Freed Wolf

46 Roughing It

I get an elbow up, cranking my assailant in the temple and rush back over to Peter as he drops two rogues. As quickly as the fight starts, it stops as a new group of men show up.

The leader is an older, battle-hardened warrior with piercing amber eyes and short cropped silver hair. He has the ordered feel of a pack wolf and lacks that deranged twist that so many have here.

"Slumming it Peter?" The newcomer asks in a gruff voice as he scans the rogues.

"I didn't see where you were set up, Dave," Peter replies with a shrug.

Dave nods and turns to walk away. His group swallows us up as we follow him to his fire.

As we walk through the crowds, I scan each group we pass. There is very little blending here; each pack seems to keep to themselves and has carved out a little niche for themselves. There is very little, if any, laughter. Misery and resentment bombard me from all sides, threatening to give me a headache.

I feel all eyes on me as we walk. Men jeer and call me names as we make our way. I don't care what they call me, I just brush it off until I hear them slander Chris and I instantly tense.

"Keep walking," Peter says. "I haven't got enough men to take on everyone." He keeps his voice even but the way his dark eyes scan our surrounding gives him away.

I push down my temper and follow him to their destination. Like all of the mini camps, there is a collection of tents and shacks on the far side with a good sized fire in the center. The area in between is full of men, packed tightly, and their posture warns outsiders to keep back.

"What brings the mighty Beta down to his lowly subjects?" a man sneers.

"Flick," Dave growls in warning.

"What? The ivory tower getting boring? Have to slum with us with your whore-"

Peter wastes no time grabbing Fick by the throat as he unleashes his aura. "She is not my whore. Watch your mouth," he snarls as Flick chokes and claws desperately at Peter's fingers. Just as he starts to go limp, Peter drops him, having made his point.

"So, why is she here?" Dave asks, eyeing me skeptically.

"Has some food allergies and needs a place to cook," Peter says with a shrug.

"Go for it," Dave replies, nodding to the fire.

I make my way to the fire and one of the men toss a grate on top for me. Our guard escort brings the bins over for me to get started.

Flick glares at me bitterly, like he blames me personally for all of his problems.

"Palace food not to your liking, Your Highness?" He grumbles, glaring at me.

"I can't eat chicken or spice, something they use constantly," I answer, not raising to his bait.

"So you come cook on our fires while we barely scrape by on gruel?" He growls. Flick is on his feet, fists clenched in anger as he stalks over to me.

"Let it alone Flick," the older male groans. "She's cooking, they won't be long."

"Bitch says she doesn't eat chicken but there's a full fucking bin of it," Flick snaps grabbing the bin. Peter has had enough and grabs his shirt in one hand and pulls back the other to clock him. I quickly grab his fist before he can make contact.

Peter looks at me with a mix of confusion and surprise. I shake my head, and take the bin back from Flick as Peter slowly lets him go.

"Relax Peter, I'm an easy target to hate," I say with a sigh. "I can't eat chicken, but they were going to throw it out. I figured I could cook it up for whoever shared their fire with me."