Chapter 201

The hunt had started well.

The morning was clear, the sky a vast expanse of pale blue, the wind blowing gentle and favorable from the east. The forest was alive with the sounds of game, the rustle of small creatures in the undergrowth, the distant call of birds, the creak of branches swaying in the breeze. Eryx had been in good spirits, laughing at something Jasper said, his silver eyes bright with the simple joy of the chase. Leon had been quieter, more focused, his black eyes scanning the undergrowth with predatory intensity, his body moving with the fluid grace of the hunter he had been born to be. They had been tracking a boar, a large one, its tracks pressed deep into the soft earth, and the hunt had drawn them far from the village, deep into the forest where the trees grew tall and the shadows pooled thick.

Then the ambush came. They later recounted.

It happened fast. One moment they were stalking their prey, their attention fixed on the distant rustle of the boar, the next the forest erupted with chaos. But it was not just the boar. It was everything. The animals had gone berserk. Birds shrieked from the trees, small creatures fled in panic, and the boar, a massive beast with tusks like curved daggers, charged with a fury that seemed unnatural.

The villagers who had joined the hunt, the ones who were supposed to help, seemed to stumble at the worst possible moments. They fell back when they should have pressed forward. They veered left when they should have gone right. And somehow, impossibly, Leon and Eryx found themselves at the front of the chaos, taking the heavy hits while the others escaped unscathed.

Leon had been gored first, the boar’s tusk catching him in the thigh and sending him spinning, his blood bright against the forest floor. He had barely regained his feet when a second beast, a stag with antlers like spears, burst from the undergrowth and caught him in the back of the head with a blow that sent him sprawling, his body crumpling before he could even cry out. Eryx had reacted instantly, his claws extending, his fangs bared, a snarl tearing from his throat as he threw himself at the stag. But the villagers, the ones who were supposed to help, hung back, and a third animal, a wildcat with claws like knives, raked Eryx across the side, opening a gash that poured blood.

They had escaped, barely, carrying Leon between them, Eryx limping and gasping, blood streaming from the wound on his side, his breath coming in shallow, ragged pants. They reached the village just as the sun began to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson, and I had never been so terrified in my life as when I saw them stumble through the gates.

"Healer!" I screamed, running toward them, my heart in my throat, my legs trembling so badly I thought I might fall. "Someone get the healer! Now!"

The next hours were a blur of fear and blood and desperate prayer. The healer worked on them both, her hands steady, her face grim, stitching wounds and forcing bitter herbs down their throats. Leon had a concussion, deep and dangerous, his pupils uneven, his words slurred. Eryx had a gash so deep it exposed muscle, his breathing labored, his lips tinged with blue from the blood loss.

"Someone intended this," Eryx gasped, his voice weak, his silver eyes burning with fury even through his pain. "The animals going mad. The villagers hanging back. It was too convenient. Too precise. They knew exactly when to falter, exactly when to let us take the brunt."

"The man who led the hunt swears there was no ill intent," I said, having already questioned him, having already searched his face for lies. "He says the animals simply spooked. That his people were simply... slow. Coincidence."

Eryx shook his head, wincing at the movement, his hand pressed to his broken ribs. "There is no such thing as coincidence with what had occurred. There is only planning."

His words echoed in my mind, joining the chorus of warnings that had been building for weeks. Khemari’s voice, smooth and terrible. Align yourself with someone powerful. What if he meant more than marriage? What if he meant a coup?

Two of my mates were down. Incapacitated. Useless in a fight.

It was too perfect. Too convenient.

The healer finally left as the moon rose high, her work done, her instructions given. Rest, she said. No movement, no strain, no stress. They would recover in time, but it would be slow. Bones and flesh and blood took time to mend, and there was nothing to be done but wait.

The moment the door closed behind her, I moved.

I knelt between them, my hands finding theirs, and I reached for the blue bind, the power that lived in my blood, in my bones, in the space between my heartbeats. The healing tide.

