Page 70 of Grin and Bear It

“This belonged to your mother,” he explained. “A Tiikeri heirloom passed down through generations of firstborn daughters. It contains old magic that recognizes its rightful owner.”

He held it out to her. “If you are truly Karina’s daughter, it will know you.”

Thora stared at the pendant, suspended between skepticism and a strange, magnetic pull. Enchanted Falls had exposed her to enough magic that she couldn’t dismiss the possibility outright.

With cautious movements, she extended her hand.

The moment her fingers brushed the amber, warmth flooded through her palm. The tiger pendant glowed with inner light, casting golden shadows across her face. Gasps rose from the assembled pride members.

“The heir returns,” someone whispered.

Thora couldn’t tear her gaze from the glowing pendant. Her sabertooth purred with recognition as if reuniting with a long-lost friend. The rational part of her mind scrambled for explanations—heat-reactive materials, embedded technology, collective hallucination—but her body seemed to understand what her mind resisted.

“Your mother wore this every day until she left with Nikolai.” Aleksander closed her fingers around the pendant, his weathered hand warm against hers. “It has waited for you, as we have waited.”

“I don’t know how to be what you want,” Thora said, the confession wrung from her by the weight of expectation she felt from every side. “I track people down, collect my pay, and move on. I don’t do family. I don’t do legacy.”

A murmur rippled through the assembly, but Aleksander silenced it with a raised hand.

“You need not know yet.” His tone gentled, revealing the grandfather beneath the alpha. “Today, we merely acknowledge what blood and magic have confirmed. You are Thora Tiikeri-Saberfang, daughter of Karina and Nikolai, heir to two ancient lineages.”

The formal words settled over her like a cloak she wasn’t ready to wear. One by one, the pride members approached to introduce themselves—cousins and great-aunts and distant relations whose names blurred together. Each bowed their head in subtle deference, acknowledging her position even as she struggled to comprehend it.

By the time the ceremony concluded, Thora’s head throbbed with information overload. She found herself wandering the formal gardens behind the main house, seeking solitude to process the seismic shift in her identity.

“Heavy thoughts cast long shadows.”

Thora turned to find Elder Willow kneeling beside a flowering herb bed, her silver hair catching the late afternoon sun. A small basket filled with freshly harvested plants sat beside her.

“Do you make a habit of appearing wherever I’m having a personal crisis?” Thora asked, not entirely displeased by the woman’s presence.

Willow’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I was here first, dear one. You simply wandered into my garden path.”

Thora glanced around, noting the meticulously tended herbs. “This is Tiikeri land.”

“And they graciously allow me harvesting rights for my healing work.” Willow pinched a sprig of something fragrant between gnarled fingers. “Nature recognizes no clan boundaries, and neither should those who work with her gifts.”

She studied Thora with penetrating eyes. “You’ve accepted the pendant. A significant step.”

Thora touched the amber tiger now hanging against her collarbone. She hadn’t consciously decided to wear it, yet somehow removing it after the ceremony had seemed impossible.

“I accepted a piece of jewelry, not a crown,” she countered.

“Tiger royalty and bear clan leader.” Willow’s knowing smile made Thora distinctly uncomfortable. “Historical enemies finding common ground. Your parents crossed pride lines against tradition, and now you follow a similar path.”

Heat crept up Thora’s neck at the implication. “Artair and I aren’t?—”

“Aren’t what?” Willow interrupted gently. “Drawn to each other despite every logical reason to maintain distance? Finding healing in each other’s company? Beginning to imagine a future neither of you anticipated?”

The accuracy of Willow’s assessment struck uncomfortably close to thoughts Thora had barely acknowledged to herself. She’d begun catching herself thinking of Artair at odd moments—wondering what he’d think of a sunset, how he’d react to a joke, whether he’d like the taste of a particular dessert.

“I barely know him,” she protested weakly.

“Knowledge comes in many forms.” Willow tied off her bundle of herbs with practiced efficiency. “The mind can be the slowest to recognize what the heart already understands.”

Thora’s fingers drifted to her shoulder, finding the distinctive birthmark that had become a part of her. “I’m nothing like my mother. I never even knew her.”

“Yet you carry her mark.” Willow nodded toward Thora’s hand. “That pattern appears in old photographs. Karina had the identical birthmark, in precisely the same location.”

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