“They do when I tip them well.”
We worked in silence for a moment. Someone brought us a pot of water before wandering away again.
“I didn’t see a tavern in your village.” Sylvester straightened from his crouch with a wince. He looked to be in his mid-forties but sometimes he acted much older. “Did you not have one?”
“No. I think there may have been one when I first arrived, but it went under at some point. I don’t much remember those early years.”
“What did you guys do for entertainment?”
I wiped my forehead with my forearm, scooping up the chopped vegetables and putting them into the pot. “I didn’t everhave time for entrainment. I ate, I worked, I slept. Whatever time I used for art or writing or my flowers came out of sleep or work time. Other people gathered together, though. They had dances occasionally and I often heard laughter and what not when I walked home from work. People provided entertainment for each other.”
“You were never invited?”
“I don’t have magic—” My words hitched. “Or, you know, I thought I didn’t. They thought I didn’t, which I think is more important. They didn’t invite me around.” I shrugged. “I didn’t have time, anyway. It was nice to hear the laughter on my way home.”
He shook his head as the first person arrived with meat. He was careful to reach around me and hand it to Sylvester.
“I heard you learned about...” He twirled his pointer finger in my general direction. “You know. The thing. With the alpha.” He cleared his throat. “We’re not really supposed to talk about it.”
“I’ll talk about it. Apparently, he knew I had magic the whole time and didn’t say anything. It took his wolf accidentally pulling said animal halfway out, and me confronting him about it, for him to ‘fess up. And he didn’t even really ‘fess up at first! If I hadn’t been watching his face closely, I would’ve missed the little eye flicker. ‘Little Wolf,’ he calls me. Clearly that means I’ve got a wolf hiding in me somewhere. I can’t meet her, though, because?—”
I made an exasperated sound and cut myself off. There was no point in venting. It wouldn’t change anything. I needed to find someone to help me, and that person wouldn’t be in this camp.
“No, I meant—oh gods. Aurelia!” Sylvester snatched my wrist and held up my hand. Only then did I realize I’d nicked myself. “Shit. Here, let’s put water on it.”
“It’s fine, honestly.” I tried to pull my hand away.
“It’s bleeding all over! It must be deep. Here?—”
He wrestled the knife out of my other hand and grabbed the pot with the vegetables.
“Don’t you ruin that food with my blood.” I yanked my hand.
“Doesn’t that hurt? Stop struggling, I’m trying to help you!”
“What is going on?” Weston’s voice slid deliciously across my flesh.
He walked in our direction, his movements fluid but hurried. Crimson smears crossed his bare torso and down one of his legs. His eyes were feral, vicious.
Sylvester let go of me and put his hands up, backing away. “I was only trying to help her, Alpha. She cut herself.”
“It’s fine, seriously.” I looked around for something to use to stop the flow of blood. “It’s just a little nick. I’ll live.”
“She didn’t even seem to notice it.” Sylvester licked his lips in trepidation, gaze rooted to my hand.
“I cut myself all the time. Get as many beatings as I have, and you don’t sweat the small stuff,” I joked. Neither of the men cracked a smile. “No, but seriously, I barely feel it. Honestly. It doesn’t even hurt. My pain tolerance is pretty extreme.”
Weston reached for me, his movements so fast I thought he’d snatch at my wrist. Instead, his fingers wrapped around me delicately and he stepped closer, looking down on the cut. Bright crimson seeped over the edge of my pointer finger, dripping onto the work station.
“It won’t kill me,” I said, my words having zero effect on these guys. “Weston, honestly?—“
I cut myself off with a moan as he sucked my finger into his mouth. His eyes weren’t on fire, though—they were concerned.
“Fuck, even your blood tastes good,” he muttered a moment later as he stepped forward and reached, grabbing Sylvester’sshirt and ripping it off his body. “Make a couple strips from that,” he ordered Sylvester.
He again sucked away the blood on my finger before wrapping it tightly in one of the proffered strips.
“You didn’t need to ruin his shirt,” I whined, watching him tie off the fabric. “You guys are really overreacting here.”
