It had been a full month since the last attack.
Thirty days of rebuilding, of healing, of slowly reclaiming the rhythm of ordinary life. The village walls stood stronger now, reinforced with stone and vigilance. And in another month, my cubs would shift for the first time, crossing that threshold from beast to human, from innocence to awareness.
I spent my days making them clothes.
The flax plant had become my constant companion, the fibers rough against my fingertips as I spun them into thread, then wove them into fabric. I sat in the sunlight that streamed through the window, needle pricking my thumb more often than I cared to admit, stitching tiny tunics and loincloths for bodies that didn’t yet exist in that form. I’m making it with string ties, to adjust since I’m not sure how they would look coming out. How tall or big they are.
I wished so badly there were cotton trees around here.
In my old world, cotton had been soft, forgiving, and easy to work with. I could have made them clothes that wouldn’t chafe their skin, that would drape and breathe and feel like comfort against their bodies. But I hadn’t found any cotton trees in these forests, no matter how far I wandered searching for them. So I made do with what I had, with flax that was stiff and scratchy but would have to suffice.
And in three months’ time, I would have another litter of cubs.
My hand went to my belly, where Leon’s litter grew. I was showing now, the swell unmistakable beneath my tunics. The fatigue was constant, a weight in my bones that no amount of sleep could fully banish. But there was joy too, in feeling them move, in imagining what they would be, these new lives joining our chaotic family.
The cubs were out with their daddies.
I had the place to myself, rare and precious silence filling the rooms where usually there was only noise and motion. I finished the last stitch on Ryder’s top, holding it up to examine my work. The seams were straight; the size hopefully correct but at least I can adjust with the string. I still had Chase and Jasper left to do, their little garments waiting in the basket beside me.
Sighing, I got up to stretch, my back cracking, my shoulders aching from hunching over the work.
Since I had some time alone without the cubs and my mates, I decided to visit Rhonda and Layla, and now my new friend Wren. The walk through the village was peaceful, the afternoon sun warm on my face, the sounds of rebuilding and life surrounding me.
The moment I arrived at Rhonda’s home; Wren grabbed my hands.
Her face was bright, her pink eyes shining with happiness, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement. "I want to thank you," she said, her voice breathless. "I did what you told me, and Bram was so excited to try. It felt so good, like I was floating in a dream of pleasure. The size I was always so unsure about gave me the best pleasure I have ever known."
I smiled, feeling warmth spread through my chest at her joy. "I’m happy you enjoyed yourself."
"I have to tell the other females—"
"No, please." I cut in, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. "I think just us knowing is fine. What if the elders hear it and think we are going against the beast way or something?"
Wren paused, her enthusiasm dimming slightly as she considered.
"That’s true," Rhonda said, her voice thoughtful. "It feels so good, this knowledge. I would hate to have to go back to how things were. I agree with Krys. Let’s just keep it to ourselves. At least for now."
"Yes, let’s do that," Layla chipped in, her hand resting on her own growing belly. "Some things are better as secrets among friends."
Wren looked at us, her expression reluctant but ultimately agreeable. "I guess we should," she conceded. "But it’s hard not to share something so wonderful."
After another hour of talking about nothing of importance; herbs and weather and the small dramas of village life I walked back to my home. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose.
Soryn greeted me at the door, holding Jasper in his arms. The little cub was half-asleep, his golden fur mussed, his thumb in his mouth.
"Hey," Soryn said softly, his serpent eyes gentle. "Welcome back, Krys."
"Where are the others?" I asked, and my voice tired.
"Ravin is with Caelion. They have Atlas and Chase in the room, getting them ready for bed. Ryder is still at Lisa and Raon’s home with Leon. Veylan is at the border patrolling."
I wanted to sleep. I was so tired, exhaustion a heavy blanket over my thoughts.
"I’ll take a bath," I told him. "Do you guys mind putting the cubs to bed? I’m going to sleep after bathing."
"That is fine," Soryn smiled, his expression tender. "You need your rest. Go ahead. We’ll get the cubs to bed."
He leaned in to kiss me goodnight, his lips soft against mine, and I kissed him in return, feeling the love in the gesture, the care.
"Thanks, Soryn," I whispered.
After bathing, the warm water doing little to ease the deep fatigue in my bones, I collapsed into bed. The exhaustion took me instantly, pulling me under like a tide, and I slept without dreams, surrounded by the sounds of my family settling in for the night.
