Page 52 of Blood Fist

The mild-mannered beta was standing at the entrance of the forge, her hands clasped in front of her. A pleasant smile stretched across her features, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Brune nearly spat out his water. Niklas pushed himself to his feet, hands hovering in front of him like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Derry was the only one who didn’t seem overly concerned, throwing his arms around the shorter woman without hesitation, hugging her tightly with a cry of, “Momma Sehleh!”

While Sehleh hugged him back, Brune snatched his shirt back on, struggling to pull it over his sweaty, filthy skin. The clan didn’t have the same expectations of modesty that he grew up with in Kaledonea, but habits were hard to break. Pushing some of his messy hair from his eyes, he hoped he wasn’t embarrassing himself too badly.

Derry was waving off her concerns of interruption, telling her they were just about to break for lunch. Sehleh nodded once before her big eyes landed on Brune. Her face looked so much like Jonen’s it was disarming.

“I was hoping to take some of your time,” she said, holding Brune’s gaze. “Chief Restrina would like to meet with you.”

The only sound was that of the burning embers and the billow of smoke. He could feel Niklas’s gazeburning into his back and even Derry looked shocked, eyes wide as he looked between him and Sehleh.

“M-Me?” he stuttered, bewildered. What could their Chief possibly want to see him for?

“Yes,” she answered patiently. “Do you have time?”

“Of course.” Who was he to turn down a request from Chief Restrina? “I should probably…um, clean up?” he looked down at his soot-stained clothes and the darkening patches of sweat.

Sehleh waved him off. “That isn’t necessary. She appreciates the efforts of hard work.”

As he followed Sehleh through the camp, he fiddled with his hair, his clothes. Anything to make himself more presentable.

The last time he’d seen the chief was on the battlefield. In the heat of fighting, he hadn’t seen Osmond pull her off, and she’d been sequestered as she healed. His only connection to her were the times he spent with Ridan.

Walking in a daze, he allowed the short beta to lead him on. Her head barely came up to his chest, but she had a comforting confidence he leaned into. Not for the first time, he wondered if the doughy scent of baking bread that followed her around was her own, or a byproduct of her excellent cooking abilities.

She didn’t lead him to the same tent as the night he brought Corric back, but the one he’d first met with the clan in.

Unlike that night, there was no group of advisors. Stepping into the space, his eyes took a moment to adjust from the bright afternoon light to the dim lighting of just a few candles. The heavy leather flap closed behind him, and he turned to see that Sehleh hadn’t followed him in.

Swallowing nervously, he suddenly felt like he’d stumbled into the den of a predator.

The predator was sitting before him. Where once stood an alpha brimming with confidence, miles of tanned skin and muscles to back it up, was a shell of a woman. She’d lost so much weight she was nearly unrecognizable. Had Brune not spent so much time looking into Ridan’s eyes, he might have questioned if this woman was Chief Restrina at all. But there was no denying those eyes, Ridan’s eyes, staring at him from under heavy lids.

Her weapon had been replaced by a thick blanket. The scent made him want to turn tail and run. His alpha balking at the potent stench of decay and sickness. He locked his knees and refused to show weakness.

“Brune Son of Somebody.” Her voice was hoarse, but there was still a commanding note. Something that made him duck his head in reverence. When he looked back up, she had a small smile on her pale face.

“Henroen tells me you have a strong arm,” she continued, eyes drifting across Brune like she was appraising a horse for purchase. “And that my pups have grown quite fond of you.”

He couldn’t help but smile a little at that. Ridan would probably complain if he heard her call him a pup.

Before she could speak again, she began to cough. Brune reached for the jug of water on the table, pouring it into a mug before handing it to her. Fearing for her failing strength, he helped hold the cup to her trembling lips.

“You are kind,” she rasped once she’d stopped coughing, water glistening on her pallid lower lip. “That’s good. He will need that.”

She was staring at the corner where a cluster of dust covered trunks were piled on top of each other.

Brune set the cup down, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he cleared his throat. “Who?”

Ignoring him, she rested a hand on the arm of the chair. “How much do you know of our people’s history?”

Trying to follow, Brune shook his head. “Not much. Just what I was told as a child in Kaledonea.”

She hummed; eyes still locked on whatever it was she was seeing. “When Artrax battled Sinestrus, our ancestors stood with him. Just some frail humans, with no magic in their veins, ready to fight beside the strongest of dragons. For that, he blessed us. Gave us a life.” Finally, those eyes turned to him, bright with something he didn’t yet understand. “But he wasn’t the only one who gave us a gift.”

Lifting her hand, she pointed toward the corner. Brune followed it, moving before she could command him to. Finally, he saw what had caught her eye.