The Wolf of the Wilds

The Teeth

Her and Neron slipped downstairs in near silence, neither moving more than necessary as they slithered between chatting groups and down flights of stairs. When they reached the cafeteria of the ship, Neron headed inside without pause, but Helena had a horrible moment of fear when she realised that the Montis were all crowded around a table not three away from the Angor's.

"If there's any god, great spirit or deity out there, then fuck you and please have mercy upon me," she whispered between gritted teeth. Her only hope was for the Montis to either be incredibly unobservant and not notice her presence, or for them to suddenly learn common sense and realise that she probably didn't want them to get involved. Unfortunately, neither option seemed likely.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside and made the long walk to the Angor's table. She kept her head up, just enough to make it not look suspicious, deliberately averting her gaze from the Montis. The Angor's table held familiar faces, although Ciro's was perhaps somewhat more swollen than the last time she'd seen it. Much to her displeasure, it appeared that Neron had amassed two new followers, older wolves she'd scarcely spoken to. Beside an empty chair, a completely unknown woman was sat.

Hair the muted colour of weathered wood, and a face that was small but well lived, she wasn't an overtly impressive person. Her clothes were markedly neater than the wolves around her, and she wore no weapon. Instead of callouses, her fingers bore ink marks.

The woman looked between Neron and her. "Neron, who is this?" she asked. It wasn't said haughtily, her voice too soft. Too like the trailing of willow vines.

The Angor wolf placed his hand upon her shoulder and waved an arm to Helena. "Saphra, this is Helena." Apparently, she'd been the topic of conversation at some point because Saphra's eyes widened with comprehension.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you. I've heard many things about you," Saphra said. Clearly, she'd been taking lessons in authority from her mate because she didn't bow her head or make any movement to expose her neck.

"The pleasure is all mine," Helena replied, copying the stillness in Saphra's poise. "Neron has also mentioned you at times. I was quite surprised to hear that he had found his mate. I am happy for the both of you."

Neron took the spare seat beside his mate, watching their interaction with earnest eyes.

"Wouldn't you join us for lunch? We have plenty of food," Saphra offered, pointing to a spare chair. It was unfortunately positioned beside Lura.

Helena and Lura gave each other looks of abject loathing, but when Neron cleared his throat, Lura looked away with a huff. Lowering herself into the seat, Helena found her appetite completely non-existent.

Soon they settled into the meal, picking at the platters with the eagerness of starved animals. Helena was slower, watching her meal partners and not daring to glance over to the Montis' table. She was aware of Adrian's subtle stare, and Ed's far more obvious gawking. Fortunately, none of them appeared to be making a fuss, but she couldn't find it in herself to be calm in such a precarious situation.

"So, Helena, tell me about yourself," she said, daintily picking up a sandwich as she spoke.

"There isn't much to tell to be honest. I'm an ex-assassin, professional pain in the arse and an abrasive shit. I take pleasure in getting on people's nerves and I enjoy the thrill of a good fight. For the past decade I've lived in anonymity as a rogue, living in various quiet locations. Yourself?"

"I was the treasurer for my pack, the Axsus. I'm good with numbers, planning and all things paperwork, but I'm afraid I'm abysmal at anything practical. I have the balance of a drunk fish on land, and the sight of blood just makes me sick. Do you often travel alone?"