Chapter Five
ChApter
Five
The campfire hisses softly as I stoke the embers, pushing a half-burned log deeper into the pit with the tip of a branch.
Sparks rise into the night air like startled fireflies, spiraling up toward the stars.
My legs ache. My arms feel like dead weight.
Every breath still tastes faintly of smoke from the burning village, and the leather of my gloves is stiff with ash.
But we made it.
Behind me, the rest of the squad moves in and out of the circle of firelight, slow and heavy-footed, exhaustion tugging at their limbs. Mylo groans as he drops onto a log beside the flames, rolling his shoulder with a wince.
“Next time, maybe let the carnoraxis know we prefer not to be tackled into carts of splintered wood,” he mutters. He winces as he rubs at a forming bruise on his collarbone.
Aila, already seated, snorts and leans back on her palms. “Next time, maybe try ducking.”
“You’re hilarious,” he deadpans.
“Don’t encourage her,” Isaac says without looking up, carefully inspecting the fraying fletching on one of his arrows.
His cheeks are still smudged with soot, and there’s a fresh tear in the sleeve of his tunic.
Most of us have washed up using the water from the stream, but Isaac’s first priority is to check on the weapons.
“Why not?” Aila grins, unbothered despite the makeshift sling around her arm. “I’m brilliant when I’m concussed.”
Giorgi lets out a low, tired chuckle from where they’re curled up near the fire, already half-wrapped in their cloak. “We’re alive. Let’s call that a win.”
No one argues.
Dante stands a few paces beyond the light, his back half turned to the group, arms crossed as he surveys the woods.
Always watching. Always still. I feel his presence even when he doesn’t speak.
There’s something about the way he moves—controlled, calculated, yet wound tight, like he’s holding something inside, something he never lets loose unless he has to.
I notice, too, how often his hand drifts to his shoulder. Subtle. Subconsciously. But there’s tension in the movement. Pain he’s trying not to show.
Once the others begin settling in, blankets pulled tight and boots unlaced, I rise and walk toward him.
“You’re injured,” I say softly, stopping just beside him.
“I’ve had worse.” His voice is low, quieted by the hush of the woods.
“Hold still.” I lift my hand toward his shoulder, and though he doesn’t move, I feel the way his body stills completely as my fingers find the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t stop me, either.
I press my palm against the wounded muscle.
Warmth gathers in my chest, then flows outward, through my arm, through my fingertips. Magic, gentle and steady. I feel it rush into him, mending what I cannot see. It’s subtle, like weaving golden thread through torn seams.
His gaze finds mine, heavy-lidded but clearer now that the pain has dulled. “I’m a little surprised you brought us straight back here. I thought it was routine for your squad to find a tankard or two to drain before turning in.”
I lift a brow. “Would you have preferred that?”
He shrugs with his good shoulder. “Wouldn’t have mattered. So long as I got to spend time with you.”
I huff, though a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You say that now, but you’ve never been subjected to Mylo and Isaac’s pub songs. They’re always off-key, never in sync, and louder than necessary.”
“Sounds charming.”
“They once cleared out an entire tavern with a chorus about a charming goat.”
He laughs, low and rough, the kind of sound that vibrates through me more than I expect. “And here I thought battle wounds were the worst part of these missions.”
“Believe me, the looks we’ve gotten from pub-goers smart more than any cut I’ve ever suffered.”
When I draw my hand away, he exhales slowly.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
That heavy-lidded look he’s giving me makes me want me to put my hands back on him. And not just on his shoulder.
There isn’t a moment to dwell on that thought, however, because Dante cups my cheek and swallows up the distance between our lips.
Perhaps it was our time apart, the weeks of missing his touch and his kisses, but I don’t think I’ve been so conscious of every nerve ending in my body as I am in this moment.
I’m completely fixated on the caress of his lips upon mine.
My skin comes alive, not wanting the contact to end.
His tongue meets mine, and I let out a small whimper.
Dante’s hands glide over my shoulders to my back, sending a shiver down my spine.
His fingers graze over the curves of my ass before pulling me closer, until we’re flush against each other.
He’s hard. And, gods, it’s been so long. But we’re not exactly alone out here. As much as I want him, this isn’t the time or place.
