A few hours later, by nightfall, my mates and Layla’s and Rhonda’s mates all came filing in through the stone doorway, their heavy footsteps echoing against the walls. They were a sight to behold; some bruised and bleeding, their clothes torn, their hair matted with sweat and dirt, their skin painted with the evidence of hard combat. And yet they were laughing, the sound boisterous and unrepentant, as they caught sight of us women waiting for them.
They laughed at how we looked at them, our noses wrinkled, our expressions ranging from amusement to horror at their state.
"Do not sweat it," Darius smirked, his massive chest heaving, a cut above his eyebrow dripping blood he did not bother to wipe away. "It is how we train and bond together as warriors. A little blood builds brotherhood."
"We look a fright, do we not?" Ravin laughed, his golden hair somehow still immaculate despite the grime on his face, his arm hanging at an angle that suggested it had been recently popped back into place.
"You look like you all walked out from a pile of dead beast," I said, wrinkling my nose as the wind shifted and carried their scent to us. My eyes watered. "You all need a bath. You reek."
"I second that," Layla made a face, waving her hand in front of her nose dramatically. "By the gods, what did you roll in?"
"Me third," Rhonda gagged, her face turning an interesting shade of green. "Stinky. So very stinky."
Alara didn’t say anything, she just looked at Krane disapprovingly. The man had the audacity to smile.
My Levy, sitting on the floor in her cub form, copied us perfectly. Her little nose wrinkled, her face scrunched in concentration, and then she let out the most adorable sneeze followed by a tiny gagging sound that made us all burst into laughter.
"Look at our princess," I cooed, scooping her up and holding her toward the men. "She even thinks you all stink. Go bathe. Then you all can have dinner. I am making some mournbull meat with my special spicy sauce."
The effect was instantaneous. My mates’ ears perked up literally in Leon’s and Caelion’s cases, their beast natures showing through and they turned toward me with expressions of such desperate hunger that one would think I had offered them the secret to immortality rather than dinner.
"Special sauce?" Leon asked, already stripping off his torn clothes as he headed toward the door.
"The spicy one?" Ravin added, his injuries forgotten.
"The one that we all like?" Veylan’s voice was reverent, his eyes wide.
"Go!" I shooed them, laughing. "First clean, then food!"
They headed out, almost shoving each other in their haste to reach the stream first, their earlier camaraderie dissolving into playful competition in the face of promised culinary delights.
"What is the special sauce?" Darius asked, pausing at the threshold, his brow furrowed with confusion. He had my food before, just not this particular dish.
"This is the first I ever heard of it." Krane said.
Veylan grabbed both male by the shoulders, his silver eyes gleaming with desperate hunger, his mouth actually watering, a thin trail of saliva escaping the corner of his lips as he spoke. "Do not ask," he said, his voice thick with longing, his tongue darting out to lick his own lips. "Just know it is the tastiest thing you will ever have. The kind of taste that ruins you for all other food. She made it for us once, during the winter. We fought over the last drop like starving beasts."
I laughed at their ridiculousness. "Go bathe," I shooed them again. "All of you. Or no one gets any."
They scrambled, suddenly motivated by the threat of exclusion, their earlier camaraderie dissolving into a mad dash for the stream that nearly knocked Darius off his feet.
"What is happening?" Darius asked, bewildered, watching them go.
"Let’s just go." Krane laughed.
"Just wait," Veylan said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes still fixed on me with an intensity that was slightly unsettling. "You will understand. You will understand, and you will never be the same."
I was making Sach ko tuk trey koh kong, tender slices of beef served with that dangerously addictive Cambodian crack sauce, the kind of sauce that made you swear you were finished only to reach for one more bite. The mournbull meat was perfect for it. It tasted similar to beef, but richer and more buttery, threaded with delicate ribbons of fat that melted as it cooked. I seared each piece over fierce heat until the outside developed a deep, caramelized crust, dark at the edges and glistening with rendered fat, while the center stayed warm, rosy, pink, and impossibly juicy. Every time I turned the meat, it hissed against the hot surface, releasing a mouthwatering smell of roasted fat, charred edges, and savory meat that filled the entire cooking area. The fat slowly rendered into the pan, coating each piece until the surface shone.
When I sliced into one, juices immediately gathered along the cut. It was tender, pink, almost buttery. The meat practically melted beneath my teeth, rich and savory with just the faintest natural sweetness lingering afterward.