It rose within me, cool and bright, a wave of azure light that flowed from my palms into their bodies. It wrapped around their wounds like living water, seeping into torn flesh and cracked bone, knitting and mending and restoring. Leon’s concussion faded, his pupils evening, his breathing steadying. Eryx’s gash closed, the muscle beneath weaving itself whole, his lips regaining their color.

It took only moments. Minutes at most. The healing tide was faster than any bond, more direct, more powerful. By the time it receded, they were healed. Whole. Strong.

"Act injured," I told them, my voice low, urgent. "Both of you. Limp. Favor your wounds. Let the world think you are still recovering."

"Why?" Leon asked, his black eyes sharp despite his exhaustion.

"Because Khemari is planning something," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "And I do not want him to know how strong we truly are. If he thinks you are weak, he will underestimate us. He will make mistakes. And when the time comes, we will be ready."

They agreed, as they always did, trusting my instincts, my intuition. And then they retired to their rooms, moaning and limping, playing their parts with the skill of born warriors.

My intuition was right.

It happened the next evening.

I had been at the lagoon with Caelion and the Pearlings, spending the day with my daughters, watching them swim and play and grow. It was peaceful there, safe, a world apart from the tension that gripped the village. Seraphyna had discovered a new game, chasing her own tail in endless circles. Kalisseyani had found a smooth stone and was pushing it around the lagoon floor with intense concentration. And Irysindra, my patient one, had curled against my chest and slept for hours, her tiny tail wrapped around my wrist, her dreams soft and sweet in my mind.

When I finally left, as the sun began to set, my heart was full, my mind quiet. I kissed Caelion goodbye, promised to return in the morning, and climbed from the water, my hair dripping, my skin cool from the depths.

The quiet did not last.

I saw them before I understood what was happening. Men in the shadows. Southern beasts with drawn swords, moving through the village with silent purpose. The men who had stood back and let Leon and Eryx get hurt. The men who had sworn they had no ill intent, or that what had happen was purely coincidental. They were here. In our home.

I tried to run, to reach my mates, my children, but they surrounded me before I could take three steps. The moment they caught me, the threat was simple. Surrender, or they would kill me. And with Leon and Eryx supposedly injured, with the others caught off guard, surrender was easy.

They marched me to the main clearing, and my heart broke at what I saw.

Darius, bound and slumped, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly. Drugged, I realized. They had drugged the chief. Beside him, Rhonda, her sharp eyes blazing with fury, her hands tied behind her back. Mirena, her mate, her children. People I knew, people I had seen in the market and the fields, people who were loyal to Darius. All bound. All sitting in a circle like cattle awaiting slaughter.

And my children.

Atlas, Chase, Ryder, Jasper. Levy, Niku, Sikai. The cheetah cubs. The serpent children. All bound, all frightened, all looking to me with desperate eyes.

My mates were there too. Leon, Ravin, Veylan, Soryn, Aureon, and Eryx, all bound, all with spears at their throats. All of them. Every single one except Caelion, the mate Khemari did not know existed, the mate who had never been seen, the mate who was even now in the lagoon with our daughters, safe and hidden and waiting.

Thank the gods. Thank all the gods. The Pearlings were safe. Caelion was safe.

And Khemari sat on a chair fit for a chief, watching me with those golden eyes, a smile curving his perfect lips.

"It has been a long time coming," he said, his voice carrying across the clearing, smooth and satisfied. "Now, I will rule this place. You will pledge your allegiance to me, or you will die."

He turned to me, his smile widening, his eyes burning. "See, Krys? This is why I said you should align yourself with someone powerful."

An elderly beast, a merchant I recognized from the market, spat on the ground. "You are no chief," he snarled, his voice trembling with rage. "You have to use cheap tricks to win. Ambushes. Drugs. You are not worthy of..."

Khemari moved.

The dagger appeared in his hand as if by magic, and before anyone could react, he had crossed the space between them and slit the old beast’s throat. Blood sprayed, bright and terrible, and the old male crumpled, his eyes wide with shock, his life pooling on the ground beneath him.

Mirena cried out, a sound of anguish and fury, and the clearing fell silent.

"So," I said, my voice steady despite the terror clawing at my heart, "what are you planning? To kill us all?"

