Page 80 of Taken By The Wolves
“They’re with me,” he says.
Silence follows, thick and crackling. The nearest bears pause. Then, reluctantly, the largest among them shifts back, rising to human form. The others follow, fur sinking into skin, the tension ebbing with every breath.
We’re not welcomed with open arms.
But we’re not being torn apart, either.
Goldie steps from the truck behind us, cradling one twin and calling gently for the other. The moment her feet touch the ground, the tone shifts. Mates rush from the buildings to greet her with soft laughter, exclamations, and hands flying to her belly. Someone pulls her into a hug so tight, I feel it from across the courtyard.
We’re led into the main hall, a vast open chamber carved from the mountain stone, sunlight filtering through a high skylight. Elders and enforcers fill the room, some seated on benches, others standing with arms crossed, the old lines of battle worn into their postures.
Hunter advances with his usual determined stride. Beside him, Nixon carries Ahya. Scarlet trails at his side, and the rest of us form a silent shield around them.
When Ahya lifts her head and waves at the crowd in human form, hair wild, eyes impossibly blue, a murmur ripples through the room.
“This is the child,” Hunter says, voice echoing against the stone. “Born of both lineages.”
The bearded leader steps forward, his chest bare and thick with muscle, and his long hair touching his shoulders. He doesn’t look at Hunter. He looks at Ahya.
“Impossible.”
The urge to roll my eyes at the similarity between my father and this bear-leader is strong. What is it about some alphas that makes them so arrogant, as though they know every secret the world has to offer and are bored with it?
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Hunter says.
There’s another murmur in the crowd. As if on cue, Ahya shifts in Nixon’s arms, first into a tiny wolf pup with soft fur and blue eyes that pierce the entire room, then back into her human form again. It’s only when she shifts into her furry brown bear form that the crowd reacts.
She hops from Nixon’s arms, lands light on her paws, andgrowls.
It’s not the cry of a baby, or the howl of a wolf, or even the growl of a bear. It’s something that merges all three.
A call.
A summons that charms everyone around her.
It changes everything.
The room is silent for a second, then it explodes into whispers. It can’t be. Is it real? Can she be three?
A single man steps forward from the shadows. He’s older than any of the others, his skin weathered like bark, eyes milky with the touch of cataracts and spirit. He carries no weapon, but every bear gives way when he walks.
The clan’s mystic.
“I’ve seen her,” he says, voice soft but resonant. “In a vision. She is the child born of pain but destined for balance. A link forged in shadow to protect the creatures of the ground from the creatures of the sky.”
“What does that mean?” the leader demands, but his voice falters.
The mystic turns his gaze toward Ahya, now curled up against Scarlet’s chest in wolf form.
“There is a threat,” he says. “One not of fur, but of wings, claws, and fire. It will fall from the sky like hunger and tear through packs and clans alike. The only way to survive is to stand together, and she is the key.”
My blood chills.
No one moves.
Ahya yawns, shifts back into a baby girl, and wraps her arms around Scarlet’s neck with a happy sigh.
This child, this miracle, is the storm and the shield.
