Fated for Her Wolves - Tara West Page 0,75

highchair, alternating between drinking from his sippy cup and smearing eggs and ketchup all over his tray. Evin had Luc’s sharp eyes and high cheekbones. Bjorn was in his playpen, drinking a bottle of her milk. When she wasn’t breast-feeding him, she was pumping for him. She felt like his personal cow. He already weighed as much as Evin, and he was eleven months younger. She wondered how she was going to feed Bjorn and her baby girl at the same time. She supposed she’d just need to eat more. Good thing Rone was a good cook.

She kissed Evin’s forehead, her heart clenching when he called out “mama” and held up his arms to her. He looked too much like his father, which made her miss Luc all the more. After cleaning the ketchup off his hands and face, she picked him up and balanced him on her hip. He fit there so perfectly, even with her belly in the way. He was such a good boy, rarely crying or causing a fuss. Like his tracker father, he was always watching and listening, far too observant for a child. She had a feeling he’d make an even better tracker than Luc one day, especially with his gift of foresight.

Though the sun hadn’t risen yet, Drasko was outside chopping wood. The sound of the axe rang through the trees. Whenever Luc was away on a dangerous mission, he preferred to remain busy. She checked the temperature on the wall thermostat. It was five degrees outside, which meant Drasko was in protector form, his thick fur and extra layer of skin protecting him from the elements.

Giving Evin one last kiss, she set him in the playpen beside Bjorn, who was looking out the tall back windows, scanning the dark horizon. She had no idea what he saw, but he was certainly fascinated. She gave each of her bigger boys kisses, ruffling their hair when they fussed that she’d interrupted their important log-building activity. Holding onto her swollen belly, she lowered herself on a barstool at the kitchen counter and thanked Rone for the tea. Taking a long sip and relishing the flavors of lemon, honey, and ginger, she looked at Hakon. “Your father is coming.”

Hakon pushed his laptop aside, tension crinkling his eyes. “Does he bring news about Luc?”

“I don’t think so.” She turned toward the door when her wolf-touched senses picked up the sound of his snow chains rattling in the distance. “But he brings bad tidings about someone.”

With long strides, Hakon brushed past her and threw open the front door just as the chieftain pulled into the drive. She got up and hobbled to the door, waiting for her father-in-law. When Tor got out of his truck looking grim, bile rose in the back of her throat. Could she have been wrong? Had something happened to Luc?

“Father, what is it?” Hakon asked, a rattle in his voice as he took Tor Thunderfoot’s coat and hat.

Tor stood outside, brushing snow off his boots. “I bring news from the Spiritcallers.”

Amara perked up at that. Though she didn’t want to leave the comfort of their luxurious cabin, the Spiritcallers needed her healing powers. The eldest alpha especially. Every time she healed one ailment, another would replace it a few weeks later. He was like an old car whose parts kept wearing out. “Is their alpha sick again?”

Hakon’s face fell. “I can take Amara to see them.”

She heard the reluctance in his voice. Though she was the tribal healer, other shifters knew she was reaching the end of her pregnancy, and they were not to bother her unless it was an emergency. Tor said not a word as they followed him into the house.

She took her seat again, sipping her tea and waiting for the chieftain to speak.

Tor sat on a barstool beside her, thanking Rone, who handed him a cup of black coffee. “The elder Spiritcaller is sick.” He gave her a dark look. “But he doesn’t want Amara to heal him.”

“What? Why?”

“He’s ninety-five years old, that’s why.” Tor groaned, dragging a hand through his gray beard. “He says it’s time.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Amara shared a shocked look with her mates. “Raz and his brothers need him.” She’d be furious with Hakon if he told her to let him die, knowing she could save him.

“They aren’t in the best of health, either.” Tor shrugged, then took a long gulp of coffee. “I suspect they will join him in Valhol not long after.”

This was the