Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband novel Chapter 213

Chapter 213: The Frog-Cloak and the First Flight.

The problem with buying a toddler a bright yellow frog raincoat is that, eventually, you have to convince them to take it off.

It had been forty-eight hours since our chaotic shopping trip to Madame Vionnet’s boutique. The weather at the cliffside manor was beautiful. The sun was shining, the ocean breeze was warm, and there wasn’t a single raincloud in the sky.

And yet, waddling across the kitchen floor with absolute determination, was a tiny, bright yellow frog.

"Pip, sweetie," I coaxed, holding out a plate of sliced strawberries. "Don’t you want to take the coat off? It’s warm inside. You’re going to get sweaty."

"No!" Pip chirped cheerfully. He grabbed a strawberry with a chubby hand, stuffing it into his mouth. The giant stuffed frog eyes on his hood bounced as he chewed. "Frog!"

Cassian was sitting at the kitchen island, pinching the bridge of his nose. The Serpent Warlord looked personally offended by the garment. "He has worn it for two days straight. The canvas material is not meant for indoor lounging. It clashes terribly with the dining room upholstery."

"He likes it," Silas murmured. The little panther-cub was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Pip, holding out another strawberry. "It makes him feel safe."

"It makes him look like a piece of bright yellow fruit," Cassian sighed, adjusting his glasses. "At least he is highly visible. We haven’t lost him once."

Caspian leaned against the counter beside me, chuckling softly. My husband had just come up from a morning swim, his iridescent silver hair damp and falling over his teal eyes. "Let the boy wear the coat. He is a waterfowl. They appreciate waterproof layers."

Before I could argue that ducks already had waterproof feathers, the kitchen door swung open, and Lucien stepped inside.

The Panther Assassin was dressed in his usual dark, immaculate suit, looking like a terrifying shadow in the bright, sunlit kitchen. But the moment his violet eyes landed on the tiny yellow toddler, all of that lethal tension melted away.

"Papa!" Pip squealed. He abandoned his strawberries and waddled over to Lucien, his little booted feet slapping loudly against the marble floor.

Lucien knelt down, effortlessly scooping the toddler up into his arms. He didn’t even mind that Pip’s sticky, strawberry-covered hands were patting his expensive lapels. Lucien just pressed a soft kiss to the top of the frog hood.

"Good morning, little bird," Lucien rumbled gently.

"We are going to the courtyard," Silas announced, standing up and brushing off his dark trousers. "I am going to teach Pip how to sneak up on the big beetles."

"Excellent," Lucien nodded approvingly. "Keep your footsteps light."

As Silas led the waddling yellow toddler out the back door and into the sunshine, Lucien stood back up. He watched them go through the glass doors, a quiet, protective intensity in his posture.

I grabbed my coffee mug and walked over to stand beside him. The courtyard was perfect for playing. Orion and Jasper had already dragged a pile of wooden building blocks onto the grass, and Vali was busy chasing his own tail near the ancient oak tree.

"He really loves that coat," I smiled, taking a sip of my coffee. "But we are going to have to wash it eventually."

Lucien hummed softly in agreement, but his eyes never left Pip. "He is small. The bright color... it helps me track him. Even when he hides behind the bushes."

I looked up at him, realizing just how on edge Lucien still was. He was the Lord of Shadows, a man used to controlling his environment perfectly. But toddlers were agents of pure chaos. They were unpredictable, fast, and entirely fragile.

Out in the courtyard, Silas was demonstrating a slow, creeping crawl through the grass. Pip dropped to his hands and knees to copy him, looking like a very un-stealthy yellow lump.

Suddenly, a loud, squawking cry echoed from above.

We all looked up. A large, majestic sea eagle was soaring high over the coastal cliffs, its massive wings catching the updrafts. It circled once, entirely free, before diving toward the ocean.

Down in the grass, Pip stopped crawling.

The toddler sat up on his knees. He pushed the frog hood back, revealing his fluffy yellow hair and his wide, dark eyes. He stared up at the sky, completely captivated by the eagle.

He looked at the sky, and then he looked over his shoulder at his own soft, downy duck wings.

"Up," Pip whispered.

