Don't lether come down here...Easton keeps yelling in my head.You need to fix it before she comes in.
I thought he was irritating before.
It's when I step into the room that I understand his panic.
Her mother's skull is stuck on the end of a post of the baby's crib. The skeleton is splayed out as if crucified.
"Bloody fucking hell."
The sight nearly brings me to my knees. This woman—Feray's mother—died in agony. Died protecting her child. And whatever killed her wanted to make a statement.
A little warning would have been nice, crispy.I fire at Easton through our mythic bond.
Doing the best I can, I rearrange the crime scene so it's not so horrific for Feray to see. I remove all evidence of her having been impaled or crucified.
The room is a war zone. You can tell the Luna put up a hell of a fight and probably outlasted the alpha. A cornered mother fights her hardest when her baby is nearby.
With that thought in mind, I look around.
In the closet appears to be a place where she could have hidden the baby. Maybe she did hide her? Maybe Fiadh's parents were due for a visit and found the scene. They found Thyra, renamed her similar to their daughter, and ran.
That's the most palatable version I can come up with.
The big questions linger: Why would the alpha and Luna run? Why were they being hunted? Who would benefit from the tundra being in chaos?
There are two wolves that hold seats of power on the council or in the library. Neither has half the strength my mate has. Hell, she doesn't know about half the strength she has.
The hidey-hole in the closet's bottom was brilliant of her father. From what I remember of the alpha, he was a master woodworker. He probably constructed this as a failsafe for his daughter. It's wide enough and deep enough to hide a toddler if needed.
Shaking my head, I look around, thinking about the fear that must have coursed through the Luna in her final moments. She knew this was going to be her last battle.
She died protecting her daughter. It's the greatest honor for any parent. The survival of our young is of the utmost importance.
When I'm positive the room won't add any unneeded trauma to my mate, I call for everyone to enter.
Feray enters first.I watch her nose working overtime. Every twitch and sudden turn of her head makes me study where she's looking.
"It was one of those things..." she states, staring at a dried bloody hoof print.
Fucking hell. I didn't see that.
Splaying her hand wide, she swipes at the wall where the claw marks are, then turns. There's a deadness in her gaze, as if she's looking right through me.
Her fingers trace the edge of the crib. On the headboard, her name is painted:Thyra Feray Jökull.
She reaches out and touches her name, running her fingertips over the letters.
Something in me breaks watching her. This was supposed to be her nursery. These walls were meant to echo with her laughter, not stand as a tomb for her mother.
I step into her personal space and hug her from behind. "What do you need of me, my eternal? Name it. It's yours."
I kiss her temple, and her frame remains rigid.
"I want them to burn."
Her voice rings hollow. But her desire for retribution makes my dragon pay attention.
Moving quickly, I kneel before my mate and take her hands in mine, staring up at her. "Who? Who do you want to burn?"
