Chapter 144 A Messenger
The morning sun filtered through the trees, dappling the garden in soft light as Jax and Ginny stirred in their vine-woven sanctuary. Ginny blinked against the brightness, a long, refreshed sigh escaping her.
"Jax," she whispered, stretching her arms above her head. "I feel better than I have in days. The air, the quiet... I think I actually slept through the whole night."
Jax beamed at her, the dark circles that had been under his eyes for days finally beginning to fade. He didn't just help her up; he carefully slid his arms beneath her and hoisted her into a bridal carry, heading toward the back glass doors.
"You know," Ginny teased, hooking her arms around his neck, "I really don't think Magda meant I couldn't walk at all. As long as it isn't strenuous, I should be fine."
"Nope," Jax replied, his tone firm but playful. "Not until she tells me herself. Until then, you have a personal chauffeur."
"I walk to the bathroom and back on my own, Jax!" she pointed out with a laugh.
"I know you do, little bird. But if I can make it even a tiny bit easier for you, I’m going to." He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek.
He started to steer them toward the guest room, but Ginny gave a little tug on his shirt. "Put me on the couch in the Great Room? Please? I’m already sick of staring at the walls in that bedroom. I want to see the pack."
Jax laughed, changing course. "Whatever the lady says."
He settled her onto the plush sofa, propping her up with a mountain of pillows, and soon returned with a tray of breakfast to eat beside her. It wasn’t long, however, before the quiet morning turned into a revolving door of visitors.
The news of the bonfire and Ginny’s strict bed rest orders had clearly tugged at the pack's heartstrings. A small group of the younger kids, still riding the high from the night before, came skidding in with hand-drawn pictures and "treasures" they had found in the woods—mostly smooth stones and interesting feathers—to keep her entertained.
Close on their heels were several of the pack matrons. They arrived bearing the ultimate wolf-shifter comfort: fresh-baked cookies still warm from the oven, along with jars of preserved fruit and herbal teas.
"For the Luna and our Ginny," one of the women said with a warm wink, setting a plate of chocolate-chip cookies on the coffee table. "We heard you were stuck on the furniture, so we figured we'd bring the party to you."
The Great Room, once a place of serious meetings and Alpha business, was quickly transformed into a hub of warmth, crumbs, and laughter. Ginny sat in the middle of it all, her face glowing with a vitality that had been missing for days, finally feeling like part of the family again.
Knowing the Great Room was already buzzing with visitors for Ginny, Fennigan and Leela had quietly ushered the twins outside. They wanted to ensure Ginny had her moment to shine, allowing her to bask in the pack's undivided attention and affection without the toddlers—adorable as they were—stealing the spotlight.
The transition was jarring. One moment, the air was honey-sweet with the scent of sun-warmed grass and the rhythmic, nonsensical babble of Caspian and Briar were playing on the porch with a ball, a cold, clinical tension rolled over the driveway like a physical weight, chilling the morning air.
The vehicle, sleek and bearing the sharp, intimidating insignias of the High Council, crunched over the gravel with a slow, deliberate pace that felt less like a delivery and more like a calculated threat.
Leela’s laughter died in her throat. Instinctively, her elemental spark flared—not into a visible flame, but into a shimmering, protective wall of energy that thrummed just beneath her skin. Sensing the sudden, sharp shift in their mother, the twins stopped mid-tumble. Their wide eyes fixed on the approaching car, and they scrambled back toward Leela, clutching at her legs and burying their small faces in the denim of her jeans.
The messenger stepped out, his uniform crisp, dark, and entirely devoid of warmth. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, locking his hands behind his back in a rigid stance of bureaucratic superiority. "I am here to deliver these papers to Alpha Fennigan," he announced, his voice echoing with a practiced, hollow formality that didn't belong in the peaceful Blackwood air.
Fennigan didn't hesitate. He stood up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the porch with the babies, his massive frame unfolding until he stood at his full, daunting height. In a heartbeat, the playful father who had been crouched on the pordh playing with his children, was gone. His golden eyes darkened to a predatory amber, his Alpha aura snapping into place with a force that made the very air around him hum with a warning.
He stepped off the porch, his heavy boots thudding against the stone steps with finality, and walked out to meet the man in the center of the driveway. He didn't rush; he moved with the slow, terrifying confidence of a king meeting a trespasser on his own sacred land.
"I am the Alpha," Fennigan rumbled, his voice low and vibrating with the weight of his power.
The messenger didn't flinch, but he reached into his jacket with stiff movements, pulling out a thick envelope sealed with the heavy, black wax of the Council’s inner circle. He held it out, the high-gloss paper catching the morning sun like a blade.
Leela stood on the porch, her hands resting protectively on the twins' heads, her gaze fixed like a hawk on the back of Fennigan’s neck. Deep within her, she felt the "butterfly" kick from Zephyr again—more insistent and sharper this time, as if the babe in her womb could already sense the shadow the Council had just cast over their home.
Fennigan took the envelope, his large fingers brushing against the cold, black wax. He didn't open it immediately. He simply stared the messenger down, his silence a promise: if the words inside this letter brought harm to his mate or his children, no Council flag in the world would be enough to save the man standing before him.