In two months, my cubs would be six months old. It would be their time to shift for the first time, at least that’s what Ravin said. The thought terrified and thrilled me in equal measure.
I found myself wondering constantly what they would look like when it happened. Would they have Ravin’s golden hair, his amber eyes, his strong jaw? Or would they favor me with softer features and darker coloring? Would they be some perfect blend of us both, something new and unique that neither of us could predict?
And the walking. At six months as cubs, they were already tumbling and wrestling, strong and coordinated in their beast forms. But how developed would they be in human form? Would they come out walking, their bodies magically adjusted to match their cub development? Or would they be helpless newborns again, starting from scratch, needing to learn to hold up their heads and roll over and crawl before they ever took a step?
I would watch them take their first wobbly steps in human form, their chubby legs stumbling, their eyes wide with wonder at a world seen from new heights. I would hold my breath as they learned to control their beasts, praying they didn’t hurt themselves in the transformation. The thought of any of my cubs getting stuck halfway between forms, or shifting too fast and breaking something, kept me awake at night.
But that was still many weeks away. For now, they were simply cubs, golden and soft and perfect, growing stronger every day.
We were sitting at the training field, the afternoon sun warm on our faces, watching our mates train. Swords clashed against swords for those training in their man form, claws raked the air and against each other in their beast forms, bodies moved in the dance of combat that kept them sharp and ready. Ravin led the drills, his golden mane catching the light, his voice booming commands that echoed off the stone walls.
Layla sat to my left, her hand resting on her own belly, she just found out a few days ago she’s pregnant again, her horse mate currently in beast form, galloping across the far end of the field. Rhonda sat to my right, Darius, the sea lion leader currently showing Leon a new grappling technique.
The cubs played at our feet, tumbling and wrestling, their small growls and yips filling the air with symphony of their noise.
"Mama."
I turned toward the sound, my head tilting. Who was that? It had been soft, almost lost in the wind, but distinct. I glanced at Layla, at Rhonda, wondering if one of their cubs had spoken. But their cubs were focused on other things.
Could it be one of the older cubs from the village? Awe, whoever it was sounded so adorable, so small and precious.
"Mama. Mama. Mama."
The voice came again, closer now, insistent and sweet. I turned to look down, almost afraid to look at the voices beside me, my heart hammering against my ribs with a hope so fierce it hurt.
"Mama."
I dared to look.
My cubs were cuddled at my feet, all four of them, their golden fur shining in the sunlight, their eyes, Ravin’s eyes, looking up at me with total adoration. Atlas had his paw on my ankle. Chase was butting his head against my knee. Ryder had flopped onto my foot, purring loud enough to vibrate through my bones. Little Jasper, the smallest, had crawled closest, his tiny nose pressed against my leg and went back to sleep.
They had called me Mama. They had spoken. Real words, not just sounds, not just instinctive cries. My title, from their mouths, directed at me.
My heart almost dropped through my chest, and I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth, tears instantly flooding my eyes. "Oh. Oh my babies."
My mates must have heard me, the sharp intake of breath, the tremor in my voice. They stopped everything, swords lowering, bodies turning, and came running.
"Ravin," I choked out, looking up at him as he skidded to a halt before us. "Our cubs. They finally talked. They said Mama."
Ravin was beside me instantly, dropping to his knees in the dirt, his massive frame folding down to their level. His face was transformed, all the fierce warrior melted away, leaving only the father, the protector, the male who would move mountains for these small creatures.
"Say Daddy," he cooed, his voice dropping to a register I had never heard from him before, soft and pleading and utterly vulnerable. "Come on, little ones. Say Daddy."
Atlas looked at him, his head tilting in that curious way he had, his ears perking forward. His mouth opened, his tiny tongue visible, and he worked the sounds out with visible effort.
"Da, da, dada."
The word was imperfect, broken, more growl than speech, but unmistakable. Daddy. He had said Daddy.
Ravin’s face beamed, lit from within by a joy so pure it made him look young, made him look soft, made him look like the cub he must have been once, long ago. He threw his head back and shouted, a whoop of pure triumph that scattered birds from the nearby trees.
"My cubs!" he bellowed, scooping Atlas up and lifting him high, nuzzling his belly, making the little one squeal with laughter. "They called me Daddy! They know me! They love me!"
"Technically they said dada," Soryn interjected, his serpent eyes gleaming with amusement, his lips curved in a smile he couldn’t suppress. "Not quite Daddy yet."
Ravin looked at him, his joy undimmed by the correction. "Close enough," he shot back, cradling Atlas against his chest. "Close enough for me."
Jasper, woken by all the commotion and the sudden absence of his warm pile of siblings, trotted over to Soryn. The youngest cub had always been drawn to the serpent, perhaps sensing Soryn’s gentle nature, his endless patience. He reached Soryn’s coiled tail and nudged it with his nose, then looked up, his eyes sleepy but determined.
"Dada," he said, the word clear as a bell. Then, as if remembering the game, he added, "Up."
Soryn’s face melted. The usually composed, often indifference serpent, crumbled into pure, unadulterated softness. He reached down with trembling hands and scooped Jasper up, cradling him against his chest, his cheek pressed to the cub’s soft fur.
"Yes," Soryn whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Daddy Soryn will pick you up. Always. Forever."
He swayed gently, rocking Jasper, his eyes closed, a smile of such contentment on his face that I thought my heart might burst from witnessing it.
Ravin looked slightly annoyed, his brow furrowing as he watched the exchange. "Jasper," he said, trying to keep his voice light but failing to hide the hint of jealousy. "Your father is right here. Right here, little one."
I touched his arm gently, my fingers wrapping around his bicep, grounding him. "He knows, Ravin," I said softly. "But you five are technically all of their daddies. You are the biological one. But you are all their daddies nonetheless."
