Almost.
Because even as he steps back, even as the room settles, I can see it in his eyes.
He doesn’t trust me.
And maybe he never will.
The farmhousebarely settles after River’s stand, the air still crackling with suspicion and unease, when the door bangs open. Cold night spills in with a gust of frost and smoke—and Veeto struts through like he owns the place.
The satyr’s hooves click on the wooden floor, his curly beard wet with snowmelt, eyes sparkling with mischief. He raises his hands as if to show he’s unarmed, which means nothing when the bastard’s tongue is sharper than any blade.
“Well now,” he drawls, gaze sweeping the room. “Looks like I stumbled into a proper family reunion. Guns pointed every which way, daddy glaring at daughter’s choice in men, monster in the corner sulking like he wasn’t invited. Delicious.”
Rizzo stiffens. “Who the hell?—”
“Name’s Veeto.” He gives a little bow, mock-formal. “Friend of the troll. Supplier of good booze, bad jokes, and the occasional bit of intelligence, when it suits me. Don’t shoot, unless you want the walls painted with my guts. Spoiler: they’d clash with the curtains.”
River pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Veeto.”
He perks at her voice, tilts his head, and grins wide. “And you must be the famous River. Well, well, I see why our big lug here went soft. Fierce eyes, fire in your voice, legs like?—”
“Finish that,” I growl, stepping forward, “and I’ll use your horns for a meat rack.”
The soldiers murmur, some snickering, some shifting nervously. Veeto just laughs, the sound high and wild.
“Oh-ho! Look at him. Lava eyes blazing, fists twitching. Haven’t seen you this riled in years, Kragna.” He leans toward me, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “Guess that means she’s not just any pretty little soldier, hm? She’s your tasty war bride.”
The red fog hits me before the words finish leaving his mouth. My claws flex, my chest tightens, and I’m half a breath from driving my fist through his smug skull. The room tilts with rage, sharp and hot, the kind that leaves no space for thought.
And then—her hand.
River’s palm presses firm against my chest, stopping me cold.
Her touch sears more than my fury. For a moment all I can feel is her hand, steady, her gaze locking mine with something harder than steel.
“Not here,” she says, low. “Not like this.”
The fight drains from me in a rush, leaving my chest heaving. Veeto cackles, delighted, utterly unbothered by how close he just came to death.
“Gods above, she’s already taming you. What a sight.” He saunters toward the fire, settling himself on a broken stool like he belongs. “Now, what’s the plan, humans? You’ve got more holes in this defense than a whorehouse on payday.”
Rizzo doesn’t rise to the bait, though I can see the twitch in his jaw. He’s too tired, too stretched thin. Instead he spreads a map across the table, pins it down with a knife, and begins to speak.
“We’re out of time,” he says. His voice is flat, stripped of all but necessity. “Supplies are running low. Ammunition’s worse. Half our men are dead, and the rest are half-dead. And Laertiez’s armies…” He shakes his head. “They’re advancing faster than we planned. Too fast.”
The room tightens around his words. The men lean in, eyes sunken, listening like drowning souls listen to prayer.
“We hold here, we die here,” Rizzo says. “We scatter, we die slower. Only option left is to break through—to find a way to destabilize Laertiez before his army crushes us whole. Buy time, bleed him politically before he bleeds us dry.”
The murmurs ripple, uneasy, desperate. No one likes it, but no one argues. Desperation leaves little room for pride.
The night wears thin. Men bed down where they can, rifles close, nerves closer. The fire guttered low, smoke curling up through the rafters.
I stay awake.
River sits with me for a while, her eyes shadowed but steady, her presence a strange kind of balm. She doesn’t ask why I almost killed Veeto. She doesn’t ask what’s turning in my head. She just… sits.
Eventually, her head dips, her body softens, and she drifts into sleep beside me, breath slow, lashes dark against her cheek. She doesn’t even flinch when her shoulder brushes mine.
