Chapter 222: The Yogurt Mural

Chapter 222: The Yogurt Mural
Lya straightened up, her posture rigid, her eyes blazing. A pulse of magic rippled around her, distorting the air as if the temperature had risen by several degrees in an instant.

“Drake,” she said in a voice disturbingly calm, “if there was a single naive brain cell left in your skull, it just died. Slowly. Screaming.”
“It was urgent,” he defended himself, hands raised. “I just wanted to... warn you that Loric made a mural in the main hallway with blackberry yogurt. And he said it was 'to decorate before mommy and daddy make another baby.'”

A catastrophically tense silence.

Then Caleb, his voice deep and impassive:
“You did the right thing by coming.”

Lya slowly turned toward him.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean... the mural. It's a good reason.”

She stared at him. One second. Two.
Then she let out another furious growl.

Drake jumped back.
“Okay, okay! I’m out! I’ll leave you to it! I’ll clean the yogurt! I’ll repaint the wall if I have to! I’ll buy a mural if you want, Lya! A REAL ARTIST MURAL! WITH FRAMES!”

And he vanished at a speed unfitting for a warrior or a respectable uncle.

Caleb smiled.
Lya, still a little on fire, muttered:
“It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
“No, it’s just because we love him a bit. And because we’re too tired to resurrect him afterward.”

He moved closer again, slid a hand around her nape, and whispered low in her ear:
“But if you want to keep growling... I’m ready to play along. All night.”

Silence had fallen again inside the manor, broken only by Caleb’s unhurried steps as he moved away, still amused by the previous scene. He had left Lya to cool off, confident that the real storm was now unfolding... in the main hallway.

Indeed, as he stepped over the threshold, he found Drake crouched with a soaked cloth in hand, scrubbing at a piece of modern, purple artwork that covered a good half of the wall.
“...What are you doing?” Caleb asked, arms crossed.
“Trying not to die in excruciating pain,” Drake replied without turning. “Because your mate is amazing, sublime, powerful… and she’ll roast me alive if she sees this.”

“It’s too late,” said a cheerful little voice behind him. “Mommy already saw it!”

Drake froze. Caleb raised an eyebrow.
“She said it was very... 'expressive'. And that we’d talk about it later. I think that means she liked it.”

Loric.

Wearing an oversized T-shirt with a pajama-clad dragon on it, the little wolf stood as straight as a king before his mural, arms wide like a museum guide:
“Ta-da! It’s ‘Sunset Over the Kingdom of Cakes.’ That’s a whipped cream volcano, that’s daddy flying on a dragon eating a cabbage, and that’s Uncle Drake falling into a jelly river because he wasn’t looking where he was going!”

“You are… incredibly creative,” Caleb murmured, torn between paternal pride and exasperation.

Drake slowly straightened up, his face pale.
“Loric... Did you just paint my culinary humiliation in public? With yogurt?”
“It’s not just yogurt. I used some blackberry juice for shading! And cookie crumbs for the mountains!”
“You used... what?!”

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t want to know. Honestly.”

But Loric wasn’t done.
“And look here! That’s Kaelan, still in mommy’s belly, but he’s making little cream puffs fly into the stars!”

Caleb stifled a laugh. Drake pointed a finger at him.
“You’re laughing! You’re laughing while I’m about to be grilled by a pregnant dragon!”
“You’re part of the painting, Drake. That’s practically an honor.”
“AN HONOR? I’m drowning in jelly in this scene!”

Loric tilted his head thoughtfully.
“Well... I gave you a floaty. So you wouldn’t sink. You’re still my favorite uncle.”

Drake opened his mouth. Closed it again. Visibly touched, despite everything.
“I’ll just... cry in a corner while I scrub this with dignity.”
“Can we do another mural after?” Loric asked, eyes gleaming.
“What now?” sighed Drake.
“One about when mommy growled to stop people from touching daddy! With lightning and a volcano! And red! Lots of red!”

Caleb raised his hands.
“Stop. Right now. You,” he pointed at Loric, “nap time.”
“I’m not tired!”
“It’s not for sleeping. It’s to save the pack. And you,” he turned to Drake, “clean. Or I’m tying you to the wall as a new piece of art.”

Drake raised his hands in surrender as Loric, giggling, trotted off toward his room, proud as a chocolate wolf.

Golden light streamed through the manor’s large windows. Lya approached, calm and silent, hands resting on her rounded belly. The steady rhythm of Kaelan’s heartbeat comforted her—along with the scent of fresh bread wafting from the kitchen.
But that’s not what caught her eye.

She stopped short before the mural. Drake held his breath. Caleb crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He let it play out.

For a long moment, Lya said nothing. She observed again the purple streaks, the clumsy yet heartfelt lines, the whimsical little details, and that odd tenderness that only children could bring into chaos.
“…The Kingdom of Cakes,” she finally whispered. “And an astronaut Kaelan throwing cream puffs into the sky. That’s... bold.”

“I’m going to die,” Drake muttered.

Lya tilted her head slightly.
“And this is you, Drake? With a unicorn floaty?”
“It’s... an artistic vision. Very symbolic. I was told public humiliation is a form of love for children.”

She turned to him, her expression unreadable.
“You let my son paint a volcano with yogurt on the manor walls.”
“He threatened to do worse if I said no. He had cookie crumbs in his hair. I lacked the will to negotiate properly.”

A silence. Then Lya smiled.
“We’ll keep a photo. And the whipped cream volcano. It’s a foundational piece.”

Drake opened his mouth... then shrugged. Surviving was all that mattered.

Lya walked down the hall and entered Loric’s room softly. The little wolf was already under his covers, arms wrapped around his dragon plush, eyes half closed.
She sat by the bed, stroking his still-energetic curls.
“You had fun, my heart.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Uncle Drake didn’t cry that much. And I gave him a floaty.”
“You’re a great artist. But promise me next time we’ll paint on canvas?”
“Promise…”

He quickly drifted to sleep, cradled by his mother’s steady rhythm.

But peace was short-lived. When Lya returned to the hall, Caleb was still there. With an annoyingly satisfied look.

“Admit it. You loved it. The whipped cream volcano—was that your idea?”
“Do you want me to growl again? You’re pushing it, my Alpha.”
He stepped close, hand slipping naturally around her waist. He lowered his voice.
“I’m not the one going full defensive heat every time someone talks to me.”
“A pregnant dragoness doesn’t ‘heat up’. She defines her kingdom’s boundaries.”
“And I’m your kingdom, is that it?”

She looked at him. Slowly. Eyes glowing with a soft but intense fire.
“You are my treasure. My anchor. And if I have to burn all of Sacred Moon so no one dares lay eyes on you... I will.”

Caleb froze. Then smiled—almost predatorily.
“Baby… Don’t say things like that unless you’re ready for the consequences.”

She raised an eyebrow.
“Are you threatening me, Alpha?”
“I’m promising you a sensory reminder of your Luna status, if you keep this up.”

A flash lit up Lya’s eyes. A low rumble rose from her throat, half growl, half joyful purr.

But before she could answer, a discreet cough reminded them they weren’t alone.
“I can leave, if you two want to turn this hallway into an erotic sauna,” Drake offered, unconvincingly.

Caleb sighed. Lya rolled her eyes.
“You clean the rest of the wall, Drake. No floaty.”
“Cruelty...” the Beta muttered, already soaking the cloth again.

And Caleb, placing a kiss in the hollow of his mate’s neck, whispered against her ear:
“Later. In our kingdom.”