And then there was the sauce.
Salty fish sauce. Bright lime. Garlic. Chilies. A touch of sweetness to balance the heat. Sharp, spicy, sour, salty, and sweet all at once. I dipped a piece of hot mournbull into it and watched the sauce cling to the caramelized edges.
One bite was enough to remind me exactly why people called it crack sauce.
The rich meat hit first, warm and buttery, followed immediately by the punch of lime and fish sauce, then the sharp bite of garlic and chili blooming across my tongue. It was the kind of food that made you close your eyes while chewing. The kind that made conversation temporarily unnecessary. The kind that had you reaching for another piece before you had even finished the first.
I made rice, fluffy and fragrant, steaming hot in a carved wooden bowl. And I assembled the Sach ko with the tuk trey koh kong and assorted veggies they can eat with the meat, an umami of flavors.
When my mates came back, clean and damp haired and dressed in fresh clothes, they took their seats on the floor around the food. They knew the drill; sharing from common plates in the old way. But they had to help Alara, Rhonda, and Layla’s mates, Krane, Darius and Larry, who stood awkwardly at the edge of the room, uncertain of the customs, their expressions skeptical.
"Come, eat," I urged. "There is more than enough."
The other mates; Thorne, Jared, Lennox, Hendricks, Fern, Thomas, and Silas; were at home, so I packed portions in woven containers for Rhonda and Layla to bring to them after they finished dinner here. Darius was skeptical, his arms crossed over his chest, his nose still wrinkled from the earlier teasing.
"How good can it taste," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone, "for them to fight over it like there is not enough to go around? It is just meat. Just sauce."
"Sit," I said gently, pointing to the floor where woven mats were spread. "Eat. Then judge."
Layla and Rhonda settled beside their mates, and Alara and Krane sat on my left, my mates across from me, all of us forming a circle around the food, our knees touching, our laughter mingling. The men needed no further invitation; they descended upon the spread like the starving beasts they claimed to be, hands reaching, portions disappearing with alarming speed.
Darius sat hesitantly, and I placed a small portion before him: rice, a few slices of the mournbull draped in the crack sauce, a sprinkle of fresh herbs. He picked it up with his fingers, the way I had shown him, and brought it to his mouth.
The transformation was instantaneous. His eyes widened, his jaw stopped mid chew, and he made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a prayer. He chewed slowly, deliberately, as if afraid to swallow, to let the moment end.
"What is this?" he finally breathed, his voice hushed, reverent. "The meat practically melts in your mouth. The sauce is hot but has that pungent smell and sour and sweet with it. It is... he struggled for words, his eyes finding mine with something like awe. "It is the best thing I have ever tasted."
"I told you so," Veylan said smugly, already reaching for his third portion, his fingers shiny with sauce. "She is a genius with food. I would kill for this sauce."
"You would not need to kill," I laughed, feeling warmth spread through my chest at their appreciation. "Just ask nicely."
Alara took her first bite and actually started to cry, tears streaming down her face as she chewed. "I have not tasted anything this good since before my father died," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Since before everything fell apart. Thank you, Krys. Thank you for this."
Krane wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Our child will be born into a tribe with food like this," he murmured against her hair. "We chose right. We chose well."
Rhonda moaned around a mouthful of rice and meat, her eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "By the gods, Krys, this is criminal. My mates are going to demand this every single night now. Darius already looks ready to weep."
Darius was indeed staring at his bowl with an expression of profound devotion.
Layla waved her hand, too busy chewing to speak, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel hoarding nuts. She finally swallowed, gasping, "The spice! It burns so good! Larry, try this, you have to try this!"
Larry, her horse mate, leaned over and stole a bite directly from her fingers, his eyes widening comically. For a moment he simply froze, his jaw working, his ears twitching. Then he made a sound like a whinny and a groan combined, his head dropping back, his eyes closing in rapture.
"Sweet mercy," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I have lived thirty years and never tasted anything so perfect. Layla, you must learn this recipe. You must. I am begging you."
"I cannot make this." Layla laughed, smacking his arm. "It is magic I cannot make magic."
"It is magic," Larry agreed solemnly, already reaching for more. "Actual, real magic."
I just laughed at their reaction.
We ate together, the lot of us, warriors and refugees and friends, women and men, old bonds and new, all bound by hunger and laughter and the universal language of good food. And for a little while, the impending war felt very far away indeed.
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