Khemari turned to me, his smile returning, the dagger still dripping. He walked toward me, and behind him, my mates strained against their bonds, their eyes wild, their muscles bulging. His men pressed spears to their throats, holding them in place.

I raised my hand, letting my mates know I was fine, that they should wait, that this was not the moment for violence.

"Of course not, lovely Krys," Khemari said, his voice warm, intimate, as though we were the only two people in the world. "I want you as a mate. Why would I kill you?" He paused, his smile sharpening. "Although your mates are a different matter."

He gestured, and one of his men pressed a spear to Ravin’s throat, the tip dimpling the skin, a bead of blood welling.

I glared at Khemari, my fury rising, my power humming beneath my skin. "If you hurt my mates," I said, my voice low, dangerous, "I will never be yours."

Khemari’s eyes gleamed. "Oh, Krys. There are so many ways to make you submit. So many ways to break you, to bend you, to make you mine." He glanced at my mates, at my children, at the bound villagers, and his smile widened. "I do not intend to let them live. I will allow your children to live if they obey. But if they want vengeance, they are welcome to die with their fathers."

Like I would let you harm them.

I looked at him, at his smug, perfect face, at the confidence radiating from every line of his body, and I felt something rise within me. Something dark and fierce and utterly certain.

"Oh, but Khemari," I said, my voice soft, steady, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You are not the only one with hidden talents. You are not the only one with tricks up your sleeve."

His golden eyes narrowed, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"

I smiled, slow and dangerous, and let the black binding rise.

I felt it then, the power surging within me, the dark energy that I had barely practiced, that consumed so much of my strength, that I had hidden from the world because it was strange and terrifying and utterly mine. The last time I had used it, I had been too weak, too slow, too powerless, and Lorian had died because of it. My greatest regret. The wound that never fully healed.

But this time, I knew my mates would win.

I pulled the power forth, the black tendrils swirling around my hands like living shadows, and I reached for my bonds, for the connections that tied me to each of my mates, and I pushed.

Strength. Power. The might of hundreds of men, flowing into each of them, filling them with strength beyond anything they had ever known.

Khemari’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across his perfect face. He had not anticipated this. He had not known. He had underestimated me.

My mates broke free.

Ravin moved first, his fists clenching, his muscles bulging, and he punched the man in front of him with a force that went through flesh and bone and intestine. The man’s eyes went wide, his mouth opened in a silent scream, and then he crumpled, his body folded around the hole Ravin had made.

After that, it was a bloodbath.

My mates did not need weapons. Their fists, their claws, their very bodies had become instruments of destruction. They moved like gods, like forces of nature, like the avatars of vengeance themselves. The southern beasts, trained and armed and ruthless, had no chance. They fell like wheat before the scythe, their screams filling the air, their blood soaking the earth.

Khemari watched, his golden eyes wide, his smile finally faltering. He knew he could not win. He knew he had been outmatched. And so he fought his way to the sea’s edge, his dagger flashing, his own men dying around him, and he dove into the water, shifting as he went, disappearing into the dark waves.

His men who could still run followed, fleeing for their lives, leaving their dead and their wounded behind.

And we stood there, my mates and I, breathing hard, covered in blood, victorious.

The black binding faded, and I collapsed, the energy finally spent, the world spinning around me. Veylan caught me, his arms strong, his voice worried. "Krys? Krys, are you alright?"

"I am fine," I whispered, managing a smile. "Just... tired. So tired."

The village erupted around us, the bound villagers freed, the children crying and laughing and clinging to their parents. Darius woke from his drugged stupor, confused and furious, demanding answers that would take hours to give.

But I did not care about any of it.

My mates were alive. My children were safe. Khemari was gone, for now, driven off by the strength of our bonds, the power of our love.

And somewhere in the lagoon, Caelion held our daughters, unaware of the battle that had raged above, safe and hidden and waiting for me to return.

We had won.

For now.

But I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was not over. Khemari would be back. He would lick his wounds, gather his forces, and return with a vengeance.

And next time, he would not underestimate us.

Next time, he would come prepared.

But so would we.