Opal

28 ☽ The world

Keifer POV

     The sun is behind the clouds when we pull up to the gates of the pack border. Opal is still sleeping soundly in my arms, and my dad is standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

     As the suburban comes to a stop, I carefully eye Ryk and Ezra standing beside my dad. None of them look happy to see us.

     My dad's own car sits parked, blocking the entrance to the pack.

    Ace is the first out of the car, running up to Ezra and offering him a fist bump. The red haired lycan tries to ignore the gesture for a minute before giving in, a reluctant smile on his face as they bump fists.

     "Got my daughter back." Ace tells them, and then adds to it by uttering under his breath. "At least what's left of her."

     It's my turn to get out, the faeries still sitting stone still in the front seats.

    I carry my sleeping mate to the small crowd, my jaw locked and keeping my face impassive.

     It's like there's a fire under my skin. I'm anxious and rearing to go, ready to get Opal behind those gates of protection and feed and bath her until she's good as new. That safety, I crave it, for her.

     But things aren't always that easy. We're about to go through a whole other ordeal that has very little to do with us.

     "This could've been avoided, Keifer. I hope you know that." My dad says, arms still folded, gaze locked on his mate's father who is still staying behind. They're likely preparing for what awaits them, what they're up against.

     "Trust me, I know. You think I enjoy bringing him here after all he's done?" My anger is hardly leashed, the rope holding my emotions in is disarray, fraying to mere threads.

     Ryk narrows his eyes on me, I ignore him, breathing deeply to try to calm my erratically beating heart.

      "I didn't mean him." Dad says, lowering his voice as the faeries exit the suburban and stalk forward. "Although that's certainly something to consider."

      So, he was talking about Opal then.

     I look down at her briefly. Purple smudges beneath her eyes, her cheekbones nearly slicing through her white snow skin.

     "Beau."

     "Alpha Veiler."

     At least my mother's father doesn't try to provoke the alpha beast before him, his head clear enough to know better.

     I'm not the only one that realizes that our beloved leader addresses the faerie with some air of familiarity. I already found out that dad tried to prevent this for years, scared it would hurt mom, but I don't know how much of it he passed on to the others.