The morning air carried the crisp promise of autumn, leaves beginning to turn at the edges, when the elder came to examine me. His ancient hands, weathered and spotted with age, pressed gentle but firm against the swell of my belly, feeling the life within with the practiced assurance of one who had heal and help many female before they gave birth.
"The litter should be coming any day now," he announced, his voice creaking like old wood but warm with certainty. He shifted his palms, tracking the movement beneath my skin, his cloudy eyes distant with concentration. "I feel them turning, eager to meet their mother."
Ravin stood beside me, his hand finding mine, and when I looked up at him, his face was transformed. The worry that had lived in the corners of his eyes for months had melted away, replaced by a radiance that made him look younger, softer, already the proud father though the babes still rested within me. His thumb traced over my knuckles, his grip tight with emotion he could not quite voice.
"Judging by the way they are moving within you," the elder continued, his hands pressing once more before withdrawing, "there are at least two. Strong kicks, both of them. But once you give birth, we will know for sure how many the ancestors have blessed you with."
"Thank you, elder," I said, my voice thick with feeling. I pressed my own hands to the curve of my belly, feeling the answering flutter of life against my palms. Soon, I thought, the words a whispered promise in the quiet of my mind. Soon I will hold you in my arms, my babies. Mommy cannot wait to meet you.
We walked back to our home through the dirt streets that seemed lighter somehow, the village having exhaled a collective breath of relief since the alliance party departed. Without the peacock woman’s painted eyes assessing every male, without the pressure of strangers watching our customs, the people had returned to their rhythms; hunting, gathering, laughing around evening fires.
Ravin held my arm as we walked, his pace deliberately measured to match my waddling gait, his body a shield against any who might bump into me in the narrow paths. His protectiveness had only increased as my belly grew, his presence a constant warmth at my side.
The days that followed brought a peace I had not realized I needed. I visited Layla in her small home near the eastern edge of the village and found her changed; softened, returned to the kind woman I had first met rather than the grief-maddened creature who had once blamed me for her mate’s death. She smiled when she saw me, her eyes clear for the first time in weeks, and pressed dried fruit into my hands with gentle insistence.
"I am sorry," she had whispered during that first visit, her fingers trembling where they touched mine. "I was lost in darkness. But I see now; what happened was not your fault. It was simply his time to go. Many died that day in the village, and my own house was in such disarray. Who is to say that if we had been at the village that day, we would have survived?"
We had wept together then, two women bound by loss and survival, and the healing had begun.
Now Rhonda, Layla, and I gathered often, the three of us forming a circle of female solidarity that had become my anchor when my mates could not be near. They kept me company during the long afternoons when Ravin sat in council with the elders, when Leon patrolled the borders, when even Soryn; who had become my constant shadow; was called away to contribute his strength to village labor. He was one of us now, fully and truly, and with that belonging came responsibility.
"He would be a good father once he gets you pregnant," Layla said one afternoon, watching Soryn disappear into the tree line with a hunting party, his dark hair catching the sun. "He watches you like you are the only thing in the world."
"He watches her like she might break," Rhonda corrected with a snort, but her smile was fond. "The serpent has wrapped himself around her heart as surely as his coils."
We laughed, the sound carrying through the clearing, and for a moment I felt truly safe, truly content.
Then the news came.
They found his body at dawn, a mile from the village in the deep brush where the forest grew thick and wild. John. Rina’s discarded mate. The lion who had screamed and bled and run into the trees, driven mad by the severing of his bond.
He had not survived.
I stood at the edge of the gathering crowd, Ravin’s hand gripping mine hard enough to hurt, as the hunters described what they had found. The body was already stiff, the golden fur matted with blood that had spilled from his mouth, his eyes open and fixed on nothing, his face frozen in an expression of such agony that I had to look away or be sick.
"He died," the lead hunter said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of witnessed tragedy. "Like many others before him. The pain of the severed bond stopped his heart. He ran until his body gave out, and he died alone in the dark."
I did not know when the tears started, only that my face was wet, my chest heaving with sobs I could not control. I had not known him, had never spoken a word to John in his life, but I had seen his face when Rina cast him aside, had watched the light die in his eyes before he ever ran. To witness such cruelty and stand helpless, unable to intervene, unable to offer even the comfort of presence; it had torn something in me.
