Chapter 147 Fenn Please
Fennigan’s heart twisted at her words, a sharp, physical ache that made his chest feel too tight for his ribs. He looked at Caspian and Briar, who were currently giggling as they tried to drape a lopsided flower crown over a very patient, smiling Sarah. They were the absolute picture of innocence—soft cheeks, messy hair, and spirits as light as the dandelion fluff drifting on the breeze.
Despite the ancient, swirling power coursing through their mother’s veins, the twins hadn’t shown a single flicker of elemental magic. No sparks from their fingertips, no sudden gusts of wind when they cried. To the rest of the world, they were just happy, healthy toddlers who radiated a pure, infectious joy. But Fennigan knew the dark reality: to the men in the Capital, they weren't children—they were potential assets. The thought of those butchers sharpening their knives, waiting to see if the "property" of the state was merely dormant, made Fennigan’s blood run ice-cold even as the air around him began to shimmer with heat.
He tightened his grip on Leela, feeling the unnatural warmth radiating from her skin. It wasn't just the midday summer sun; it was the "roaring flame" she had described, a furnace stoked by the Goddess herself.
"I know, Sparky," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, grounding rumble that usually acted as her anchor. He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of rain and scorched earth. "I know you’re trying. You shouldn't have to be this strong for everyone else. Not when you’re carrying so much."
Leela turned in his arms, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of unshed tears and a strange, iridescent light that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. "I really am trying, my sweet wolf. I am. But I’m on the verge of frying my brain with this energy. It’s not like it was with the twins, Fenn. It’s... it’s angry."
She let out a shaky, jagged breath, her hands trembling against his chest. "Magda told me back then that the surges were just hormones—that my body was adjusting to carrying life while holding the stone. But this... with Zephyr... it’s different. All this tension, the Council's threat, the raw fear for our babies... it’s turned my spark into a wildfire. I can feel the ground beneath us wanting to shake every time I feel a spark of anger. I can feel the air in my lungs wanting to scream."
She sat through lunch, her fingers white-knuckled around her glass to keep the liquid from vibrating. She sat on the couch through the long, humid afternoon, leaning into Ginny’s side as they talked in hushed, sisterly tones. While the men discussed the coming storm and the butcher's history of the elementals, Leela focused entirely on the mundane: the scent of the cookies the pack ladies had brought, the sound of the twins’ sticky giggles, and the feeling of the sun on her skin. She was an anchor, holding herself steady even as the "roaring flame" inside her lunged against her ribs, begging for an exit.
By dinner, the air around her was so thick with ozone that the pack members nearby felt the hair on their arms stand up. She ate little, her mind a dizzying blur of molten gold and static, but she smiled for her children until the very moment their heads hit the pillows.
It wasn't until she and Fennigan finally retreated to the sanctuary of their own room that the mask crumbled.
The cool spray of the shower did little to quench the furnace raging beneath Leela’s skin. If anything, the water turned to steam the moment it hit her shoulders, shrouding the bathroom in a thick, humid fog. She stepped out, her movements heavy with the exhaustion of fighting her own nature all day. Avoiding the silk nightgowns that felt too fragile for the heat she carried, she reached for the one thing that felt like a sanctuary: the worn, faded patrol t-shirt she had claimed from Fennigan’s drawer.
The moment the cotton slid over her head, the scent of him—cedar, rain-drenched earth, and the sharp, clean musk of his wolf—hit her senses. It was the first breath of fresh air she’d had in hours.
In the corner of the room, the twins were already deep in the land of dreams. They were tangled together on their floor bed in their matching flannel pajamas, a "baby knot" of soft breathing and tiny, rhythmic heartbeats. They were the calm center of the storm Leela was currently fighting to contain.
Leela climbed into the massive bed, the sheets feeling unnaturally cool against her burning skin. She propped herself up against the pillows, her hands resting over the gentle curve of her stomach where Zephyr was finally starting to settle. Despite the physical stillness of the room, her mind was still a chaotic whirl of "fire-brain" static. The golden veins in her arms cast a soft, rhythmic glow against the headboard, pulsing like a warning light.
She waited, her gaze fixed on the bathroom door. She could hear the low rumble of the pipes as Fennigan finished his own shower, the sound grounding her. Every second felt like an eternity; the energy was coiled so tightly in her chest that she felt like she might vibrate right off the mattress.
She didn't need the Sacred Grove. She didn't need the ancient rituals of the Elders. She needed the man who had seen her at her weakest and loved her at her most terrifying. She needed the Alpha who wasn't afraid to get burned.
When the door finally opened and Fennigan stepped out, the steam trailing behind him like a cape, Leela felt the tether between them snap taut. His eyes caught the golden glow of her skin, and his own wolf surged to the surface, his pupils blowing wide.
"Fenn," she whispered, her voice a low, burning ember in the quiet room. "Please. I can't hold it anymore."