When he breaks the kiss, I look up—and his gaze meets mine. That look again. Unspoken, unreadable, but impossibly full. As if he wants to say something, but words would only ruin it.
Before I can speak, a sharp crack breaks through the trees to our left.
My hand goes to my dagger instantly. Dante steps in front of me.
We both turn, eyes scanning the dark. Another sound—closer this time. A rustle of underbrush, the crunch of dried leaves beneath paws.
And then it emerges.
A wolf pup, no more than a few months old by the look of it, stumbles into the clearing, its legs a bit too wobbly to support its round, furry body.
Its coat is the color of snow-spattered ash, and one of its ears flops to the side.
There is a slightly darker marking over one of its eyes that looks like a lopsided heart.
The pup blinks up at us, tongue lolling as it pants.
I freeze.
“Oh,” I whisper. “I don’t know if I can handle how cute you are.”
The pup trots forward a few steps, then stops and tilts its head at me like it’s trying to figure out what kind of creature I am.
“Don’t move,” I murmur to Dante as I sheathe my dagger. “If its mother is near, I don’t think she’ll take kindly to strangers.”
Sure enough, as my eyes sweep the treeline, I catch it. A pair of golden eyes watching from the brush. Unblinking. Waiting.
“She’s there,” I whisper. “I think she’s letting it approach me.”
“Or testing you,” Dante mutters.
The pup pads closer, snuffling at my boots. A gentle breeze makes its fluffy fur ruffle. My heart turns into something soft and fragile inside my chest. I want to touch it, to scoop it into my arms and nuzzle it. But I stay still, respectful. My fingers itch.
“Go on,” I whisper to it. “Go back to your mama. She’s watching.”
The pup doesn’t listen. Instead, it plants its front paws on my leg, wagging its tail wildly, and lets out a tiny, excited huff.
“Okay,” I say softly. “That’s adorable and not helping at all.”
Dante shifts beside me. “Celeste.”
“I know.” I cut him off. “I know.”
Slowly, slowly, I crouch, my eyes darting between the pup and its mother, back and forth.
The wolf pup climbs into my lap with an awkward flop, heavy and warm and squirming. I lift it carefully, cradling it against my chest. Its heart flutters wildly beneath its ribs. It shifts in my arms, sniffing at my chin, its warm breath reminding me of freshly baked bread.
The mother doesn’t move. But her eyes stay locked on mine.
“I’m giving them back,” I whisper. “I promise.”
She answers me with a soft growl. A warning that I should not betray her.
I cross the dew-slicked grass, every footstep deliberate, my breaths short. At the edge of the trees, I bend and set the pup down. It sits for a moment, wagging its tail as if confused by the separation.
“Go on,” I whisper again, backing away with slow steps. “Go home.”
Finally, the mother wolf emerges from the brush, silent and massive, her fur dark and speckled with leaves. She walks with the grace of something ancient. Wild. She lowers her head, picks the pup up by its scruff, and vanishes into the dark.
I don’t breathe until they’re gone.
A pair of arms wraps around me from behind.
“I swear…” Dante mutters against my hair. “One day, you’ll be the death of me.”
I lean back against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat. “Why? Because I make friends so easily?” I turn in his arms, giving him a teasing grin.
“No. Because you keep offering yourself to dangerous beasts.”
“Hmm.” I tilt my head and grin. “And yet you’re the one holding me.”
He huffs a laugh. “Exactly.”
Our gazes feed each other’s for a moment before he leans down and presses his lips against mine. Before it can deepen, he pulls back and presses an impossibly small kiss to the side of my head. “As much as I’d like to spend the rest of the night kissing you, we need to get some rest.”
I play off my disappointment with a laugh. “You’re bossy when you’re worried.”
“I’m always worried when you’re near danger.”
I rise up on my toes to press one more kiss, impossibly tiny, to his lips. “Then you’d better get used to it.”
He smiles, brushing his knuckles down the side of my cheek. “You better keep that headstrong attitude when we return to the castle. If the king has discovered you ran off again, he won’t be pleased.”
I sigh and rest my forehead against his chest. “He never is.”