Page 73 of Taken By The Wolves
Chris finally speaks, arms resting on his thighs. “You think Gregory would risk war for a child he doesn’t even understand… who isn’t his legacy?”
Cami turns her gaze on him, eyes bright. “It’s not what he understands. It’s what he feels. He feels her power, and that is enough.”
Macon shifts beside him. “So we’re supposed to fight a war over this? Risk everything on a baby born of—”
Scarlet stands slowly, Ahya in her arms. “No onechooses how they’re conceived.”
Macon’s jaw tightens, but he looks away.
Scarlet continues. “But we all choose who we protect. And I will die before I let anyone hurt this child again.”
Our father watches her with narrow eyes. “You speak like an alpha.”
“Nixon is my alpha,” Scarlet says firmly, and across the room, my brother expands with pride. “But I’m now the mother of a girl who will be hunted by men like Gregory. That makes me dangerous.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Cami rises from her seat.
“There is more,” she says. “She is not only a bridge between wolf and bear. She holds the echo of something old. The blood in her... it sings to the earth. To the spirits. That power will need guidance.”
Mother’s eyes are wide now, fear and wonder braided together. Father rises, voice low. “Then she’s more than a child. She’s a threat.”
“To Gregory,” I snap. “To anyone who thinks her blood makes her a pawn. But not to us.”
He stares us down, but Nixon rises to meet him eye to eye.
“I didn’t come here for your approval of my family,” Nixon says. “I came because war is coming, and we’re stronger together than apart.”
Another long silence.
Then our father looks toward our mother, then to Chris and Macon.
“You’ll stay the night,” he says finally. “Cami will stay near the child. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
It isn’t a yes. It isn’t a no.
But it’s more than we expected.
Scarlet exhales slowly. I reach for her hand, and she takes it without hesitation.
We’ve taken the first step.
But with so much unknown, the path of our future is shrouded in darkness.
36
SCARLET
My mates’ old bedroom is a little too clean now, like someone tried to scrub away memories with their scent. I can still imagine them here, playfighting and laughing, sharing hopes and dreams. I imagine them planning their futures, trying to find space in a world that didn’t even know they existed.
I sit on the edge of the bed, Ahya cradled in my arms, her soft baby breath steady against my collarbone. Her fingers twitch in her sleep. Every so often, she lets out a little growl-like sound, almost human, almost not. I smooth her red hair back from her forehead.
“You don’t know it yet,” I whisper, “but you’re going to change everything.”
The door creaks softly, and I look up.
Angeli, Nixon’s mother, stands in the doorway with a folded blanket in her hands. She hesitates, her sharp eyes moving from Ahya to me, then back again.
“Is she always this quiet?”
