26. Tears In Heaven.

In the cozy comfort of my nest, nestled within my den, I lovingly tended to my precious cubs. The natural rhythm of motherhood enveloped me, as I became their sole caretaker. I didn't need anyone else, for it seemed that no one cared for me. Aware that my five were occupied, I refrained from reaching out, reserving that option for when I truly needed support. However, the thought of pack life seemed unnecessary at the moment. 

The past week had been a breathtaking experience, as I witnessed the miracle of birth once again. I had created a separate space for my first litter, allowing them plenty of room to explore and familiarize themselves with their surroundings. At only a week old, their eyes were just beginning to open, and their tails wagged with excitement. They were like two-week-old normal cubs, growing twice the rate at least. The sweet melodies of their soft, mewling sounds filled the air, bringing me sheer joy. Watching them grow and feed voraciously warmed my heart. 

Every day brought something new, they were more able, eyes more open, wandering further, it was truly the perfect time and I let my instincts be open, no need to suppress them. no fear that anyone would come here. 

Nursing them was not a problem, as I had an abundance of milk. Not all of it came directly from me; I had stored away some of my previous milk in the freezer for such occasions. My trusty fridge kept everything conveniently at hand. Additionally, I had reserved some meat pulp for their first taste of solid food, which would be introduced in a few days. I was waiting for that time. It was always as funny to witness their hesitant expressions as they savored their first bites of meat instead of sweet milk was always a delightful sight. Initially, their little faces puckered in confusion, but soon their appetites took over, and the meat vanished in a frenzy. They would end up in the middle of food plates, getting their paws and faces full of meat pulp and whatnot. Of course, this messy feast required some cleaning up, but I had prepared cleansing wipes and dedicated ample time to tidy them. 

As they began to utter their first words, my heart swelled with anticipation. There was so much more for them to discover, and slowly, my bitterness towards others retreated to the back burner of my mind. Of course, if I dwelled on those thoughts, my anger would resurface, but I chose not to. No need to get myself fucked up. Instead, I reveled in the precious moments shared with my cubs, fully aware that their time of innocence and exploration would be fleeting. Soon enough, they would venture outside to play with their peers and embark on their journeys, traversing magical realms and fulfilling their destinies. It was always so short this cub time. 

I gave birth to my second litter, all 88 cubs. They wriggled and mewled, their soft fur brushing against my paws. The air was filled with the scent of newborns and the sweet warmth of the nest. Around me, there were over 40 species of felines and canines, each with their distinct features and sounds. Mariella, and other females always envious of my ability to create such diversity, would breed without me, seeking to prove herself to Damon. They were competing and jealous, their bitterness seeping into the air. But they could not make so many species, not at all. As I was the only true alpha.

But my attention was consumed by my cubs. They squirmed and wriggled, their tiny mouths suckling eagerly. The older cubs approached, their noses twitching as they sniffed their new siblings, eager to form connections. It was natural for me to have multiple litters in the nest, but I wondered how many more I could accommodate. The space, though spacious, was not ideal for the rapidly growing cubs who longed to explore and play. There was a room where they could roam, but it lacked the claiming spaces and activities of our larger territories.

Silence enveloped the nest, broken only by the sounds of suckling and the occasional whimper. The cubs grew day by day, their small bodies gaining strength and vitality. Soon, their voices would fill the air, their words a symphony of chirps and growls. It had been two days since the birth of my second litter, and there was still no word from the pack. I hadn't given drops and flanks to these new ones, and the thought of venturing outside to find sustenance crossed my mind.

With a contented sigh, I finished feeding the smaller cubs, their tiny bellies full. The larger ones, still reliant on their bottles, were nestled nearby. The nest was a haven of warmth and comfort, but the world outside beckoned, promising new scents and opportunities. Perhaps it was time for me to venture out, to provide for my growing family and ensure their well-being. I would need some more food for myself as well and get those flanks and drops as well. 

As I carefully wiped the smaller cubs, my eyes caught sight of full bottles still untouched by a few of the larger ones. They hadn't consumed their milk. A frown creased my face as I settled the little ones to sleep, knowing they had been cleaned and fed. Determined to investigate, I approached the three special cubs, who showed no signs of eating and appeared unresponsive.

