The campfire burned hot and high that night, throwing gold light across the nomads’ valley. Drums beat in uneven rhythm; voices rose in celebration, laughter echoing against the rocks. The nomads hadn’t had a victory feast in years, and Braxton’s win had stirred something wild in them… pride, admiration, a sense of belonging.
The smell of roasted meat and fermented drink filled the air. The nomads’ women circled the fire, their eyes fixed on Braxton like he was some kind of God dropped into their midst.
Their movements were bold… hips swaying, smiles teasing, eyes glinting with hunger that had nothing to do with food.
Lukas elbowed Lucien with a grin. “You seeing this, Father? They’re practically ready to build a temple for him.”
Lucien shot him a look. “Don’t encourage it. we don