Ravin pulled me against his chest, his own voice thick with grief for his kin, but I could not stop shaking.
She did not even mourn him.
I saw her that same afternoon, walking through the village center with her new hawk mate at her side, her laughter bright and musical, her hands stroking his arm with possessive affection. Her cubs; the ones she had borne with other mates were nowhere to be seen, left with their fathers while she played at love with her newest conquest.
She passed within feet of where John’s body lay being prepared for the pyre, and she did not look, did not pause, did not show a single flicker of recognition that a man who had worshipped her, who had given her two years of his life, had ceased to exist because of her whim.
My tears dried then, replaced by something colder, harder. I watched her simpering at the hawk, watched him smile back with eyes that did not yet know what they had seen, and I understood with terrible clarity.
She was heartless. Utterly, completely heartless.
It was no wonder she had not hesitated to try to her wolf mate murder me on that cliff, a pregnant woman and not give a damn. She would have sacrificed any number of mates to achieve her ends, would have watched them die with the same indifference she showed John, and walked away to find new entertainments.
The realization settled into my bones like winter frost, and I pressed my hands more firmly to my belly, feeling my cubs stir within me.
I would have to be careful. I would have to be vigilant.
Because a woman who could do what Rina had done; who could destroy lives with a smile and sleep soundly afterward; was capable of anything.
---
It was a week later when I went into full blown labor. The pain was excruciating. I felt like my body was being ripped from the inside. What followed was chaos dressed in love. Ravin burst from the main room where he had been sharpening his claws, his eyes wild, his golden hair bristling as if he faced an enemy army rather than the natural culmination of four months’ waiting. He bellowed for hot water, for clean cloths, for anything that might help, his voice cracking with a panic I had never heard from my steady, stoic first mate.
Soryn appeared from the shadows where he had been dozing, and the sight of him would have made me laugh if I had not been gripped by another contraction. His usual mask of serpent indifference had shattered completely, replaced by naked terror. His pupils were blown wide, his skin pale beneath its natural hue, his hands trembling where they hovered over me as if he wanted to touch me but feared causing harm. The panic in his face was almost comical in its intensity, this creature who had faced down charging boars and rival serpents now utterly undone by the workings of my body.
"Is she dying?" he asked Ravin, his voice a rasp. "Why is she making those sounds? Should she be making those sounds?"
"Shut up," Ravin snarled, but there was no heat in it, only fear.
Leon was the worst. My black mane lion, usually so full of bluster and bravado, was utterly inconsolable. He paced the perimeter of the room, his tail lashing, his ears flattened against his skull, whining low in his throat like a cub separated from its mother. When I cried out as the first truly crushing wave hit me, he actually yelped, his hands coming up to cover his own ears as if he could block out my pain.
"I cannot," he kept saying, his voice breaking. "I cannot hear this. The pain in her voice, will she be okay? Krys please be okay."
"Leon," I gasped between breaths, reaching for him. "Leon, I need you. I need all of you. Hold me."
They clustered around me like satellites, Ravin at my head supporting my shoulders, Soryn at my side pressing cool cloths to my forehead and wiping the sweat from my neck, Leon finally stilling his pacing to grip my hand with desperate strength and adjust the furs beneath me. They were not midwives, not healers, only my mates, present to witness and support as beast females had done since the beginning, giving birth themselves with only their chosen males to bear witness.
The urge came, undeniable and overwhelming, a primal command that overrode every other thought. I bore down, my vision going white at the edges, a scream tearing from my throat that sounded like nothing human. Ravin went pale, his grip on my shoulders tightening until I felt his claws prick my skin.
"She is tearing," I heard Soryn whisper, his voice horrified. "Ravin, she is tearing, I can see—"
"Do not look," Ravin commanded, but his own face had gone gray, sweat beading on his temples.
I reached down, feeling the swell of my stomach between contractions, trying to sense the position of the cubs. They did not feel tangled, did not feel wrong. They were lined up, ready, waiting for me to do my part. I remembered then, through the haze of pain, the breathing techniques from my old world, the classes I had taken half-laughing with friends who had never dreamed we would actually use such knowledge.
