Chapter 401
Daphne
I wake up, my head throbbing faintly.
I look down.
Paws.
Right.
I shift into panther form last night. The memory comes back in fragments—the boat splintering against the rocks, the freezing water, the storm swallowing the sky. I remember shifting, my bones cracking, my fur spreading across my skin. I remember clinging to a rock, roaring at the rain, roaring at the darkness.
I remember singing.
Beautiful singing.
It led me here.
Or maybe it led me to the rocks. I cannot remember. Everything after the storm is a blur of cold and pain and dark.
I look around.
A tiny cave. So small I cannot stand up straight, even in this form. The walls are slick with moisture, covered in algae and barnacles and something that glows—soft blue light, pulsing gently, like bioluminescent led lights.
The light is coming from an egg.
I turn my head toward the source.
