3

Wesley

The smell hits first.

Burnt fur. Iron. Old blood that’s already turning sour in the dirt. Magic clings to the air like smoke that refuses to clear, heavy enough to sting the back of my throat every time I breathe in.

I wrinkle my nose and turn my head, but it doesn’t help. The scent is everywhere. It’s soaked into the canvas of the healer’s tent, into the ground beneath our boots, into my clothes and my hair and probably my fucking pores.

“Don’t throw up,” Falcon mutters beside me. “You’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I’m not going to throw up,” I snap, even though my stomach is rolling. “I’m just… processing.”

“Yeah,” he says dryly. “That’s what you said last time.”

We stand shoulder to shoulder, staring at the aftermath like idiots who survived when we easily could’ve ended up on one of those cots. The healer’s tent is packed so tight it barely feels like there’s air left inside. Bodies cover every surface. Cots, benches, the ground. Where there’s no space, they’ve laid people out on blankets, coats, anything they could grab.

Some of them are groaning. Some of them are silent in a way that makes my chest tighten.

A wolf on the nearest cot thrashes weakly, his hands clawing at the air like he’s still fighting something only he can see. His face is pale, lips cracked, eyes wild with pain.

I step closer and grab his hand before he can rip out the healing needles embedded along his ribs.

“Hey,” I say firmly, squeezing his fingers until he focuses. “Hey. Look at me.”

His gaze flickers, then locks onto mine.

“You’re not dying,” I tell him. “I promise. You’ve been through worse shit than this.”

A laugh stutters out of him, half a sob, half disbelief. “That’s a lie,” he pants. “This hurts like hell.”

“Yeah,” I admit. “But you’re still breathing. That counts.”

He swallows hard, nodding like he’s clinging to my words because there’s nothing else left to hold onto.

Falcon watches quietly from my side, arms crossed, jaw tight. When the wolf finally settles back against the cot, Falcon exhales through his nose.

“You should’ve been a healer,” he mutters.

I shake my head. “I don’t have the patience. Or the bedside manners.”

“That’s bullshit,” Falcon says. “You’re good at this. They listen to you.”

I don’t respond, because the truth behind that makes my throat feel tight.

They listen because I’m still standing.

We move deeper into the tent, stopping at cot after cot. Checking in. Cracking dark jokes. Letting the wounded curse at us, yell at us, grab our hands like we’re anchors in a storm they’re barely surviving.

These aren’t strangers.

These are the people I grew up with. The ones I trained with. The idiots I used to wrestle in the dirt when we were kids and thought scraped knees were the worst thing that could happen to us.

Now one of them is missing an eye.

Another is wrapped in bandages from chest to thigh.

Another isn’t breathing at all.

Outside the tent, a line of bodies waits under white sheets, laid out with a respect that feels too quiet after all the screaming.

I pause there longer than I mean to.

Falcon nudges my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, even though my chest feels hollow. “Just… didn’t think it would look like this.”

“War never does,” he replies.

The witches have pulled back for now. The border holds. Barely. Every single one of us knows they’ll be back, stronger, angrier, more desperate.

“You talk to Brandon?” Falcon asks as we step away.

“Yeah,” I answer. “He’s fucked up bad.”

Falcon winces. “He always had the worst luck.”

“And the prettiest face,” I add.

He snorts. “Had.”

I shoot him a look. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” Falcon mutters. “It’s gonna be rough.”

“He’s alive,” I say firmly. “That’s what matters.”

Falcon nods, then glances at me sideways. “You were close to getting burned today.”

I grunt. “You pushed me out of the way.”

“You would’ve done the same.”

“Yeah,” I admit. “Without thinking.”

That’s the thing about us. We don’t hesitate when it comes to each other. Never have.

By the time night falls, the adrenaline has burned off, leaving behind exhaustion and a restless, buzzing edge under my skin. The kind that doesn’t let you sleep. The kind that makes silence unbearable.

Which is how we end up at the bar.

It’s loud, crowded, hot with bodies pressed too close and laughter that sounds just a little unhinged. Wolves drink like they survived something because they did. Every glass raised feels like a fuck-you to death itself.

“You almost got roasted out there!” Damian shouts from across the room, already drunk and loving it.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” I shout back. “Or I’d prove I can still kick your ass sober.”

His crew howls with laughter.

Falcon disappears toward the bar, and when I look over, he’s already leaning into a blonde who knows exactly what she’s doing. Her shirt is cut low enough to be distracting as hell, and she presses herself into his space like she owns it.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter.

Falcon catches my eye, lifts his glass, and smirks like an asshole.

“Traitor,” I mouth.

He laughs.

Before I can stew in it, someone steps into my space. Warm. Confident. Smelling like citrus and smoke.

“Rough night?” Trinity asks, eyes dragging over me like she’s cataloging damage.

“You could say that,” I reply.

She smiles slow and knowing. “Scars look good on you.”

“Careful,” I say. “You’ll inflate my ego.”

“I don’t see a problem with that.”

Falcon reappears, draping an arm around her shoulders like he didn’t just abandon her five seconds ago.

“You flirting with my brother?” he asks.

“Sharing,” Trinity corrects lightly.

She lets her fingers trail over my chest, then Falcon’s, like she’s daring us to react.

The air between us turns thick. Charged. Reckless.

Falcon’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t think I’m up for that tonight,” I say after a beat, the words heavy with honesty.

Trinity’s pout is dramatic but playful. “Your loss.”

She peels away with Falcon in tow, already laughing, already moving on like this is just another night.

I exhale, tension easing and tightening all at once.

That’s when I notice her.

Dark hair. Sharp smile. Watching me like she’s already decided.

Our eyes meet, and something passes between us that doesn’t need words.

I tilt my head toward the hallway.

She follows.

I don’t really want to fuck her, but I’ll be more than happy to let her wrap those plump lips around my dick and suck until I’m good and satisfied. Plus, she’ll have a story to tell her friends tomorrow.