"Breathe," I gasped out, forcing myself to inhale deeply despite the fire in my pelvis. "Breathe before pushing. Just like that."
I gathered my strength, held the breath, and pushed.
The pressure was immense, building and building until I thought I might split in two, until I was certain my body would simply fail under the strain. I screamed again, unable to stop myself, and Ravin actually swayed, his eyes rolling back for a moment before he caught himself.
"She is killing herself," Leon moaned, his face buried in my shoulder. "She is killing herself to bring them forth."
I pushed again. And again. Each contraction a mountain I had to climb, each push a battle against my own flesh. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything I had ever known, a rending from the inside out that made me understand why women in my old world spoke of childbirth as a near-death experience. I felt like I was being torn apart, like some beast had crawled inside me and was clawing its way out with deliberate malice.
Then, finally, the pressure shifted, the burning intensity giving way to a sliding sensation that was almost relief. I felt the crown, the stretch, the sudden release as the first cub slipped out into my waiting hands, into the nest of furs I had prepared.
"One," I gasped, my voice triumphant despite my exhaustion. I lifted the cub, trembling, and Ravin was there with a cloth, his hands gentle as he helped me wipe the birth fluids from the tiny body. A strong boy.
I had no time to process, no time to rest. The urge came again, immediate and insistent. I pushed without waiting for the contraction to peak, my body knowing what to do even as my mind reeled. This one came easier, sliding out in two great heaves that left me gasping but not screaming.
"Two," I called, and Soryn was there, pressing a fresh cloth into my hand, his eyes wide with awe and terror in equal measure. Another male, healthy and whole.
Again. My body was a machine now, operating on instinct, on ancient programming written into my blood. Push, breathe, push. The third came, and the fourth, each one easier than the last, until I was collapsing back against Ravin’s chest, trembling, soaked in sweat and blood and relief.
"Four," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Four beautiful lion cubs."
I lay there, my chest heaving, my body throbbing with aftershocks, and waited to hear them cry. The silence stretched, terrifying, until—
A mewling sound, high and indignant. Then another, and another, until the room was filled with the squalling of newborn life.
Ravin moved first, taking the cloths, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he helped me wipe each cub clean of birth fluids, clearing their mouths and noses with a tenderness that made my heart ache. One by one, we lifted them, these tiny wriggling creatures covered in downy fur and placed them on my chest.
Four perfect cubs, plump and beautiful, their eyes squeezed shut, their tiny mouths already rooting for nourishment. All four male, their fur the golden hue of their fathers, their tiny paws kneading against my skin.
I touched them each in turn, counting heads, counting limbs, marveling at the completeness of them, the miracle of their existence. They were here. They were real. They were healthy.
"Hello," I whispered, my voice hoarse from screaming, tears streaming down my face. "Hello, my babies."
Ravin settled beside me, his face wet with tears he made no effort to hide. Soryn hovered, his panic finally subsiding into awe, his fingers reaching out to touch a tiny paw with something like reverence. Leon had collapsed to his knees beside the furs, his head resting near my hip, his hand reaching up to stroke the back of the nearest cub with shaking fingers.
"We are fathers," Ravin said, his voice thick. "We are fathers."
I looked down at my sons, at these four lives I had carried and fought to bring into the world and felt a fierce protective surge that bordered on violence. They were male. In this world, that meant they would be the ones to bond, to choose, to suffer if they chose poorly. They would be the ones at the mercy of female whims, the ones who could be discarded, driven mad, destroyed.
Not my sons. Never my sons.
I gathered them closer, feeling their warmth against my skin, their tiny hearts beating in time with mine.
"It is okay," I murmured, though whether I spoke to them or myself, I could not say. "It is all okay. You are healthy, and you are loved, and when the time comes for you to choose your mates, she will have to go through me first. I will not let anyone destroy my babies. Not ever."
The cubs stirred against me, mewling softly, and I closed my eyes, surrounded by my mates, holding my children, and knew that I would kill or die to protect them from the cruelties of this world.
And that included protecting them from women like Rina.