Chapter 15 Around the Fire
[Nyx]
To my surprise, it was Symone who approached first. She wasn't smiling exactly, but her expression was markedly less guarded than during our initial training. Without a word, she extended a large hunting knife toward me, handle first.
"We've got a wild boar that needs dressing," she said, nodding toward a massive carcass laid out on a tarp at the edge of the clearing. "Since you proved yourself useful yesterday, maybe you'd like to show us what else you can do."
The knife hung between us, gleaming in the firelight. Not just a test this time—almost an invitation.
I took the knife, its weight familiar in my palm. "Unless you're afraid I'll show you up," I replied with more confidence than I felt.
A few curious warriors followed as I walked toward the boar. I knelt beside it, assessing the animal. It was a good-sized male, probably 200 pounds. The killing wound was clean—a single arrow through the heart. Good hunting.
I positioned the blade and made my first cut with practiced precision. The motion felt like muscle memory, something my body remembered even if my mind had tried to forget. Clean, efficient strokes separated hide from flesh.
"Damn, Princess knows what she's doing," someone muttered, not bothering to lower their voice.
"Where'd you learn to dress game like that?" Seth asked, his earlier mockery replaced by genuine curiosity.
I kept working, focusing on the task. "My mother took me to the northern hunting grounds every summer from the time I was twelve," I said, surprised by my own willingness to share this. "She believed a true Alpha should understand every aspect of survival."
The mention of my mother created a brief lull in conversation. Everyone knew Diana Verdant had been both Luna and a renowned warrior—a rare combination. And everyone knew she was gone.
I felt rather than saw Lysander approach. He knelt on the opposite side of the boar and wordlessly began helping, his movements mirroring mine. Our hands worked in tandem, no instructions needed. It was... oddly intimate.
"Your mother was right," he said quietly, for my ears only.
The camp grew livelier as more warriors joined in, preparing the meat for cooking. Someone handed me a damp cloth to wipe my hands, another offered a beer. The earlier tension had evaporated like morning mist, building on the tentative acceptance that had begun yesterday.
Hours later, with bellies full of roasted meat and ears ringing from laughter at warriors' exaggerated hunting tales, I realized with a start that I was actually enjoying myself. When was the last time I'd genuinely laughed? I couldn't remember.
"First smile I've seen from you that wasn't sarcastic," Lysander commented, settling beside me on a log. The firelight danced across his features, softening the hard edges.
"Don't get used to it," I replied, but couldn't quite manage my usual sharpness.
"We should exchange numbers," he said suddenly, pulling out his phone. "For training schedule updates."
Several nearby warriors made exaggerated "ooooh" sounds, like children on a playground. I rolled my eyes but held out my hand for his phone. As I watched, Lysander entered my contact information, then paused at the name field.
With a slight smirk, he typed "My Beloved Fiancée."
"Really?" I deadpanned, reaching for the phone, but he held it just out of reach.
"You're right, it's inaccurate," he said thoughtfully. Then, with perfect seriousness: "Don't worry, in six days it'll change to 'My Beloved Wife.'"
The warriors around us burst into laughter and wolf whistles. My face flushed hot, but strangely, I wasn't angry.
"Smooth talker, Crowley," I said, rolling my eyes again. But I couldn't quite fight the slight upturn of my lips.
He's good for you, Sylva whispered in my mind.
Shut up, I replied, but without my usual venom.
As the fire burned lower and the night deepened around us, I felt something I hadn't experienced in years—a sense of belonging. These warriors didn't care about my family name or political value. They only cared that I could pull my weight, that I didn't expect special treatment.
Maybe, just maybe, I'd found somewhere I could breathe again.
---
The warriors were beginning to disperse as Lysander approached me, twirling his truck keys around his finger. "Ready to head back?"
I nodded, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was after the long evening of socializing—something I was severely out of practice with. We said our goodbyes, and I followed him through the forest to where his vehicle was parked.
His sleek black Land Rover stood against the treeline. The vehicle was clearly built for the rough terrain of border patrols, but its pristine condition suggested Lysander took pride in maintaining it.
"Nice ride," I commented as he opened the passenger door for me. "Gamma captain salary must be better than I thought."
His eyebrows shot up. "You think I'm embezzling pack funds, Princess?"
I slid into the leather seat with a small smirk. "Feel free to explain yourself, Captain. I could always launch an official investigation."
"Please do," he replied, matching my tone as he leaned against the open door. "You'll find four years of border patrol savings, hazard pay bonuses, and absolutely nowhere to spend it all." A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "Turns out being one of the highest-ranking officials in the strongest pack on the continent has its perks."
"Clearly," I said, running my hand over the premium leather interior. "I guess I never really thought about warrior economics."
"There's a lot you might not know about those of us who actually work for the pack, Alpha's daughter," he teased, closing my door and walking around to the driver's side.
The interior smelled of pine and leather conditioner, surprisingly clean for a warrior's vehicle. As I settled into the passenger seat, Lysander hesitated before getting in, then reached into his pocket.
"I, uh... I meant to give you this earlier," he said, pulling out a small velvet box. The typically confident warrior suddenly looked... nervous?
My breath caught as he handed it to me. The box was warm from being in his pocket, and I hesitantly opened the lid.
Inside sat a simple but elegant ring—a modest diamond flanked by two small blue sapphires that caught the dim light from the dashboard.
I stared at the ring for a long moment before wrinkling my nose, a flash of irritation rising in my chest. "Seriously? This is what you picked?" I closed the box with a snap and handed it back to him. "I wouldn't be caught dead wearing something this ugly. We definitely have a generation gap in taste."