Chapter 104 We Need to Talk
The heavy double doors swung open again, but this time, the atmosphere in the dining hall didn't swell with warmth. It tightened.
Fennigan walked in, still wearing the wrinkled shirt from yesterday, his face grim and shadowed with the weight of what he and the Elders had just discovered in the study. He didn't stop to greet the pack members or grab a coffee. He walked straight to Leela, his golden eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made the nearby wolves lower their forks.
He stopped beside her chair, leaning down so his voice wouldn't carry to the whole room, though the sudden quiet meant everyone was straining to hear.
"We need to talk," Fennigan said, his voice low and devoid of compromise. "Immediately after breakfast."
Leela froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. She lowered it slowly, a flicker of annoyance sparking in her chest. She had just reclaimed her calm; she wasn't ready to hand it back.
"But Fenn," Leela argued, keeping her voice pleasant but firm. "I have the Earth Classes starting in an hour. I was going to start them up again today. I had just gotten the curriculum set before we got all this crap from Vane."
Fennigan’s jaw tightened. "The classes can wait."
"Can they?" Leela shot back, turning in her chair to face him fully. "Isn't that why I am here? Am I not supposed to be teaching the other packs how to heal the lands? If we stop living our lives every time Vane rattles the cage, then he's already won."
"Leela," Fennigan warned, his hand landing heavy on the back of her chair. "Calm down. This isn't about the classes."
"Don't tell me to calm down," she whispered furiously, her eyes flashing green. "I am trying to do my job."
The sudden spike in tension between the Alpha and Luna rippled through the room like a shockwave. Down the table, Caspian and Briar, who had been happily chewing on sausage, sensed the shift instantly. Their parents' voices had that sharp, jagged edge they hated.
Caspian let out a worried whine, reaching out with sticky hands toward Leela, and Briar started to fuss in Marcus's lap.
"Alright, little ones, back to base," Marcus murmured, sensing the mood.
The twins were quickly passed back down the line—from Marcus to Sarah, from Sarah to a guard, and finally back to their parents. Fennigan had to step back as Caspian was deposited into his arms, and Leela took a squirming Briar onto her lap.
The arrival of the babies broke the standoff, but the air remained thick.
"We have to talk," Fennigan repeated, shifting Caspian to his hip. "It's important. It's about a way to end this."
Leela looked at him, searching his face. She saw the exhaustion there, the fear she had seen last night, but also a new resolve. She sighed, the fight draining out of her shoulders.
"Fine," Leela conceded, picking up her fork again and stabbing a piece of melon. "But I have to feed these babies first. They haven't finished."
Fennigan looked down at her plate, which was piled high with eggs, fruit, and toast—far more than she usually ate. He raised an eyebrow, a silent question about the quantity.
Leela caught the look and glared back, offering a strained, tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes. She patted her round stomach pointedly.
"I'm feeding this baby too," she stated, daring him to comment. "So sit down, Alpha. The war can wait for until after our children and myself are comfortably fed."Fennigan pulled out the heavy wooden chair beside her with a sigh that sounded like a growl losing its fight. He sat down, the wood groaning slightly under his weight, and crossed his arms on the table, watching her.
The pack, sensing the Alpha had settled, slowly returned to their own conversations, though the volume remained respectful and low.
Leela ignored his brooding stare. She turned her attention entirely to the logistics of fueling three growing bodies at once.
Her plate became a communal trough.
With the efficiency of a woman who had mastered multitasking, Leela cut a piece of sausage. She held it out to Caspian, who was perched on Fennigan’s knee, leaning over the table like a vulture. He snatched it with sticky fingers, shoving it into his mouth with a happy hum.
Next, she stabbed a chunk of cantaloupe. She turned to Briar, who was sitting on her lap, and the little girl opened her mouth like a baby bird. Leela popped the fruit in, and Briar chewed contentedly, juice running down her chin.
Then, Leela loaded the fork with a massive pile of scrambled eggs and bacon—a bite that would choke a normal human—and ate it herself.
She chewed slowly, looking straight ahead, feeling the protein settle in her stomach and the kick of the baby inside her, who seemed to be doing a happy dance at the influx of calories.
"One for the Prince," Leela muttered, handing Caspian a piece of toast. "One for the Princess." She gave Briar a strawberry. "And two for the Queen."
She shoveled another forkful into her own mouth.
Fennigan watched the rhythm, his golden eyes tracking the movement of the fork. He watched his son chewing with his mouth open, crumbs falling onto Fennigan’s dark trousers. He watched his daughter leaning back against Leela’s chest, her eyes heavy with food-induced bliss. And he watched his mate, fierce and unrepentant, eating enough for a linebacker because she was building a life inside her.
It was such a mundane, messy, beautiful scene.
And it made the conversation he needed to have with her—about dead zones, bone magic, and rituals—feel infinitely heavier. He reached out, almost involuntarily, and wiped a smear of melon off Caspian’s cheek with his thumb.
"Eat up," Fennigan murmured, his voice rough. "You're going to need your strength."