With concern gnawing at my gut, I reached for my blue lion cub, only to find him limp and radiating heat. Labored breaths escaped his nostrils, dampening them. A wave of worry washed over me, as this type of sickness had never plagued our den before. The infections we had encountered in the past were due to specific circumstances, but our warm and secure den should have protected them from such germs. He was too quiet, too limp my hands and my heart skipped a beat. 

To my dismay, I noticed the same symptoms in my red leopard and peach tiger cubs. My three specials were seriously ill, and I desperately searched my mind for any mistakes I may have made, or any misstep that could have led to this. And then, I pondered the solution. What could I do? Should I inform Damon about this? 

However, when I tried to reach out through our pack bonds, I discovered they were tightly closed off, even the bond between Charles and me. Panic began to rise within me, realizing that this was not a good sign. If I couldn't find a way to help them, I would have to take matters into my own hands. I carefully covered the sick cubs, their fever causing them to shiver, and stepped outside my room. Those three were seriously sick, and they had gotten that sick and fast. It was not good, not at all.

As I made my way towards the medbay, hoping to find answers from the pack leader, I was met with an empty house. Everyone had vanished, leaving me alone with my frustrations. Cursing under my breath, I entered the medbay, searching desperately for any remaining antibiotics suitable for the cubs or even fever medicine. To my dismay, there was none to be found. 

As symptoms had come up so fast, this had to be bacterial. Not viral and a pretty damn nasty infection. I was an infection specialist more or less and my heart was aching from worry. Something told me that this was not good, not at all. 

Frantically, I scoured the computer, desperately searching for any sign of drugs in another house, but my efforts yielded nothing. Frustrated, I shifted my attention to my own teeth, wondering if they held the key to finding a solution. They were magic cubs but mine, meaning they might be as special as I was so were there suitable antibiotics available? Goddamn, when the pack has escaped. I would need their teeth, knowing my own aren't so good at healing. My cubs needed their father. In the meantime, I needed to support them, so I gathered the tiniest needles, infusion supplies, a bottle of bump liquid, and a few mild nutritional supplements that might offer some relief. I contemplated using my blood and Damon's blood as well, hoping it could provide some relief. 

However, amidst all this, I couldn't fully focus on these three sick babies. I had a whole litter of smaller cubs to care for, and the older ones also needed attention. It was a constant struggle, trying to reason with myself that I needed to ensure the rest of the litter didn't fall ill. With my instincts awakened, I didn't want to involve Samuel, and I knew Colin was occupied.

It was not good that I had blown my instincts out of the water so to speak and now this happened, I just could not function, enough to get my instincts under control not at first. I was too far gone. 

I felt utterly alone unless someone from the pack reached out, but I had no clue where they had disappeared to. Perhaps they had retreated to the Ireland castle for some reason. I briefly considered joining them, but my instincts urged me to stay by my cubs' side. Even if I was confined to the medbay, I needed to be there. My feline nature was emerging, becoming more prominent. My self-restraint was not enough. My alpha side was way too surface.

Once I gathered my supplies, I hurried back and began my attempts to aid my three ailing little ones. I was well aware that without proper nourishment, they would rapidly lose weight. So, I tried to coax them into feeding, even if it was just a little bit. I carefully injected liquid beneath their skin to combat their dehydration.

Simultaneously, I had to nurse the smaller cubs and tend to the needs of the larger ones. I wiped the smaller ones clean and made sure the older ones took care of their business, cleaning up after them. Hours passed, but my sick babies showed no signs of improvement. Instead, their lethargy worsened, their fever persisted, and their coughing and labored breathing became more pronounced.

I had lost all sense of time. Worry and dread consumed me, gnawing at my stomach as I watched the little ones grow weaker. It had been around two days since their decline began. Their weight had dropped, and as I gently touched them, I could feel their fragile bones. Their once luxurious coats had lost their sheen, now dry and brittle to the touch. Their ice-blue eyes, once bright with curiosity, now held exhaustion. I tried desperately to coax them to eat, but they refused. I attempted to insert a feeding tube into their stomachs, but they only vomited everything up. The nutritional concentrates I gave them made their skin itch, their labored breaths, and weak mews broke my heart.

