Early the next morning, six males arrived at the kitchen at the same time.
They exchanged glances—and each of them gave a quiet, disdainful snort.
The cooking space was quickly occupied by most of them.
Since Nina's household was so large, several cooking stoves had been built in the kitchen area. Even so, the males still managed to crowd most of them.
"Well, well," Sal drawled mockingly. "Dead fox, what are you doing in the kitchen so early, taking up space?"
The night before, Sal had deliberately asked the ghost wolves to mingle with the dragon and phoenix clans. He had gathered quite a bit of intelligence.
And according to what he'd heard, Finch's cooking skills were the worst of the lot—his dishes were practically unfit to serve Nina.
"What does that have to do with you?" Finch snapped irritably. "The kitchen doesn't belong to you."
Sal snorted.
"With cooking skills like yours, you still dare show up? Are you sure the things you make are even safe for Nina to eat?"