Ravin looked at me, then at Soryn, who was currently being nuzzled by a half sleeping Jasper. He looked at Leon, who had dropped to his knees to accept Chase’s enthusiastic licking. At Caelion, who had Ryder in his lap, teaching the cub to clap his paws together. At Veylan, who sat slightly apart but with his silver eyes fixed on the scene, his expression soft and yearning.
"You’re right," Ravin said finally, his voice rough with feeling. He looked down at Atlas, who was trying to chew on his thumb, and then back at me. "My cubs are loved. Surrounded by males who would die for them, who already have died for them in one case." He smiled, the last of his jealousy melting away. "And that’s all that matters."
He leaned in and kissed me, soft and sweet, Atlas squished between us, purring at the attention.
"Say it again," Ravin whispered at Atlas. "Say Mama again. Let me hear it."
"Mama!" Chase suddenly shouted, having wriggled free of Leon to launch himself at me. "Mama! Mama! Mama!"
The others took up the cry, a chorus of tiny voices, imperfect and growly and absolutely perfect. Mama. Mama. Mama.
"Congratulations, Krys," Rhonda said, her voice warm with genuine happiness. She leaned over from where she was sitting, and smiled at the chaos of cubs and mates surrounding me. "They have good timing. Announcing themselves to the world on a day like today."
"They are growing so fast," Layla beamed, her eyes shining with tears of joy. She clapped her hands together, the sound drawing her horse mate’s attention from across the field. "Just yesterday they were tiny things in your arms, and now they’re talking. shifting will be next, and then... oh, time moves too quickly."
More beast men and women gathered around us, drawn by Ravin’s triumphant shout and the unusual sight of the usually fierce warrior reduced to cooing at his children. They offered congratulations, marveling at the milestone.
"First words are sacred," an elder female said, her voice crackling with age and wisdom. She looked at Atlas warmly. "The beast gods smile on this family. Four cubs, all healthy, all speaking. This is a blessing."
I couldn’t even express the joy I felt. It filled my chest until I thought my ribs might crack, overflowed through my eyes as tears, spilled from my lips as laughter that bordered on hysteria. I looked at each of my mates in turn, at the love radiating from every face, at the family we had built from nothing but hope and determination.
My mates surrounded us, a circle of protection and love, and I sat in the center of it all, covered in cubs, drowning in devotion, and thought that this moment, right here, was worth every pain, every fear, every doubt in my mind. Worth the terror of the attack, the uncertainty of my power, the exhaustion of pregnancy and motherhood. Worth every sacrifice, every uncertainty, every moment of wondering if I was enough.
I turned to look at my mates surrounding our cubs and noticed Veylan standing distant, hanging back so the others could come closer. He watched the scene with longing in his silver eyes, his arms crossed over his chest as if holding himself together, always on the periphery, always apart.
It was due time I had a talk with him again.
We settled for the evening as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and burning oranges. The household fell into its familiar rhythm, my mates gathering in the main room for their nightly ritual. The rock paper scissors tournament had become tradition, a playful way to determine who would share my bed, who would hold me through the night.
But tonight, I called a unanimous vote.
"I’ll be sleeping with Veylan tonight," I announced, my voice cutting through the friendly banter.
The room went still. My other mates paused mid-gesture, hands hovering in preparation for their match, and turned to look at me with varying degrees of surprise.
Veylan’s head shot up from where he had been staring at the floor, his silver eyes wide and disbelieving. Since we had established the game, Veylan had never participated, never threw his lot in to win his time with me. He simply didn’t think he deserved it, didn’t believe he had the right to touch me after what had happened between us.
Ravin looked at me, his golden eyes searching my face. "Are you sure?"
I met his gaze steadily. "You know what happened that time was not his fault, don’t you?"
"Yes," Ravin said quietly.
"Then trust that everything is going to be alright," I told him, my voice soft but firm. "I need this. He needs this."
The other mates nodded slowly, understanding dawning on their faces. Leon clapped Veylan on the shoulder as he passed. Soryn’s tail brushed against my ankle in silent support. Caelion smiled, gentle and knowing.
That night I bathed in the room we had built when we made this home, a proper bathroom with a stone tub large enough to soak in, heated stones keeping the water warm. I scrubbed the grime of the day away, the dirt and sweat of heat from today, and tried to calm my racing heart.
Tonight would be the second time I slept with Veylan.
To be honest, I was still a bit scared. The memory lingered, sharp and unwanted, of that first time when the moonrut poison had robbed him of control, when he had taken me without a conscience, when our mating had been born of violation rather than love. I knew what he did, he wasn’t in control of himself. I knew he had suffered, had punished himself, had withdrawn from me in shame.
But knowing and feeling were different things. My body remembered even when my mind forgave.
I would take my time to teach him. To show him what gentle was, what wanted felt like. I would be patient, and he would be patient, and together we would rebuild what had been broken.
I just had to take a moment to not tremble like I was doing right now, my hands shaking as I dried myself with soft cloth, my breath coming too fast.
After my bath, I wrapped myself in a simple tunic and went to find Veylan. I knew where he would be, in the room at the far end of the house that was built when he moved in with us, the room where he retreated when the weight of his guilt became too heavy.
He was pacing when I entered, his silver hair wild from running his hands through it, his eyes wilder still. He looked like he was ready to flee, to run into the night and keep running until he outpaced his own shame.
I closed the door behind me, the latch clicking loud in the quiet room. Taking a deep breath, I smiled at my nervous wolf, watching him freeze in place, watching his chest heave with barely controlled emotion.
"Are you ready?" I asked, my voice low and inviting, the question hanging between us heavy with promise and possibility, with the chance to finally heal what had been wounded between us.