Chapter 274 Shattered Normalcy
Toby’s heavy jaw clenched so tightly his teeth audibly ground together, the violent, leaping firelight catching the thick, pale scars that ruthlessly crossed his rugged face. He was an elite Blackwood guard. He had been trained since childhood to be the immovable, flesh-and-blood wall standing between his pack and the monsters of the world. He was conditioned to bleed, to fight, and to die for his Alpha King without a single second of hesitation.
But sitting on this rug, holding a freezing, trembling pup while his King fought a ghost in the dark, Toby had never felt so utterly, devastatingly useless.
Sarah’s desperate, tear-filled plea hung between them. He desperately wanted to give his mate a tactical certainty. He wanted to promise her that the sun would rise and their royal family would walk back through the front doors whole. But he couldn't offer her a hollow, comforting lie. It wasn't in his Lycan nature to deceive his mate.
Instead, the massive warrior shifted his considerable weight on the plush rug, physically scooting his broad, muscular frame intimately closer until his solid arm was pressed completely, firmly against Sarah’s trembling shoulder. He needed the grounding, steadying anchor of his mate just as desperately as she needed him in that terrifying moment.
He gently, methodically adjusted his massive, calloused hands, ensuring little Briar was tucked flawlessly against his chest. He actively forced his Lycan metabolism into overdrive, radiating a burning, supernatural body heat to physically shield the trembling infant from the phantom, magical frost invading her bones.
Toby stared deeply into the roaring, spitting fire, the violent orange light reflecting in his dark, hardened eyes. He thought about the absolute, lethal, apocalyptic capability of Fennigan and Jax. But his mind instantly countered it with the unimaginable, sickening power of the dead man they were currently hunting—a monster wearing a charged elemental bone ring that hid him from the eyes of God.
"I don't know," Toby finally rumbled.
His deep, gravelly voice was entirely stripped of its usual, unshakable militant confidence. The sound of his defeat was physically jarring. He leaned his head slightly, resting it gently against Sarah's soft hair as a heavy, suffocating dread violently settled over the nursery. The raw, unshielded honesty in his admission was absolutely devastating.
"I really don't."
The heavy, suffocating silence in the nursery painfully stretched on, completely unbroken except for the violent, snapping crackle of the hearth and the erratic, high-pitched, shivering breaths of the twin pups.
For Toby and Sarah, the sheer, crushing weight of the unknown was completely paralyzing. They were so incredibly young—they had both just turned eighteen. Their adult lives within the pack were supposed to be just beginning. It felt like only yesterday they were standing proudly before their Alpha King, their hearts absolutely overflowing with hope and devotion as Fennigan officially performed their mating ceremony, using his massive Alpha aura to permanently bind their souls together.
Sarah’s trembling hand instinctively drifted away from Caspian’s swaddled back to rest gently, fiercely over her own lower stomach. She was unconsciously guarding the brand-new, incredibly fragile secret of the pup already growing inside her womb. They were supposed to be stepping into a bright future filled with light, pack unity, and a growing family. Instead, they were sitting on a rug in the absolute dead of night, desperately trying to physically thaw the freezing bodies of the Alpha's heirs while their entire world violently unraveled around them. And the most agonizing, soul-crushing part was the absolute helplessness. They were elite guards and fiercely loyal wolves, but they had absolutely no idea how to fix this broken world.
Sarah’s tear-filled eyes slowly drifted away from the blinding fire, scanning the dimly lit, tension-filled room.
In the far corner, completely swallowed by the oppressive shadows, sat Elana. The former Luna of the Blackwood pack looked impossibly frail, her exhausted, aging body slumped heavily in her wheelchair. Deep, dark, bruised circles completely stained the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and her hands visibly, constantly trembled where they rested tightly in her lap.
The psychological torture of this night was actively, systematically destroying her. Her sons were currently deep underground, fighting a terrifying, supernatural war against the resurrected ghost of the husband she had grieved and buried. Despite Sarah and Ginny’s gentle, repeated, desperate pleas throughout the night, Elana absolutely refused to let them lay her down in a bed. She sat rigidly in the chair, her dark eyes fixed blindly on the hardwood floorboards, keeping a silent, agonizing, maternal vigil for the boys she wasn't sure were ever coming home.
Across the room, tucked deeply into the corner of the plush velvet sofa, was Ginny.
The human woman was incredibly quiet, gently and rhythmically rocking back and forth as she nursed little Iggy. The tiny baby was blissfully, beautifully unaware of the apocalyptic tension slowly suffocating the room, his little fists curled tightly and peacefully against Ginny’s chest as he fed in the warm dark.
But Ginny wasn't looking down at her son. Her gaze was locked entirely on the dark, heavily frosted glass of the nursery window, staring out into the pitch-black, unforgiving tree line. She was desperately, fiercely waiting for the impossible, miraculous sight of Jax, Fennigan, and the Queen walking back out of those frozen woods.
A single, incredibly hot tear finally spilled over Ginny's thick lashes, tracking silently down her pale cheek.
It was so incredibly, brutally unfair. Leela shouldn't be strapped to a freezing stainless-steel table in some horrific, subterranean hellhole. She should be sitting right here, safely on this plush sofa right next to Ginny. They were supposed to be doing this together. Ginny's heart physically, deeply ached for the mundane, beautiful normalcy they had been entirely, violently robbed of.
They were supposed to be exhausted new mothers together, sitting in the packhouse kitchen at dawn, drinking lukewarm coffee and complaining about endless, sleepless nights. They were supposed to be laughing until they cried about dirty diapers, swapping parenting advice, and making ridiculous, unbreakable pacts to stop their toddlers from eating worms and dirt out of the packhouse gardens.
Leela had already survived vastly more trauma, pain, and absolute, soul-shattering terror than any one soul should ever have to endure in a single lifetime. She was the Mother. She had saved them all. And now, in the exact, beautiful moment she was finally supposed to find her absolute peace and raise her baby boy in the light, the dark had violently reached up and dragged her back down.
Ginny pulled Iggy a fraction closer to her beating heart, her chin trembling violently as she stared out into the unforgiving Blackwood night.
Please, she silently, desperately begged the Moon Goddess. Please let them bring her home.