LIAM’S P.O.V.
The first thing I noticed when I woke was the noise.
The courtyard roared with laughter, clattering dishes, and the smell of roasted meat wafting through the open windows. Someone was already singing off-key, badly, and someone else was shouting at him to shut the hell up.
I stretched, rubbed the grit from my eyes, and sat up. For once, the air didn’t carry the sharp edge of steel or the tang of blood. Just smoke from the fire pits and the spice of seasoned lamb.
A rest day.
I’d made the right call.
Pulling on a clean shirt, I stepped out into the courtyard. The long tables were lined with plates piled high, the kind of food that made stomachs groan just looking at it. Wolves lounged everywhere, some already tearing into roasted chicken legs, others gulping down wine so
