The cubs' fur had been softer than fresh-fallen snow, a silky thickness that yielded under her fingers yet carried the faint coarseness of wildness at the tips. When they had pressed themselves to her legs, their combined weight was more than she'd expected — a solid, grounding heft that rooted her in place like an anchor. She'd felt the warmth bleeding into her through the fabric, the heat pooling along her calves until it seemed to seep into her bones. The faint rise and fall of their breaths and the rapid, birdlike flutter of their heartbeats had struck her harder than any plea could have. Each tiny flex of their claws for a better hold sent a protective spark flaring through her chest, sealing the unspoken promise she'd already made to herself: no one was going to touch them as long as she drew breath.
Morning light spilled through the frost on Nevara's window, scattering cold rainbows across the walls. Inside, the fire had burned low, but the cubs were still sprawled on the rug — the black on his back with all four paws in the air, the gray curled neatly against the edge of the hearth. The gray one gave a sleepy little stretch and rolled until its head rested against her boot, a tiny sigh escaping as if declaring she was the safest pillow in the world. The black one twitched his paws in a dream and made a soft chuffing noise that almost sounded like a giggle. For a moment she simply watched them breathe, her lips tugging into an involuntary smile, feeling the strange warmth of having something to protect — and realising she liked the weight of their trust pressed up against her more than she'd admit out loud.
The steady press of their small bodies against her leg reminded her of the night before — how they had clung to her calves during the confrontation, tiny claws pricking through her trousers in desperation. She remembered the faint tremor of their muscles, the way their warmth bled through the cold, anchoring her magic and her resolve. Her skin could still recall the press of their fur and the soft, frantic heartbeat she'd felt when she'd shifted her stance to shield them. They had looked up at her with wide, pleading eyes, tails curling instinctively around her ankles, as if willing her to never move away. She could almost feel again the way their claws flexed for grip, how the heat from their tiny bodies seeped through the winter chill into her bones. They see me as their shield, she thought, a surprising tightness in her chest. The sensation was strange and heavy, like armor she had willingly donned without thinking — and yet it warmed her more than any cloak. And Saints help me, I want to be.
She could almost hear their unspoken plea in the silence — Don't leave us. That single imagined whisper settled into her bones and stayed there.
It would have been peaceful, if not for the deep boot prints in the snow outside.
Again? Nevara's jaw tightened. The tracks weren't from yesterday's group — these were heavier, deeper, moving in a wide arc around her cabin. She could hear them before she saw them: men's voices, low and rough, and the muted padding of hounds. A faint prickle ran up her spine; she was already bracing for trouble.
Three hunters stepped into view, fur cloaks dusted with frost, nets and long hooks ready. The hounds strained at their leashes, nostrils flaring, their breath steaming in the frigid air.
Nevara stepped out to meet them, hood down, silver hair — with faint blue glints that caught the weak sunlight — spilling over her shoulders. Her voice was sweet, but brittle, the sweetness of thin ice about to crack. "Back again? Or are you a fresh set of idiots?"
One of them sneered. "We know what you've got. Two rare beast cubs — worth more than you'd make in a lifetime. Hand them over."
"They're not for sale," she said flatly, the words clipped.
Another smirked. "Don't care what you think. We take them now, we're rich by tomorrow. The boss says these little beasts are perfect for leverage."
Nevara's smile sharpened into something angry and unsettling — a slow, almost playful curl of her lips that didn't reach her eyes. Those eyes glinted with a cold light that promised pain. You really shouldn't have said that. "And I say no one touches what I'm protecting."
The first man moved like he meant to grab her. Nevara flicked her hand and frost exploded across the ground, racing up his legs in jagged shards until he froze mid-step, boots locked in place.
The other two lunged in. She didn't bother stepping back — the air dropped to a breath-stealing chill, snow spiraling outward from her boots. Ice webbed across their weapons, climbing until their hands went numb. The hounds whined and pulled away.
Her eyes were glacial, her voice low and dangerous. "That's your warning. Next time, you won't walk away."
From behind her, she felt a sudden press against her legs — the cubs had come to her side, fur bristling, tiny bodies trembling but refusing to back down. Their warmth seeped through her boots, grounding her even as her magic howled for more frost. They clung to her calves like stubborn little shadows, one of them letting out a tiny growl that was more bravery than threat. They're scared, but they're still with me. The thought burned bright and fierce in her mind. She would freeze the world before letting anyone pry them away.
One man swore and tugged at the ice on his boots. Another backed up, eyes wide. When Nevara took a slow step forward, lips curling into a sharp, cold, almost predatory smile, they faltered — then broke, fleeing into the trees with their hounds scrambling ahead.
Cowards. And if they come back, they'll find more than frost waiting.
A soft sound made her turn. The cubs had come outside, ears flat, fur bristling. She opened her mouth to scold them for leaving the cabin — and froze mid-breath.
The air around them shimmered, as if the snow itself had begun to ripple. She'd suspected for a while that they weren't ordinary leopards — the way they listened to her words, the flashes of understanding in their eyes — but suspicion was one thing, seeing it was another. In the space of a heartbeat, the fur vanished, and in its place stood two barefoot children.
