Chapter 25 #3
Fox and I glance at each other. Dinner should be starting soon, but perhaps it would be better to send Jett and Connell back to our tent to eat, so as not to provoke the wolves more than they already are.
We won’t be here long anyway—I’d been planning to try for a quick nap after dinner, and then we’ll all be leaving to go to the palace.
We don’t want to start a fight in the final few hours before we have to leave.
That question gets resolved quickly though, because Kai strides over to tell us that it would be best if we are all visible at dinner, so no one worries that we “outsiders” are up to anything.
Sure enough, at dinner the wolves’ eyes track Jett and Connell’s every movement. If I were still under that type of scrutiny I would try to keep my head down and eat as quickly as possible, but neither Jett nor Connell seems capable of keeping a low profile.
Jett leans toward Kai’s young sons, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. “So there I was, knee-deep in a Hydrattan swamp, when I heard this horrible slithering sound.”
“Sssssss,” Connell hisses for dramatic effect, baring his teeth as all the boys laugh.
“I peered into the dark trees, and then I saw it—” Jett continues dramatically, his hands curving into an undulating shape above the table. “An enormous serpent, at least twenty feet long!”
“Twenty?” Connell scoffs. “The tail alone was thirty.” He spreads his arms wide apart, and Kai’s sons gasp.
“Thirty feet, then,” Jett agrees. “And it was hideous.”
“Enormous teeth the length of your entire body,” Connell adds.
Jett nods, eyes widening. “And it was headed straight for me.”
Kai’s youngest son leans forward, nearly toppling his bowl. “What did you do?”
“Well...” Jett sinks lower in his seat, his voice dropping.
“My feet were sunk in mud up to my knees. Couldn’t move.
” He demonstrates by gripping the edge of the table, muscles straining as if trying to pull himself free.
“The beast reared up, fangs dripping with venom. I let it get close enough that I could smell its rotten breath, then—”
Connell leaps to his feet, miming a wild dash through imaginary undergrowth. “I came charging through the reeds!” He grabs a wooden spoon, thrusting it dramatically. “Drove my dagger straight into that beast’s tail!”
Kai’s son’s eyes widen, mouth hanging open. “You weren’t stuck in the swamp too?”
Connell snorts, brushing imaginary dirt from his shoulders.
“Me? Stuck? I would never. I was about to make my great escape. But then this one here—” he jerks a thumb toward Jett, “—had to go and nearly get himself eaten. Gentleman that I am, I couldn’t let him get swallowed.
That’s the worst way to go, being swallowed. Trust me, I’ve tried them all.”
“You’ve... died before?” The boy’s voice drops to a reverent whisper.
Connell leans in, eyes twinkling. “Oh, dozens of times.”
Laughter erupts around the fire, the wolves’ suspicion momentarily forgotten. They clearly think that Connell is joking. Fox, Jett and I exchange quick glances, silently agreeing not to correct them.
There’s no need to explain that Connell has actually died countless times before and reignite the wolves’ fear of magic, especially now that the tension has finally thinned.
Many of the wolves seem relaxed, as Jett and Connell work their charm.
Only Viktor remains unmoved, his deadly stare burning into the side of my head.
I turn, doing my best to ignore Viktor, and settle more comfortably on Fox’s lap.
He’s been noticeably more quiet today since Jett and Connell arrived; more like he usually was back home.
“Are you alright?” I ask Fox, under cover of another loud story from Jett and Connell.
He blinks down at me. “Why?”
“I don’t know, you just seem quiet.”
He snorts, as if to say: “I’m always quiet.”
I narrow my eyes—actually, he’s not especially quiet anymore. At least, not when it’s just the two of us.
“Just thinking about later,” he says vaguely.
His hand finds my thigh, thumb tracing absent patterns against the fabric of my leggings.
The touch sends a pleasant chill up my spine, and I can’t help but smile.
For a moment, I can almost pretend this isn’t just for show—that we’re simply a couple among friends, his casual touch a genuine gesture rather than a necessary performance.
Is this what is would be like? Or, could be, if we wanted the same things?
I wish I understood exactly what Fox wants.
Before, I thought I understood clearly that he was only interested in the physical side of our relationship, but then there are moments I think maybe that’s not all there is to it.
If this is really all for show then he’s putting on the best performance I’ve ever seen, but he doesn’t seem like he would be a very good actor.
A raw, guttural sound slices through the night air, cutting my daydream in half. My spine stiffens against Fox’s chest before my mind even registers what I’ve heard.
I glance around, surprised, and clearly I’m not the only one who heard it because the soldiers have stiffened too.
There’s another groan—almost a scream this time—and it sounds like it’s growing louder.
A few wolves stand up, including Fox, who gently nudges me off his lap so he can get to his feet.
The pained yells crescendo until I can barely hear myself ask, “What is that?”
Fox’s answer never comes. Instead, three figures materialize at the camp’s edge—armor dented, faces grim, bodies slick with what can only be blood. One staggers under the weight of a fourth man slung across his shoulders. Obviously he’s the source of all the screaming.
Kai darts over to the returning hunting party, Fox a half-step behind him. I chase after them, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
The man carrying the wounded soldier sinks to his knees, lowering his burden with surprising gentleness onto the trampled snow.
The wounded figure convulses with another piercing cry, I crane my neck for a clearer view, and my heart stutters mid-beat.
It’s Gunnar.