"Oh no," I breathed, setting my coffee cup down with a sharp *clack*.

Pip scrambled to his feet. He didn’t look at Silas, and he didn’t look at the bugs. He locked his eyes onto the low stone wall that bordered the patio. It was only about three feet high, meant to keep the flowerbeds contained, but to a two-year-old, it was a mountain.

"Pip, no climbing," Lucien called out, already moving toward the door.

But Pip was surprisingly fast. He waddled over to the wall, grabbed the rough stone with his chubby hands, and hoisted himself up with the awkward, determined strength only toddlers possess.

He stood up on the narrow ledge, wobbling slightly.

"Fly!" Pip cheered, a massive, gummy smile breaking across his face.

He bent his little knees. He spread his arms out wide. And then, without a single ounce of fear, the tiny Duck-kin launched himself off the stone wall.

"Pip!" Lucien shouted, his voice cracking with pure terror.

The Panther Warlord vanished. It wasn’t a fast run; it was a complete, instantaneous shadow-step.

In the air, Pip flapped his arms. His downy yellow wings tried to flap too, instinctively trying to catch the air. But he was wearing the heavy, waterproof canvas frog-cloak. Even with the reinforced wing-holes Madame Vionnet had cut, the stiff fabric weighed his little wings down, restricting their full movement.

Instead of flying, the bright yellow raincoat caught the wind like a terrible, lopsided parachute.

Pip didn’t plummet like a stone, but he was definitely falling fast. His happy smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, wide-eyed look of panic as gravity took over.

He didn’t even have time to cry out.

Half an inch before Pip hit the grass, a blur of dark shadow materialized beneath him. Lucien dropped to his knees, sliding across the dirt, and caught the toddler perfectly against his chest.

"You don’t wish they were here so you could give him back," I said softly, understanding exactly what he meant.

Lucien shook his head fiercely. "Never. He is my son. But... they would know what to do. They would know how to help him stretch his wings. I am an earth-bound predator holding a creature of the sky. I am going to fail him."

"You are not going to fail him," I said fiercely, shifting closer and placing my hand firmly over his. "Lucien, look at me."

He slowly raised his violet eyes to meet mine.

"None of us knew what we were doing when this started," I reminded him gently. "I was just a chef. Caspian was a lonely king. Rurik was a feral warlord. We made a million mistakes. But we learned. We adapted. That is what a pack does."

Lucien looked down at Pip, who let out a tiny, soft snore.

"If Pip needs to learn how to fly," I continued, "we will figure it out. Cassian will read every book in the royal library on avian aerodynamics. Caspian will use his wind magic to create safe, soft updrafts for him to practice on. And you... you will be right there to catch him if he falls. Just like you did today."

Lucien was quiet for a long time. The tension slowly drained out of his broad shoulders. He took a deep, shaky breath, and the fierce, protective light returned to his eyes.

"I will catch him," Lucien agreed softly. "Always."

"Exactly," I smiled, squeezing his hand.

Suddenly, a small shadow crept across the grass. Silas walked over quietly, holding something in his hand. He knelt down next to his older brother, his violet eyes wide and serious.

"Lucien," Silas whispered. "When I found Pip in the tall grass... I didn’t tell you something."

Lucien frowned, sitting up slightly. "What is it, Silas?"

Silas opened his hand. Resting in his palm wasn’t a toy or a bug. It was a single, long, beautiful white feather, tipped with a very distinct, shimmering silver pattern.

"The grass was crushed," Silas said quietly. "Like there had been a fight. And I found this feather. It smelled like blood."

Lucien went completely still. The soft, vulnerable father vanished in an instant, replaced entirely by the deadly Lord of Shadows. He carefully took the feather from Silas’s hand, examining the silver tip.

"This is not a seagull feather," Lucien murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register. "This is a Duck-kin adult’s flight feather. And it was torn out by force."

I felt a chill run down my spine. "You think someone attacked his mother?"

"I think," Lucien said softly, his eyes narrowing into lethal slits, "that I need to go for a walk in the tall grass. It seems someone has threatened my son’s bloodline."

And heaven help whoever was foolish enough to cross the Panther Warlord.