The boy had messy black hair and bright golden eyes; the girl's silver-gray hair fell loose to her shoulders, her icy blue eyes wary yet curious. Both were very naked in the snow, steam curling faintly from their skin against the cold.
Nevara made a strangled noise, part shock and part exasperation, yanking off her coat and throwing it around them in one sweep. I knew it… beastfolk. I knew it and still— "Inside, now!"
"But it's not cold," the boy protested, sounding almost confused.
"That's not the point!" she snapped, still reeling from what she'd just seen as she ushered them quickly inside.
Once inside, she rummaged through her chest for anything that would fit, still processing the shock of watching fur melt away into skin. Beastfolk, she thought, almost certain now — it explained their strange attentiveness, the way they understood her tone even before words. Her fingers brushed over wool and linen, the textures grounding her, even as a vivid image flashed of them lost and shivering in the snow, their small bodies curled for warmth. An odd pang twisted her chest — protective, stubborn, and a little fierce.
The boy ended up in a belted tunic far too big for him, the girl in a wool sweater that hung nearly to her ankles. They didn't seem to care about the fit; both twirled with childlike delight, mismatched sleeves flapping, bare toes peeking out. Their laughter bubbled through the small room, bright against the dim winter light. When they stumbled close, they instinctively clung to her legs — small hands gripping her skirt, faces pressing into the fabric like they could burrow into her warmth and stay there forever. She felt the soft puff of their breath against her skin, the way their tiny fingers flexed to hold her tighter, and the weight of them grounding her like an unspoken vow. The faint press of their cheeks and the steady thrum of their heartbeats were a quiet reminder: they wanted her there as much as she wanted to be.
Nevara knelt to eye level, hands resting lightly on their shoulders, feeling the faint heat of their cheeks seep through the wool. For a moment, she let herself meet their bright, unguarded eyes and wondered — with a weight that felt both terrifying and strangely right — how long they'd been fending for themselves. They trust me already. Saints help me, I'm keeping them. The thought was a solid, immovable thing in her mind.
"Rule number one: if you're going to turn into humans, you need clothes ready. Rule number two—"
A knock at the door cut her off, sharp and unexpected, making her glance toward the entrance, a prickle of wariness snaking down her spine.
When she opened it, a tall man stood in the snow, dark hair dusted white, gold eyes fixed on her with a penetrating intensity that made the air feel heavier. Power and presence rolled off him in quiet waves — he was no hunter, not with that controlled bearing and the subtle authority in his stance. His heavy coat was lined with fine black fur, the edges marked with the intricate patterns of beastfolk nobility.
"I'm told my children were seen near here," he said, voice low and even, yet carrying the weight of command.
Nevara's fingers tightened on the doorframe, a flicker of wary curiosity threading through her mind. She didn't move aside. "If you're after the hunters, I drove them off. The children are inside. Warm. Fed."
A flash of something sharp — fear? fury? — passed through his gaze. "Hunters?"
"They said they wanted leverage," she replied coolly, her inner voice darkening with the memory of their threat. "Didn't say for who. Didn't matter. They weren't leaving with them."
His jaw worked once, tightly, before he stepped forward. The children's heads popped around Nevara's legs. Their eyes lit up instantly, and Nevara saw the recognition bloom. The boy barreled into the man's legs with unrestrained joy; the girl followed, pressing her face into his coat and inhaling like she'd found home again, little fingers clutching at the fabric as if afraid he might vanish.
Nevara's eyes softened despite herself, her mind whispering, So my guess was right. A strange mix of relief and tension coiled in her chest. "So. You must be—"
"Orren," he said. "Their father."
As they began the walk to Orren's estate, Nevara's mind churned with possibilities and half‑formed worries. What kind of place was she stepping into? Beastfolk nobility meant politics, strangers, and rules she wasn't sure she wanted to learn. Yet every time her thoughts turned cautious, a burst of the children's chatter or a playful shove against her hip pulled her back to the present. They skipped ahead to kick at snowdrifts, then darted back to tell her about a favorite tree or the best spot for catching snowflakes on your tongue. Their laughter spilled into the frosted air, mixing with the crunch of boots on snow, building a strange blend of anticipation and unease that tugged her forward toward whatever came next.
He looked at her for a long moment, the weight of unspoken things in his eyes. "You've done more for them in a day than I could in weeks of searching. Come to my home. You'll be safer there."
Nevara hesitated, feeling the children press against her legs again, their small hands clutching at her coat as if afraid she might slip away. The faint heat of them soaked into her skin through the fabric, sparking that same fierce instinct she'd felt earlier. "And if I say no?"
"Then I camp here until you agree."
She snorted, a reluctant smile twitching at her lips. "Pushy."
The children looked up at her, expectant, eyes wide and hopeful. One of them gave a little tug on her sleeve, the other leaning against her hip. She sighed, heart loosening. They've chosen. "Fine."
By afternoon, her cabin was empty, the snow already covering the trail. Nevara walked beside Orren toward the distant shape of his estate, the children darting between them in laughter, occasionally darting back to loop their arms around her waist before racing ahead.
She didn't know what this new life would look like — but with their hands finding hers every few steps, she suspected it would be loud, warm, and just the kind of chaos she didn't know she'd been missing.