Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband novel Chapter 214

Chapter 214: The Clue in the Shadows

The courtyard was perfectly quiet, save for the distant crashing of the ocean waves against the cliffs below the manor. The warm afternoon sun was still shining, but the air around us had suddenly turned freezing cold.

Lucien stared at the long, white feather in his gloved hand. The tip was dusted in a beautiful, shimmering silver pattern, but right at the base, near the hollow quill, was a dark, dried rust color.

Blood.

"Silas," Lucien said. His voice was no longer the soft, trembling whisper of a panicked father. It was the smooth, lethal purr of the Lord of Shadows. "Tell me exactly what you saw."

Silas didn’t flinch. The six-year-old panther-cub had grown so much since I first met him. He sat up a little straighter in the grass, his violet eyes locking onto his older brother.

"I was walking near the edge of the property, where the tall grass grows wild near the cliff drop-off," Silas explained quietly. "I was practicing my stealth steps. Then, I heard a noise."

"What kind of noise?" I asked gently, shifting closer to Caspian. My Merman husband rested a heavy, comforting hand on my shoulder, his own expression turning incredibly serious.

"A snap," Silas said, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember. "Like a thick tree branch breaking. But there are no trees right there. Just the sea-grass. And then I heard a splash, far down in the water. After that... it was quiet. Until Pip started crying."

Lucien carefully tucked the silver-tipped feather into his inner coat pocket. "Show me, Silas. Use your shadows."

Silas nodded. He closed his eyes and opened both of his hands.

The shadows cast by the ancient oak tree began to stretch and pool across the sunlit grass. They didn’t just form flat puppets this time; they rose up, creating a three-dimensional, dark replica of the cliffside.

I watched in awe as Silas molded the darkness. He created tall, swaying stalks of shadow-grass. In the center of the grass was a large, flattened circle.

"It was a nest," Silas whispered, opening his eyes to guide the magic. "But it was torn apart. The reeds were ripped out, not pushed down. And there was a smell."

"Blood?" Caspian asked, his deep voice cutting through the tension.

"Yes," Silas nodded. "But something else too. Something sour. Like... burnt iron and dirty oil. It smelled like the bad men in the alleys back in the Capital."

Cassian, who had been standing silently near the patio doors after Pip’s fall, stepped out onto the grass. The Serpent Warlord adjusted his round glasses, his slitted eyes narrowing as he looked at the shadow-projection.

"Burnt iron and dirty oil," Cassian repeated, his tone turning dangerously cold. "That is the scent of a snare-net. Specifically, the heavy iron-mesh nets used by black market poachers. They coat the metal in a foul-smelling grease to keep it from rusting in the sea air."

A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the courtyard.

Poachers. Black market traders. The worst kind of scum in the beast-kin Empire. They hunted rare, vulnerable beast-kins to sell them for labor, or worse, for their unique magical parts.

I looked down at Pip. The tiny yellow-haired toddler was still fast asleep against Lucien’s chest, completely oblivious to the dark reality of the world around him. His little duck wings rose and fell gently with his breathing.

He wasn’t just abandoned. He was left behind. His mother had been hunted.

"She fought them," Lucien murmured, his violet eyes fixed on the shadow-nest Silas had built. "A silver-tipped Duck-kin. They are rare. Their feathers hold minor levitation magic. They would fetch a high price. But she didn’t run. If she ran, they would have taken the baby too."

"She hid him," I realized, my heart breaking instantly. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I pressed my hand against my mouth. "She put him in the deep grass and fought them off so they wouldn’t find him."

Rurik marched out of the manor, having clearly heard the entire conversation from the kitchen. The Wolf Warlord’s golden eyes were blazing with pure, feral fury. His lips were pulled back, showing his sharp fangs.

"We ride," Rurik growled, his hands curling into massive fists. "We take the guards. We track the scent of dirty oil, and we rip the poachers apart until there is nothing left but bone!"

"No," Lucien said smoothly.

Rurik stopped, looking confused and angry. "What do you mean, no? They attacked the pup’s mother! It is an insult to the pack! We must slaughter them!"

Lucien slowly stood up. He supported Pip perfectly with one arm, cradling the sleeping toddler against his chest. With his free hand, he brushed a stray piece of grass off his dark trousers.

"If poachers took her alive to sell her, they will be hiding in the underground network," Lucien explained, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. It was the voice of a man planning an assassination. "If a screaming wolf and a battalion of guards go kicking down doors, they will panic. They will kill their inventory to hide the evidence."

Rurik closed his mouth, his ears pinning back as he realized the tactical truth of the statement.

"This is not a battlefield, Rurik," Cassian agreed softly, crossing his arms. "This is a rescue operation. It requires finesse. We need to find the drop point first."

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