Chapter 87 Ten Fingers-Ten Toes
Elana stepped forward, her movements gentle but firm as she peeled a wiggling, wide-awake Caspian off Ginny’s lap. The toddler was blinking his large eyes, sensing the thick tension in the room, but he went easily to his grandmother, giving his pregnant aunt a much-needed break.
"Come here, little wolf," Elana cooed, hoisting her grandson onto her hip. She rubbed his back, distracting him from the stress radiating off his parents and his aunt and uncle. "Let Aunt Ginny breathe for a second."
Jax didn't let go of Ginny’s hand. He stayed close to his wife, his other hand resting protectively on her own baby bump, his shoulders sagging slightly now that the immediate threat was gone.
Fennigan walked over to the stone hearth where a pile of emergency clothes was always kept for situations exactly like this—rapid shifts and sudden flights. He grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants for himself, pulling them on quickly to cover himself.
He grabbed a second pair—black, heavy cotton—and tossed them across the room.
They hit Jax in the bare shoulder.
"Put them on," Fennigan murmured, his voice rough. "We can't stay here."
Jax caught the fabric, nodding slowly. He stood up, his movements stiff as his muscles knit back together from the forced shift, and pulled the sweats on.
Elana turned from the window, bouncing Caspian who was now chewing on his fist. Her face was lined with deep worry, the matriarch looking at her sons—two grown men, strong and lethal, yet currently looking like they were backed into a corner.
"What are we going to do, Fenn?" Elana asked, her voice low but demanding an answer. "We can't just keep hiding out in the woods forever. Vane will come back, and he'll bring more than just threats next time."
Fennigan tied the drawstring of his pants, his jaw setting into a hard line. He looked at Leela, who was holding Briar, and then at the door.
"Well," Fennigan said, letting out a heavy sigh that rattled in his chest. "For now, we get back to the Packhouse."
He ran a hand through his messy hair, a grim look crossing his face.
"Jax and I left Dad standing on the front deck with his shotgun," Fennigan reminded them. "He's out there alone, guarding the perimeter. We need to relieve him before he decides to fortify the lawn."
He walked over to Leela, offering his hand to help her up.
"And then," Fennigan said, his eyes darkening with resolve, "we are going to find something we can use to stop Vane. We have to dig into the old laws, the treaties... something. We have to find the weapon that stops the High Council before they can destroy us."
The journey back from the Grove wasn't a stroll, even with the widened trails. The terrain was still brutal, unforgiving rock and root that required something stronger than boots.
Fennigan pulled the tarp off the "Mountain Climber"—their custom-built, heavy-duty off-road utility vehicle that looked more like a tank than a truck. It sat wide on massive tires, built to crawl over the jagged landscape that separated the sanctuary from the main estate.
They loaded up quickly. Jax drove, his knuckles white on the wheel as he navigated the steep descent. Elana held Caspian in the back, while Leela strapped Briar against her chest, the roar of the engine drowning out the silence of the woods.
As they bumped along the trail, Leela looked back at the trees disappearing behind them.
It hadn't been her sanctuary during the pregnancy—back then, she had been fighting on the front lines, carrying the twins while the Council drained the life out of her through Whisper Wind. No, the Grove was where she had come after.
It was where Fennigan had brought her when she was a husk of herself, barely alive after the birth and the drain. It was where she had laid in the hammock, letting the ancient earth slowly stitch her soul back together while the newborns slept beside her. That place had resurrected her when the Council had left her for dead.
The Mountain Climber crested the final ridge and rolled onto the manicured lawn of the Packhouse. The sun hadn't moved much; they had made good time, but the air still held the lingering, acrid scent of the High Council’s arrogance—burnt rubber and expensive cologne hanging on the porch like a bad memory.
Damon was waiting for them.
He was standing exactly where they had left him, the shotgun resting in the crook of his arm. But the moment he saw the rugged vehicle emerge from the treeline—his family whole, safe, and unharmed inside—the old Alpha seemed to deflate. The tension that had held him upright vanished, replaced by a wave of relief so palpable it nearly knocked him over.
He leaned the shotgun against the siding of the house, engaging the safety with a loud click, and jogged down the steps to meet the vehicle as it crunched to a halt on the gravel.
He didn't say a word to Fennigan or Jax as they hopped out. He went straight for the most important cargo.
"Give them here," Damon rumbled, his voice thick with emotion.
He reached into the back and took Caspian from Elana, tucking the boy into his massive left arm, and then immediately reached for Briar, scooping her from Leela’s grasp into his right.
"Did they scare you?" Damon cooed, his voice dropping from a growl to a gentle, gravelly purr. "Did the bad men make too much noise?"
He sat down heavily on the bottom step, balancing a twin on each knee.
To anyone watching, it looked like a grandfather playing with his grandkids. But Fennigan saw what he was really doing. Damon was performing a medical check.
"Let me see these paws," Damon murmured, grabbing Caspian’s bare foot. He inspected the tiny toes, checking for cuts, for bruises, for any sign of magic residue or harm.
"Is this a toe?" Damon asked, his eyes narrowing as he checked the skin. "Or is this... a sausage?"
Caspian giggled, kicking his leg.
"I think it's a sausage!" Damon declared. He brought the little foot up to his mouth and pretended to take a giant, chomping bite, making a loud OM-NOM-NOM noise.
Caspian shrieked with laughter, the sound pure and bright, chasing away the lingering darkness of the morning.
Damon turned to Briar, who was watching with wide eyes. He took her small hand, checking her fingers, turning her wrist gently to check her pulse and temperature.
"And what about these?" Damon teased, winking at Leela over the baby's head. "Are these fingers? Or are these... french fries?"
Briar squealed as he pretended to gobble up her hand, her laughter joining her brother's.
Damon buried his face in their soft tummies, blowing raspberries until they were both wriggling and shrieking with joy. When he finally looked up at Fennigan, his eyes were wet, but his smile was genuine.
"All clear," Damon said softly, the playful mask slipping just enough to show the vigilant guardian underneath. "Ten fingers. Ten toes. And two very loud lungs."