Frantically, I tried to reach out to others, to find any help I could. But my attempts were in vain, as my teeth, my very own tools, failed me miserably. I felt like a monster, utterly useless in aiding my babies. The older ones in the pack were beginning to ask questions, wondering why these three didn't join in their playtime. I tried to explain, to tell them to go and enjoy themselves, but frustration filled my every word. Anger consumed me, directed inwardly. I had taken small samples of their blood, tasting it with a desperate hope to uncover a solution. Yet, my teeth only reacted with a bitter metallic taste, leading me to bite into a jar and rush to the medbay. There, I analyzed the black substance that had poured from my fangs.

As I injected a sample of this dark liquid into the analyzer, I anxiously awaited the results, my heart heavy with anticipation. I hoped for a strong antibiotic or anything that could save my cubs. But the outcome was devastating. The substance was an euthanizing agent. A mere three drops and my precious cubs would pass away peacefully. I was distraught, haunted by the realization that my teeth seemed to possess a desire to harm the ones I loved.

I felt like a monster, consumed by self-hatred for what I had become. Yet, despite my inner turmoil, I knew I had to continue caring for my cubs, both the older and the younger ones, knowing that soon there would be another litter to tend to. I refused to recognize that my teeth had known the future. I held hope even if there was none. 

In the comfort of my den, I cradled my blue lion in my arms, feeling the weight of his frail body trembling with each labored breath. The sound of his gurgling breathing pierced my heart, and I gently stroked him while speaking in a soothing voice, trying to reassure him that everything would be alright. As he clung to me, I could feel his claws digging into my skin, his once majestic presence now weakened. There was no trace of fear left in him. He was too weak to fear, too far gone, only suffering in my arms, and I fool, could not do it, I could not let him go.

Despite his suffering, I couldn't bring myself to administer the three drops that would grant him a peaceful passing. No, I couldn't do it. I stroked him, smelling the sickness, weakness, and suffering. I could smell those pheromones coming from him. They seemed to almost suffocate me. 

His eyes, his beautiful ice-blue eyes, opened and locked onto mine, and in a voice filled with pain, he uttered his first words, "Mommy, it hurts, make it stop, it hurts so bad..."

I murmured to him, desperately trying to ease his suffering. I told him that I loved him, he was a good boy, everything was going to be okay. Though he looked at me, I could not comfort him with my purr, no purrs came forth. They simply wouldn't escape my lips. He was limp, his ears, and paws were icy cold, his eyes half open, he barely could hold his head up. Then he began convulsing, trembling in my embrace, his claws still embedded in my skin. After what felt like an eternity, he went limp and still. No more breaths, no more frantic beating of his little heart beneath my palm. His claws released their grip. He was gone. His eyes, half open staring at nothingness. 

I held him in my arms for an unknown length of time before finally setting him down and covering him up. I knew an autopsy would provide answers, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I would have to ask Colin if he could. I yearned to understand what had taken my cub's life. I had believed them to be immortal like myself, but that was not the case. I covered his skinny body with the blanket. 

Gathering my composure, I turned my attention to my other cubs. They sniffed at his lifeless, shrouded form, sadness evident in their eyes, but I chose not to disclose anything to them. I was not going to tell them what had happened. No need to subject them to further trauma. My voice would not work. The pain was tearing my heart in shreds. 

A few hours later I found myself again in the midst of heartbreak, losing the next one. I tried to support my red leopard, feeling the weakness in his body. After attending to my cubs and ensuring everyone else was fine, I cradled him in my arms, feeling the coldness emanating from him. I knew deep down that I couldn't save him. He was limp, barely clinging to life, and as I held him, I sensed his faint smell and his desperate cling to me. 

But there was no purr, no comforting sound escaping my lips to ease his frail body. It was too traumatic for me to even attempt to purr. Despite my shock, I maintained my composure, soothing him with hushed tones and gentle humming.

His eyes fluttered open, and with a sigh, he uttered, "Mommy, why? I'm in pain, help me. It's so hard..."

