Page 56 of Asher
“Don’t get too comfortable. You’re helping with this,” I told him.
Preparing the meal was a mess of laughter, complaints, and the occasional bickering over technique.
“You’re going to ruin it,” Asher said, his tone somewhere between exasperated and amused as he leaned heavily against the wall for support.
“Excuse me?” I turned to face him, knife in hand, raising an eyebrow. “I think I can manage.”
“Not if you’re planning to cook it like that.” He gestured to the hare, already skinned and skewered but unevenly butchered.
I grinned, enjoying the flush of frustration that crept up his neck.
“Fine. Show me how it’s done,” I told him.
He limped over, his movements careful but steady, and took the knife from my hand.
“First of all,” he said, his voice laced with mock patience, “you’re supposed to cut here.”
"Well, you’ll have to forgive me. It’s been ages since I last prepped and cooked," I said.
Asher just rolled his eyes.I watched him work, the way his hands moved with practiced ease, and for a moment, forgot about everything else.
When the meat was roasting over the fire, he finally sank back down onto the bed, his exhaustion catching up to him.
I sat beside him, watching the flames dance.
Once the meat was done, Asher took his first bite, letting out a contented sigh.
“You’re lucky I didn’t let you ruin it,” he teased, his voice lighter now.
I chuckled. “You’re welcome for the hunt.”
He tilted his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks, Gael. For hunting.”
The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, the words weaving their way into a part of me I thought I’d buried long ago.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I said with a shrug. “I just wanted to do something for you.”
We fell into a comfortable rhythm after that, talking about mundane things that felt almost foreign in our world of chaos.
“Favorite meal?” Asher asked, his voice light with curiosity.
“Human blood of course,” I replied with a smirk, earning an eye roll from him. "But if I had to pick, when I was human, probably steak. Medium rare."
“Figures,” he muttered.
“And you?”
He hesitated, his gaze distant for a moment. “My mom used to make this roast chicken. She had a secret seasoning mix, wouldn’t tell anyone what was in it. We’d fight over the last piece every time.”
The warmth in his voice made my chest tighten.
Asher let out a sharp breath and winced, the effort of sitting up clearly taking a toll.
“Let me help,” I said, moving closer.
“I’ve got it?—”
“You don’t.” My hand was already on his shoulder, guiding him back down gently.
