Near the cave mouth, Raku stood with his arms crossed, trying very hard to look like he did not care.

He cared.

His crocodile nose twitched once.

Then again.

He stared straight ahead as if guarding the cave was the most serious duty in the world, but his eyes moved toward the entrance every few breaths.

What was the snow fox doing in there?

Why did the air smell like meat had been chosen by the ancestors?

Behind him, two young males whispered.

"Is that from the White Snake’s cave?"

"Did the new female make it?"

"Can we ask?"

Raku turned his head slowly.

Both males shut up and walked away.

Raku looked forward again.

His stomach made a low sound.

He pretended it did not.

Inside the cave, Swanly was fighting for her life against three excited cubs.

The eldest kept circling the pot like a guard, even though Swanly had told him three times to sit.

The second kept crawling closer to watch the bubbles rise.

The smallest kept trying to lick the spoon.

Swanly grabbed him by the scruff for the fourth time.

"Why is your tongue always on the front line?"

The smallest blinked. "Taste."

"It is not ready."

"Taste ready."

"No."

He pouted.

Kael reached down and pulled the smallest into his lap before Swanly lost the last piece of her patience.

He held the smallest cub securely in his lap, one big hand gently but firmly keeping the tiny face away from licking range.

His other arm reached out and brushed Swanly’s hip as she worked, a quiet, grounding touch. Swanly blushed lightly but leaned into it for half a second, her tail curling around his ankle without thinking. The contact eased something tight in both of them.

Then she pulled back realizing. She was starting to think she mostly reacted like this and cared because of the mate bond.

The smallest seeing his father was distracted immediately tried to lick Kael’s hand.

Kael held his face gently away.

"No."

The smallest looked betrayed by both parents.

Swanly finally tasted the soup.

Her eyes closed.

It was not perfect.

In her old world, this would have been normal. Basic, even. A rough soup made with strange meat and whatever herbs she had. It was not restaurant food. It was not anything grand.

But after raw meat, fear, running, smoke, and death smell?

It tasted like sanity.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "Food. Actual food."

The cubs perked up.

"Food?"

"Food!"

"Food now?"

Swanly served them first.

Small bowls from her space. Small portions. Not too hot. She blew on each one because if the smallest burned his tongue, the emotional funeral would last all night.

The eldest tried to eat with dignity, failed in two seconds, and shoved his nose too close.

Swanly pulled the bowl back.

"Slow."

The second copied her and blew on his spoon too hard, splashing soup on his own nose.

He froze.

The smallest looked at him, then licked the drop off his face.

Swanly stared.

"I cannot even process that right now."

Kael made a low sound that might have been laughter if he were less injured.

She served him next.

Kael took the bowl with both hands, and the warmth rose into his palms. He had eaten cooked meat before, rarely, badly, usually burned outside and raw inside. This was different.

He tasted it.

His eyes changed.

Swanly saw it, and something in her chest warmed.

There it was.

That was the correct reaction.

The kind that made all the cutting, stirring, cub-grabbing, and fire panic worth it.

Kael ate slowly because his ribs hurt, but he looked at the soup like it had personally healed a wound inside his soul.

The way he looked at the bowl — and then at her — made heat bloom low in Swanly’s belly. His golden eyes were dark, intense, grateful in a way that felt too big for soup.

He caught her wrist gently when she moved to serve the cubs again, thumb stroking over her pulse point. His voice was low, rough, only for her.

"This is... good. You made this for us."

Swanly’s face warmed. She didn’t pull away immediately. Instead she let him hold her wrist a moment longer, feeling the calluses and the quiet possessiveness in his grip.

"Tsk focus on your food" Then she pulled away before she would go insane while blushing.

Kael smiled and went back to eating, he still struggled a bit when using the spoon.

The snake gave them an irritated look.

Swanly turned to the cubs and they were worse.

They were making little happy noises.

Tiny, shameless, delighted sounds.

The smallest had soup on his chin.

The eldest’s ears were up.

The second sniffed his bowl carefully like treasure.

Swanly almost melted.

Then she remembered Soren.

She looked at him.

He was still watching from the side, silent and cold.

She did not want to feed him.

She really, really did not want to feed him.

But there was a lot of soup, and she was not going to waste food just because the snake ruler had the personality of a frozen knife.

She filled a bowl and held it out.

Soren looked at it.

"I am not hungry."

Swanly’s face went flat. "Then don’t eat. I only offered because everyone else has eaten, and I didn’t want you standing there glaring at my pot like it owes you prey."

His eyes sharpened.

She shook the bowl slightly. "Take it."

Kael looked up.

He did not like it.

Of course he did not like it. Every soft thing Swanly gave Soren felt like a thorn under his skin.

His jaw tightened hard enough to ache. He didn’t like her offering anything to the white snake. Every small kindness she gave Soren felt like claws raking across his instincts. His tail lashed once behind him, and he had to force himself not to pull her back against his chest and bare his teeth.

Soren noticed. Of course he noticed. His silver eyes flicked to Kael with cool amusement before returning to Swanly.

But he said nothing because the bowl was food, not affection.

At least that was what he told himself.

Soren took it.

The bowl looked strangely small in his hand.

He lifted it, tasted a little, and stopped.

Swanly waited.

The cubs watched him too.

Even Kael watched, though he pretended not to.

Soren tasted again. The warmth spread through him in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. It was rich, layered, made with care instead of desperation. Something dangerous stirred in his cold blood.

He wanted her.

Not just for the Cleanbirth Seed. Not just because her scent quieted the fracture inside him. He wanted the female who could pull impossible things from the air, who fed hungry strangers, who protected a broken panther, who cooked like this while three chaotic cubs tried to climb her.

He wanted to wrap his tail around her waist again and pull her away from the panther. He wanted to taste more than soup on her tongue. He wanted to see what other impossible things she could do while pinned beneath him.

His gaze slid to Kael. The black panther was watching him with open hostility, one hand still possessively on Swanly’s hip. Soren’s lips curved in a thin, cold smile.

The rivalry felt almost... enjoyable.

Swanly waved one hand in front of his face. "Hello? Did the soup kill you?"

Soren blinked once, slow and deliberate.

"It is good."

Swanly stared at him. "That is it?"

"It is good."

"That reaction was so dry I almost took the bowl back."

Then she turned to the cubs hoping to see a good reaction from them.