster."

"We are cheetahs," Kaizen said, as though explaining something obvious. "Cheetahs are the fastest. We are supposed to be faster."

"So you are not faster?" Ryder asked.

"We are faster. We won. That is the point."

"Then why are you arguing?"

"Because you should have put up more of a fight."

Ryder stared at them. "I lost. You won. And now you are complaining that I did not lose well enough?"

"Yes," all three of them said together.

Ryder threw his hands up and walked away, and the cheetah boys celebrated their victory with a great deal of smugness, running in circles and whooping. They had beaten a lion. They had beaten a lion. They would be insufferable for weeks.

And then they challenged Chase.

And Chase beat them.

All three of them. One after another. Easily. Effortlessly. He ran like the wind, his golden hair flying, his long legs eating up the ground, and he crossed the finish line each time before the cheetahs had even gotten halfway. It was not even close. It was a slaughter.

And they did not accept it.

"It does not count," Tavren declared, gasping for air.

"Why not?"

"You are a lion. Lions are not supposed to be faster than cheetahs."

"Apparently we are."

"You cheated."

"I ran in a straight line."

"You ran too fast."

"That is the point of racing."

"You ran unfairly fast."

"I ran normally."

"You ran unfairly normally."

"That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense. Cheetahs are the fastest. Everyone knows this. You are a lion. You should not have won."

And they sulked the entire way back to the house, muttering about cheating and unfair advantages and how the race would obviously have gone differently if the rules had been fair, which was, of course, the point they had conveniently forgotten, since the rules had been perfectly fair and they had simply lost.

The serpent children wandered through the snow with their heads high, pretending they were too elegant for such childish things, and then joined in the moment no one was looking. The pearlings, who had never seen snow in their lives, stared at it in wonder and then tried to eat it.

And Levy, my Levy, was immediately surrounded.

She did not notice. She never noticed. She was too busy throwing snowballs at Jasper and shrieking with laughter, too busy racing her wolf sisters Vaeshira and Nyselle through the drifts, too busy living. And behind her, trailing after her, a small crowd of boys.

And at the edge of the field, a few of the local village boys had gathered, watching her, their hands shoved in their pockets, their expressions soft. They had decided that today was the day they would finally get her attention.

They did not.

She was too fast. Too bright. Too busy.

"Does she know?" Layla asked, appearing at my side, her arms crossed, watching the scene with open amusement.

"Know what?"

"That half the boys in the village are in love with her."

"No. She has no idea."

"She is sixteen."

"She looks sixteen."

"She is oblivious."

"Yes."

Layla laughed, the sound warm and bright. "You are going to have your hands full."

"I know."

"Completely full."

"Layla."

"It is going to be wonderful."

"It is going to be exhausting."

We watched the children play, and the day went on, bright and cold and happy. The snowball fight turned into a war. The war turned into a truce. The truce turned into lunch. And by the afternoon, we had gathered for the birthday celebration, small and warm, the children crowded around a table and a cake.

And then the message came.

It arrived with a hawk, a bird from the island, carrying a scrap of hide with a familiar mark on it. Darius’s mark. I took it, my heart already sinking, and read the words in the crude, careful script.

Khemari has been sighted. He is gathering forces. Not yet, but soon. Be ready.

I read it twice. Then a third time. Then a fourth.

And I looked up at my family, at the children playing, at the mates laughing, at the whole chaotic, beautiful life we had built. And I thought of the golden eyed beast, and the day he would come again.

"Soon" could mean a lot of things. It could mean months. It could mean a year. But it would come.

He would come.

I folded the hide and tucked it away.

"Krys?" Ravin asked, noticing the shift in my face. "What is it?"

"Nothing," I said. "A message from Darius. Khemari has been sighted."

My mates went still.

"Where?" Leon asked.

"The island. He is gathering forces. It is not immediate, but it is coming."

"Then we prepare," Ravin said, calm as always.

"We prepare," I agreed.

And then I looked at my children, at Levy laughing, at the boys grinning, at the little ones tumbling in the snow. And I pushed the worry away, the way I always did, and I went to join them.

It was a birthday. It was a celebration. And Khemari, wherever he was, could wait.

"Come on," I said, pulling Ravin by the hand. "It is our daughter’s birthday. Let us not spend it worrying."

He smiled, small and knowing, and let me pull him.

And we played, all of us, in the pale winter sun, throwing snowballs and laughing and living, and for that afternoon, at least, the world was good.

The world was good, and it was ours.