Small mercies, I thought as I drifted off. These quiet moments, these ordinary days. They were worth fighting for.
---
It was the moment we had been waiting for, six months since my cubs came to this world and my heart was tearing itself into pieces.
The cubs had been restless all morning, whining and scratching at their fur, their bodies too hot to the touch. We knew what was coming. Ravin had prepared me, had explained the signs, the symptoms, the inevitable pain of first transformation. But knowing and witnessing were different things entirely.
The agony started with Atlas.
He was playing with a wooden block one moment, and the next he collapsed, his small body going rigid, a scream tearing from his throat that no child should ever make. The sound was wet and visceral, like meat being torn from bone, and I lunged for him, but Ravin caught my arm, holding me back.
"Don’t," he said, his voice rough. "You can’t interrupt it."
Then Chase started, his body convulsing on the floor, his golden fur standing on end as if electrified. Ryder followed, then Jasper, even my lazy prince who usually slept through everything was crying in agony, his little body wracked with spasms I couldn’t stop, couldn’t fix, couldn’t do anything about.
The crunch of bones filled the room, wet and grinding, the sound of their skeletons rearranging themselves, growing, shifting from beast to man-form. They cried for us to help them, their voices high and terrified, calling "Mama! Mama!" between screams that shredded my soul.
I stood there helplessly, my tears falling hot and fast, my hands covering my mouth to hold back my own screams. Ravin was tense beside me, his teeth clenched so hard I thought they might crack, his hand fisted at his side, his whole body vibrating with the need to act, to fix, to save them from this.
"Ravin," I choked out, my voice breaking. "What can I do? My babies. Please, there has to be something."
He turned to look at me, and I saw his eyes were wet, his own tears held back by sheer force of will. "There’s nothing we can do," he said, his voice strained to breaking. "They will be fine. This moment just has to pass. It has to run its course."
My other mates paced back and forth like caged animals, Leon watching the cubs with a heavy heart, his hands opening and closing at his sides. Caelion had turned away, unable to watch, his shoulders shaking. Veylan stood frozen, Soryn was coiled in the corner, his serpent form agitated, hissing with distress.
We all stood aside, useless and broken, watching our children suffer.
Then, finally, the fur began to recede.
Limbs emerged from the chaos of shifting flesh, chubby arms and plump legs, fingers and toes with tiny nails. Their faces rounded into perfect cherubs, their ears still in their beast form, soft and golden and fuzzy, sticking out from their heads in that way that distinguished them from others. Their tails remained too, long and lion-like, swishing nervously behind them. Their snouts shortened into button noses and rosebud lips.
And before I knew it, my cubs were gone.
In their place stood four toddlers.
They looked about two or three years old, with chubby cheeks and wobbly legs, their hair golden like their father’s, their eyes amber and brown; my eyes, Ravin’s eyes, mixtures we hadn’t anticipated. They were naked, their bodies soft and new, their skin dusted with the last remnants of their fur.
Atlas cried first, his face crumpling, tears streaming down his cherub cheeks. "Mama," he sobbed, his voice higher, more human, but still recognizably his. "Mama, it hurts."
I rushed to them, falling to my knees on the hard floor, not caring about the pain. I pulled them against me, all four of them, gathering them into my arms, my body surrounding theirs, my tears falling onto their hair, their faces, their new skin.
"You’re okay," I sobbed, rocking them, holding them so tight I might have bruised them. "You’re okay, my babies. Mama’s here. Mama’s got you."
Ravin was beside me in an instant, his big arms encircling us all, his face buried in Atlas’s hair, his body shaking with relief. "The pain has passed," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "They can shift now. They’ll learn to control it, to move between forms. But the first time is always the hardest."
I looked down at Jasper, my smallest, my lazy prince. He had already fallen asleep in my arms, his face peaceful, his breathing even. His cherub face was perfect, round and soft, his golden lashes resting against his cheeks, his thumb tucked into his mouth.
At least some things don’t change, I thought, a watery laugh escaping me. My sleeping cub is now my sleeping toddler.
I smiled through my tears, looking at my family; my mates crowding around us, their faces wet with relief and joy, their hands reaching to touch, to verify, to welcome these new little people into our world.
This was the most beautiful moment of our lives.