Kalina ~ Book Four

“Alpha. I’ve finished my algebra, Alpha!”

“Alright, Delilah. Hand it to Cedar for marking.” She was about to hand over the answers sheets when she noted each of the children swapping their papers. “Are you all finished then?”

“Yes, Alpha,” the children answered in unison.

Well, that was weird.

It is almost as if they mindlinked. But that wouldn't happen until their first shifts… Maybe it was sooner than she had expected. Ugh. She’d been so busy everywhere else that she’d missed their subtle changes.

The scent of their animals and the different colouring in his eyes. It was so faint, but now she was with them again, it was apparent.

“Then I’ll read out the answers instead.” Sylvie leaned back in her chair and read out the answers, enjoying the sounds of the children sighing or squealing with joy after each number. She kept reading aloud, shaking her head as the whoops grew louder.

The Algebra she taught was for children five years their senior, but they never struggled. It was even getting too complex for her. She didn't exactly have traditional schooling. By sixteen, she barely set foot in the classroom. Google wasn’t that helpful, either. Luckily for her, her children learned from the textbooks easily.

Everyone passed with flying colours, and she peered at the clock. The ‘schooling hours’ still had two hours to go, but they deserved a break. With the first shift on the horizon, there were other things she could be doing with them, though.

“Okay.” She clasped her hands and stood regarding the group. They seemed to sense her energy shift, and they leaned forward, waiting for the end of her sentence. She smiled.

“Follow me.” Her pants and shirt were stretchy, and she hoped she wouldn't rip them with what came next. She left the room, followed by her children, who looked like a line of baby ducklings and started a slow jog on the dirt beside the cobbled path.

“Alpha!”

“Where are we going?”

“Are we gonna fight?”

“Are we gonna practice with the weapons?”

“Alpha.”

“Alpha?”

“Alpha!

Sylvie gritted her teeth and turned her jog into a run. “Keep up!”

She hoped the increased speed would allow them to hound her with questions less. She was wrong. They matched her pace and continued their torrent of questions. She sighed and finally answered, “Whoever stays quiet the longest gets to shoot my bow after the first shift.”

Their mouths zipped up instantly, and she smiled, returning her focus to the ground ahead. They kept pace all the way to the lake, and Sylvie stopped at the edge of the water, kicking off her shoes and padding along the waterline. The children did the same, watching her carefully for word to speak again. No one had said a peep, so she realised reluctantly all of them would have to get the reward.

“See that firepit-” She pointed at the black ring on the ground, and they all nodded.

“I need twigs, kindling, logs and maybe some dry leaves to start another. Can I trust you all?”

Nods.

“You are to go no more than ten paces into the forest. Do you understand?”

Nods.

“Good. If anyone needs me, call out, but I’ll be in the nursery getting some matches.”

Everyone scattered like mice, and she padded back to the nursery. She hadn't talked to Rosie since breaking the news about Claudine and needed to clear the air. She darted up the wooden steps, the old timber creaking underfoot.

A babble followed, and she smiled. Some of the newest babies must have woken. She knocked and headed in, finding Rosie in the lounge on the huge lazy boy with Leif in her arms, drinking from a bottle.

She didn't lift her gaze from Leif’s, and Sylvie quietly padded through the kitchen to not disturb the drinking baby. After a few minutes of rinsing dishes, Rosie spoke. “You’re all done, Leif. Let me put you down.”

She lay him on his back, and he immediately flipped on his belly and crawled towards the safety gate in front of the kitchen. When he reached it, he stuck his chubby arm through the slats and brushed Sylvie’s leg. She peered up at Rosie, and the fox shifter nodded.

“Hi, Leif,” Sylvie crooned, opening the gate slowly and lifting the babe into her arms. He pressed his warm fingers into her cheeks, babbling again.

“I don’t know what that means, sweet boy.”

Rosie came over into his view and raised her hands. He just about leapt into her arms, and Rosie hummed, kissing his temple. “Time for a nap.”

“Sweet dreams,” Sylvie whispered as Rosie whisked him away. Sylvie nodded to herself and bit her lip.

So she was still mad. Okay.

She turned and dug into the second drawer beneath the cutlery and pulled out a box of matches. She hadn't heard a peep from her children, so she thought better of dragging out her time in the old packhouse. Walking to the door, she paused her hand on the handle.

“I’m sorry, Rosie.”

The weight of the eyes on her back almost staggered her, and she refrained from shivering.

“Me too, Sylvie.” Rosie's voice was soft. “Me too.”

Sylvie beelined for the lake and found her students already building the fire up. After a quick head count, she exhaled and called over to them. “Well done, everyone. I’ve got the matches. Let's see if it will light.”

After one lit match, the bone-dry kindling caught in a flash. Soon, the whole stack shone a brilliant orange, and each child took a turn throwing more logs onto it.

Footsteps drew their gaze as Rosie appeared with a giant bag of marshmallows. The screams of her students almost burst her eardrums.

