The Rogue

XXXXVI

*Rian*

I still didn't understand what was going on. My gaze followed Faye as she moved around the community kitchen, somehow finding ingredients for whatever she was trying to feed us. When I glanced across the table at the thorn in my side, he returned my glare wholeheartedly. Maxen seemed just as confused as I was, though neither of us wanted to back down from whatever this was.

"Rian has an iron stomach," Faye remarked, her words followed by the click of the gas stove and a burst of heat under the burner. "Maxen, you're not allergic to anything, right?"

"No," he grumbled. "What is the meaning of this, Faye? I have things I need to get done."

"We are going to settle this little dispute once and for all. I'm contributing grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, because I know Rian is starving and you might be hungry too."

Maxen didn't respond, making me smirk. I couldn't help myself. She could be such a little tyrant and I found it irresistibly attractive. It was only annoying if she was bossing me around. Granted, I didn't want to be here, confined to a small space with my enemy, but I agreed with her in that our groups needed to come to a lasting truce.

No one spoke until the sandwiches and bowls were served a few minutes later. Faye squeezed his shoulder after setting his food down, and I uttered a low growl. He snarled back until she flicked his ear. His simmering eyes turned to her, though she wasn't fazed.

"Behave," she ordered sternly. "I'm tired of you hotheads bossing me around. It's my turn. Now, please indulge me by trying the food I just slaved over."

I relaxed when she came to stand behind me. Her hands molded to my shoulders, so I flashed Maxen a smug look. Scowling, he picked up the slightly burnt sandwich and dipped it in the soup. I did the same.

Faye sighed. "I know they're a little crispy on the edges. Sorry. My cooking skills need work."

"Tastes great," I assured her.

The food wasn't amazing, but it was good. I was used to eating whatever was put in front of me. When one lives in a pack, he has to get over being a picky eater.

"Thanks," Maxen grumbled, his eyes trained on her. "Can we get this over with now?"

"Yes." She took the seat at the head of the table, which also happened to be next to and between me and Maxen. "So, Maxen, will you agree to go back to Nevada and stay out of Whitewater Territory?"

"At a price."

My lip peeled back in annoyance, though I withheld the growl building in my throat. I didn't want Faye flicking my ear.

"What price?" I ground out as politely as I could.

"A trading deal." Narrowing his eyes on me, he said, "Calvin and I were arranging something before you returned."

"Don't mention that name again," I snapped.

Faye rolled her eyes and cleared her throat. "What kind of an arrangement, Maxen?"

After sharing a glower with me for another moment, he turned to acknowledge her. "We need supplies. The town we rely on for food and clothing used to order shipments until the director of that died."

A shiver ran through Faye, her face paling. I wondered for the thousandth time what she saw in Nevada that made her so edgy. She had refused to give me any details all this while. Perhaps I would be able to coax it out of her later.

"So what do you want from us?" I pressed grumpily. "Food and clothing?"

"That would be ideal." His eyes cut at me again.