I was too weak to provide an easy passing, instead; I clung to him, offering him a bit more liquid, trying to keep him holding on, providing warmth and security. He struggled to breathe, I could see the blueness of his tongue, he was not getting enough oxygen, he was suffocating slowly to death in my arms when I was too weak. He was limp, convulsing once, his tiny body arching in my arms. His eyes, still fixed on me, grew dull and lifeless as his breath grew shallower and slower. Yet, his claws remained embedded in my arm, a final grip of connection. I could feel his tiny heart give out, stop, and then a few feeble beats before it ceased altogether. He was gone, leaving behind his magnificent fur that would never reach adulthood, his full potential unfulfilled.

And I was left alone in my den, without anyone. no pack around me. Only my cubs. I gently stroked him, whispering that I loved him, even though he couldn't hear me anymore. I promised to never forget him. Reluctantly, I placed his lifeless body next to his brother. I covered him up too. 

It was not even an hour later when the last of my sick cubs, my peach tiger, who was also soiled and crying, moved weakly. I cleaned him as best I could, wrapping him in a blanket to provide warmth. I took him in my arms, knowing the end result. my heart was too tired to be sick. I did not want to feel but I was powerless to make myself any more robot. Feelings and feeling them were part of me.

My tiger, he was so tired. He looked at me and whispered, "I love you, Mommy. It's cold, I'm tired. Will you be angry if I go?"

Fighting back tears, I replied with a calm voice, "No, you can go. Mommy loves you very much, and Mommy is never angry with you. You're such a good boy. Just rest, Mommy is here."

He tried to grip my arm with his claws, but his strength was fading. I continued murmuring, urging him to let go, to just go to sleep. But he looked at me, his heart slowing, his breathing worsening. His tiny face contorted as he struggled to draw a breath, until finally, he went limp. His heart stopped, and the last gurgle of his breath echoed in my ears for several minutes as I cradled his lifeless, cooling body in my arms. I had been too weak, making them suffer, not letting them go.

I had less than two days until my next litter would come, and I desperately hoped this wouldn't repeat itself. I sat there, gently stroking the lifeless bodies of these three tiny cubs, feeling the weight of sorrow settle in my chest. The room was silent except for the faint sound of my trembling breaths. 

Unable to bear the heartache, I allowed my feline side to take over. In an instant, I transformed into a sleek black jaguar. She emerged, purring softly as she nuzzled the motionless bodies, attempting to coax a reaction from them. She couldn't comprehend their lifelessness.

I couldn't bring myself to tell her, or even if I did, she would refuse to listen. Her desperation mirrored my own as she was not a separate entity, but an integral part of me. This grieving process would take time to heal.

The thought of how the pack would react to this devastating loss weighed heavily on my mind. Would they see it as my fault? Would they pinpoint where I went wrong? But then I remembered many packs had experienced the same tragedy. Neonatal deaths were, sadly, not uncommon among shifters. My pride and self-assurance had blinded me, making me believe my cubs were invincible. I had birthed countless offspring before, but these three had imprinted themselves deep within my soul. Their loss had forever changed me.

Deciding that it might be best to keep this sorrow to myself, I made up my mind. It wouldn't benefit the pack to know, and it might only burden them with unnecessary guilt once they returned. They had already abandoned me, leaving me alone in my grief. Revealing this secret could further divide the pack for an extended period. So, this would be yet another burden I would carry in silence. Keeping secrets was nothing new to me.

Perhaps one day, when the time was right, I could share with the pack what had occurred. But that would depend on their actions upon their return if they ever returned at all. 

I must admit, these three aren't the only ones that I, or we have lost over centuries. even if we have taken every single precaution, it strikes here and there. Damon has been a strong one. he sees when there is no hope. One bite, and he puts the female to sleep and helps those who have no hope, ending their suffering. I have no idea what cost it has to his soul. Or is it something that he knows that he has to do? He made a promise to me, that he would be a strong one, he would let them go and he has kept that promise. 

All of us have lost cubs, and it is hard every time. There have not been any defined answers as to why or what, it is always a different thing. It is one bite, full of the strongest velvet in my veins, making me sleep, he will let them go, and dispel bad things from my memory not let anyone blame themselves but just move on, it is just our life. Loss and love.