She handed the bag to Delilah, who took responsibility for divvying the treats and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Sylvie.

“I was upset.”

Sylvie nodded and took Rosie's hand, squeezing it.

“I feel like I’ll never find my mate.” Sylvie’s head whipped to her, and her brows furrowed.

“Oh, Rosie.”

Rosie’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes glassy. Sylvie’s heart clenched seeing her sad face, and she pressed her palms to Rosie’s cheeks just like Leif had done to her. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I really am.”

“I know,” she sniffled.

Sylvie was acutely aware of her students watching her in her periphery.

“Will you come with me to visit her? This Saturday?”

She nodded, a twinkle appearing in her eye. “I would like that.”

“Good.” Sylvie pulled away and glanced at her marshmallow-faced children, all wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

“What?”

It was as if she held the world in her eyes, and they could see it.

“We love you, Alpha.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

She pressed her lips together and took a slow inhale. “I love you too. All of you.”

“We know,” Delilah said, lifting the bag with two marshmallows remaining. “For you.”

She laughed softly, the sound more of a choked exhale as she dipped her fingers into the powdery bag and took the last two marshmallows, handing one to Rosie. Sage brought them two long sticks, and they stuck the treats on them and then in the fire before eating the gooey morsels.

She blinked as tears trailed down her cheeks, the fire drying them before they could hit the ground.

“Dae ye have the right herbs this time? A dinnae want ye wastin ma expensive blends.”

“Yes, Seanmhair.” It meant grandmother, but it felt more appropriate, considering Amira hardly looked old enough to be one. Sylvie always loved the little tsk Amira made when she said it, even though she definitely loved it.

“Well get on wi it, M’eudail. I don't have all day.”

Sylvie quickly mixed the poultice for the children’s first shift night and placed it on the bench. It was supposed to strengthen their bond to their beasts and came from old magic. Amira still hadn't told her the final magic ingredient.

“How will we know when the shift will happen?”

Amira squinted and looked out the window at the waxing moon. “When the moon is full. Either this one or the next, I’d say.”

Sylvie gnawed on her lip and mixed another batch. So soon. Her children would be full-blown shifters, training with the adults and able to rip the heads of anyone they felt like. She hoped she showed them enough compassion that they wouldn't go down that path. Based on their kindness earlier in the week, she had faith in them.

“Get out o yer head, M’eudail. It’s no healthy.”

“I’m just thinking.”

“I know that look. Yer overthinkin. There's a difference.”

Sylvie sighed and pushed aside the mortar and pestle. “I know, but I can’t help it. And now, with this shift coming up and the Northern packs alpha.”

“What of him?”

There was a knowing tone to her voice, and Sylvie narrowed her eyes at her. “I don’t know yet. For now, hopefully, friendship since they have Claudine and over a dozen of our people.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Fraser.”

Amira’s fingers curled into fists around the pestle she was working on, and Sylvie couldn't stop her staring. Amira never got worked up, but her knuckles were bone white.

“William Frasers boys?”

“Yeah.”

“Be careful, Sylvie. They're bad news if they’re even a fraction like their father.”

“One of them is Claudine’s mate, Amira. Would the Fates do that if he was bad news?”

Amira shrugged, but her fingers loosened their strangling grip. “Perhaps. Perhaps no. Claudine is fiery, and the Fates would pair her with someone who could match that. Don’t get too close to the fire, I say. Be careful.”

Sylvie’s chest ached, and she rubbed where her marks sat. “I will, Amira. Thank you.”

“I heard ye wanted to offer them the Animae dimidium meae. It’s under the floor back there.” She pointed behind a potted plant, and Sylvie bit her lip in contemplation. She was all for it initially, but Amira’s words gave her pause.

“Perhaps I’ll see how they treat our shifters before I decide.”

“Good.”

Sylvie wiped her hands on a floral dishtowel and organised her bench, brushing the loose herbs into her hand and forcing her magic through them. In an instant, they expanded into long strands of calendula, mint, echinacea and a handful of others she could be bothered to remember. With the new bouquet, she turned to Amira, pausing at the look in her eye.

Not that look again. Her eyes saw far too much. It always unnerved Sylvie.

“Here.” She handed the herbs over, and Amira stuffed them in her apron with a tender smile. There were so many more fine lines around her eyes and mouth these days. She was frailer too, but so sharp her wit burned Sylvie on more than one occasion.

“What is that look for?”

Amira just shook her head, keeping the smile and stepped forward to touch her shoulders.

Sylvie blinked. What was she-

Amira pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, and Sylvie’s eyes prickled as she returned it. She hated being so sappy, but everyone made her cry these days.

First the children, now this! She’d endured many a tight hug from Amira, but this one felt different. There was something behind it. Something she didn't yet know.

“Amira?”

“It’s alright, M’eudail. I want ye to ken that I’m proud of ye.”

Well, that did it. She gave into the sobs that threatened all morning in the arms of the first motherly figure she ever loved.