He sighs, low and resigned.
“I’ll send it,” he says finally. “One meal, tonight. That’s all they get.”
Relief trickles in, not enough to lift the pressure from my chest entirely, but enough to let me breathe again.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He looks over at me then, golden eyes catching the light like they’re built to hold it.
“I say that as if I could deny any future requests,” he rumbles, “but I’m beginning to think I can’t deny you anything.”
I don’t answer that. I don’t know how.
Instead, I wet my dry lips and smirk. “So, does that mean you’re cooking?”
His expression shifts immediately, narrowed in mock offense. “Absolutely not.”
Before I can offer a retort, his arm sweeps out and sends a splash of river water directly into my chest.
I gasp, staggering half a step back, soaked and sputtering. “You did not.”
He grins and steps deeper into the river. “Give me your worst, Wren.”
Water arcs between us in a flurry of revenge, and for a few long moments, I forget the weight I’m carrying.
***
By the time the sun begins its descent, smoke curls upward from the firepit in thin spirals, carrying the scent of roasted meat and herbed root vegetables into the trees.
The pack lands are quiet around us, the rest of the shifters giving us space without needing to be told. Whether it’s respect for Torryn, or caution around the kings he told them were coming through their pack link, I’m not sure. Maybe both.
I shift my weight, brushing damp strands of hair back from my face, and listen to the distant hush of the forest.
They should be here soon.
A flicker of static crawls along the edge of my skin. The kind of awareness that doesn’t come from sound or sight. The air stills, the rustling leaves pause, and the hush shifts from an easy quiet to something heavily charged.
Sylvin steps into the clearing like the breeze itself carried him in.
Torryn mutters beside the firepit, voice low but not quiet enough to miss. “This may be the first and last time he ever arrives before the rest.”
A nervous laugh bubbles out of me as I watch his long legs eat up the distance between us.
I may not know him as well as the others, but the intrigue and desire to change that rears itself in my mind the second I watch his signature smirk fill his handsome face.
“I see I’m early,” he says, gliding forward to stop just in front of me with a bow. “But I missed my little echo far too much to be fashionably late this time.”
For once I don’t correct him, finding a warmth stirring within me at the familiar nickname.
My chest tightens at the words that feel both ridiculous and sincere all at once. His light-blond hair is slicked back and catches the last of the light fading in the sky as he stands back to his towering height.
The air thickens once more, pulling tight against my mind. I’m not the only one, apparently, as all of our gazes shift to the edge of the forest.
Smooth and deliberate in every step, Riven appears. After witnessing his speed previously, I know he’s enjoying being watched in his slow approach. His dark shirt is open at the throat and the sleeves are rolled just enough to show the corded strength in hisforearms. His red eyes glow faintly even in the fading light, twin embers sweeping across the space until they find me.
He holds my gaze with that same impossible intensity that always makes it feel like I’m the only thing he sees.
My breath hitches as he grows near. A part of me demands I go to him now and inspect every part of him to ensure Torryn’s words were correct and that he’s unharmed from the skirmish on his lands.
