Page 286 of Psycho Pack

It still amazes me how much has changed. Plague is working on opening his own clinic in Surhiira, where he'll specialize in treating veterans and injured civilians who come to the city for help. Surhiira seems to be heading into the future slightly less isolationist than it once was, at least when it comes to those in need.

I think helping others heal helps him heal too, in a way. And he's not hiding anymore. Not from his past, not from his family, and definitely not from his relationship with Whiskey.

The thought makes me grin as I remember Whiskey's increasingly exasperated reactions to other alphas hitting on him since Plague came out publicly about everything that’s happened, including their relationship. Most of the flirtations have been imagined, but that just adds plenty of funny moments to our trips into the city.

Out of all of us, Wraith seems the most at peace with our new life. He’s content to relax around the villa with me, and when I go down to the gardens by the beach to gather food for our meals, he follows me there, too, and catches fish with his bare hands in the crystal-clear water. He's incredibly efficient at it, and always humane.

The fish he caught this morning are waiting to be cooked. They're already cleaned and ready beside the stone fire pit, thanks to Valek and his favorite new glass-forged Surhiiran cooking knife. Of course, Whiskey brought the logs for the fire, including a few that were way too big because he wanted to show off his biceps to me, which are even thicker than usual thanks to all the training.

Then he and Valek went off into the sunset to spar.

I've already gathered the kindling and small branches, arranging them just like my mother taught me when I was little. There's something deeply satisfying about cooking over an open fire, especially fish. The smell of woodsmoke and fresh herbs takes me right back to those rare peaceful moments of my childhood.

I start building the fire, carefully stacking the wood in a pyramid shape. The familiar motions are soothing on my slightly frayed nerves, though tonight, they're only frayed because I'm starting to go into heat. This is something I know, something that connects my past to my present in a way that feels right.

"Need any help with that?" Whiskey calls out, momentarily distracted from his sparring match with Valek.

Valek takes advantage of his lapse in attention, sweeping Whiskey's legs out from under him. The bigger alpha hits the ground with a thud and a string of creative curses.

"I'm good," I laugh, striking a match. "But maybe you two could grab some more wood for later? We'll want to keep the fire going after sunset."

They both nod, their earlier competition forgotten as they head toward our woodpile. They're still bickering about Valek's cheap shot, but it's nice to see them working together instead of trying to kill each other.

Progress comes in many forms, I suppose.

The fire catches quickly, flames licking at the dry wood. I arrange the stone cooking platform over it, waiting for it to heat up properly. Wraith's fish are beautiful specimens, their scales gleaming silver in the late afternoon light.

I season them simply. Just salt, pepper, and fresh herbs from our garden. Sometimes the old ways are best, and there's nothing better than fire-cooked fish with crispy skin and tender flesh.

My mouth waters just thinking about it.

When Plague and Wraith return, dinner will be ready. We'll all gather around the firepit, sharing stories and laughter as the sun sets over the lake. These moments of peace and togetherness still feel surreal sometimes, like I might wake up and find it was all a dream.

But it's real.

This is our new life.

I watch as Valek and Whiskey return with armfuls of wood, their earlier sparring match seemingly forgotten. Valek immediately starts arranging herbs with his usual precision while Whiskey gets busy stoking the fire higher.

“Son of a fucking bitch!” Whiskey snarls, shattering the silence. Valek barks out a sharp laugh at the sight of Whiskey smacking his padded abdomen where a stray ember just flared up and burned him.

“Are you okay?” I ask, running over to him to inspect the red mark on his stomach. He lets out a sharp hiss as my fingertips trail over the burn, and when I press my lips to it to make him feel better, he shudders.

“Better?” I ask him.

“Y-yeah,” he says hoarsely, swallowing hard as he stares down at me, pupils blown wide. "But I think an ember hit me a little further down, too."

I give him a look.

Valek’s laughter finally subsides. “That’s what you get for cooking without a shirt on,” he remarks.

“You’re one to talk, bro,” Whiskey retorts with an irritated glance over Valek’s own bare torso.

“Yes, well,I’mnot tending the fire,” Valek replies smoothly, stretching like a cat so the sun reflects off his lean muscle.

Show-offs.

Both of them.