Текст книги "Barbarian's hope"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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“Is it broken?” I ask him as he continues to wash it.

“I do not know. I do not think they have a healer.” He looks concerned.

A terrible thing. I have never thought about how precious Maylak is to our tribe—I have always harbored a little resentment for her because she did not save my Hashala. But how much worse would we be without a healer? She worked tirelessly to heal Pashov in the cave-in. She has watched carefully over the births of so many kits and fixed many wounds, all without complaint. To have no healer at all must be that much more dangerous. I wonder if the female and her mate have a tribe or if they are alone. Perhaps that is why they are starving. Perhaps her tribe died in the earth-shake.

“Her arm will need to be sewn,” Hemalo murmurs to me. “The flesh is badly torn. Do you think she will sit still for that?”

I stare at him, aghast. “Who will do that? You?”

He shrugs. “I am good with an awl. Unless you wish to do it?”

I do not. Just the thought makes my stomach churn. “Will she sit still?”

“We will use intisar to numb it and hope she does not notice.”

“And if she does?”

“You and I wear a few new scratches.” He gives me a faint smile. “If we do not, though, her arm will not stay clean.”

I nod slowly. “There is intisar in the baskets.” It is one of the few plants that the metlak did not eat.

For the rest of the morning, we tend to the wounded female. It takes time to chew up the intisar roots and longer still to slather the wounded arm so it can be numbed. As Hemalo works, I make soothing sounds and stroke Shasak’s furry head, and then stroke the female’s head as if to suggest that we are friends, that I am taking care of her. I offer the root again, and she takes it, chewing frantically even as she touches the kit in my arms over and over again. She seems to feel that if she can touch her kit, that all is well. She hisses at Hemalo as he sews her arm, but otherwise ignores him. Occasionally I see a shadow pass in front of the cave entrance, and that tells me that the male is outside, waiting, but not brave enough to come inside. Hemalo is careful with the female metlak, taking care of her wounds as if she were his own, and stitching the flesh as tight as possible. He rubs more intisar paste on the wound when he is done and wraps the arm in a length of leather, tying it off at the wrist. The female hisses at him and immediately tries to chew on the ties. Hemalo adds more paste to the outside of the leather, giving me a rueful look. “If we make it taste bad, perhaps she will not be in such a hurry to eat it.”

It seems to work; the female chews again and then makes a face, her tongue flicking over and over again as she tries to get rid of the numbing, foul intisar paste.

“What now?” I ask.

“Now,” he says, and his voice is incredibly gentle, “we should give her her kit back.”

My heart aches. I have to swallow the knot forming in my throat. “I do not want to. I want to keep him.”

“I know. But would you want someone to keep your kit from you?”

I would not. I slowly hand him over, every bone in my body protesting. The female immediately snatches him from my grip with a surprising ferocity, hauling him against her chest. She scuttles backward, hissing at us one last time before racing out into the snow. I hear a couple of angry hoots and calls from her mate, and then they are both gone, leaving only their stink behind.

My heart feels as if it is breaking all over again. The cave is silent. The blanket I cradled Shasak in is empty in my arms. It should not hurt as much as it does, and yet I feel hollow and so alone all over again. I cannot stop the tears from falling down my cheeks.

“Asha, my mate,” Hemalo murmurs, such tenderness in his voice. He comes to my side and puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against him. “It is all right to be sad.”

I sob against his shoulder, burying my face against his neck. I ignore the excited hum of my khui, because my heart hurts too much to think of such things right now. I think of Shasak, so small and trusting in my arms…and the way his mother snatched him back and raced away from the cave. All we tried to do was help her. Will she have enough milk to feed him? Will she discard him again to go hunting, and this time it will not be someplace safe because we are in their cave? My heart is full of worry and sadness, and I cannot stop weeping.

“Shh,” Hemalo whispers against my mane. He strokes my back, over and over again. “I have you.”

For some reason, that just makes me cry harder. He does not have me. He has left me. I only found him because I came after him. I cannot stop weeping. “Everything I love leaves me.”

“I am here.” His big hand rests on my lower back, and then he squeezes my side. “Feel me against you.”

I shake my head, so sad that I feel it deep in my soul. “You left me, too. Always, you leave me.”

“Is that what you think?” His big hand cups my jaw, and he forces me to look up into his eyes. There is such sadness there, sadness and love, and it makes me ache all over again. “You think I choose to leave you?”

I feel his tail trying to twine with mine, and I flick it away. I push at his shoulder. “What should I think? When I need you the most, you turn your back to me. Twice you have done it now! You left me after Hashala died, and you have left me again now that we resonate? Tell me what I am supposed to think of that.” My voice grows in strength with anger and hurt.

He stares at me for a long, long time, saying nothing.

“What?” I say, feeling defensive.

Hemalo sighs. “I am a fool. I should have explained myself.”

“That would be nice,” I say tartly, though I do feel better to hear him call himself a fool. It is what I have called him in private, after all.

He brushes his knuckles over my cheek, and I want to start crying again at how good it feels to have that small, loving touch. “I left you because I care for you.”

“That makes no sense,” I tell him, pushing his hand away. “Only a fool would say such a thing.”

“Perhaps so, but it was how I chose to help.” The look in his eyes is so sad. “I left our mating because my presence made you angry. Every time you looked at me, you were full of fury. You attacked me with words, and you sought the furs of others. It made me feel like my presence at your side was making things worse. I thought maybe if you had time to yourself, time to heal, then you would come back to me.” He gazes at me with such love that it feels as if he is touching my cheek all over again, even though his hand is not moving. “And even if you did not come back to me, if you were happy, I could live with that. It is your sadness that tears me apart.”

I swallow hard. What he says is true. I was not a good mate. After Hashala died, I was numb. And then, I got angry. I lashed out at everyone, but most especially at him. If Hemalo said anything to me, I attacked. If he looked at me wrong, I spat ferocious words at him. I kicked him from my furs. I destroyed his leathers and his work when I was upset, which was often. “I was a terrible mate. But I felt you were not even trying to understand me.”

“I was not,” he agrees softly. “I was lost in my own grief. I wanted you to turn to me for comfort, and instead, you turned away and made me your enemy. I felt as if I lost both my kit and my mate in the same day.”

That hurts. It hurts the most because he’s not wrong. I did not think about his pain, only my own. The apology I want to say sticks in my mouth, though. It is hard for me to unbend, to accept that I have been the terrible one in this mating. That he was quietly trying to be there for me and I pushed him away. It does not make me feel good. So I tell him the only thing that comes to mind. “I never went to another’s furs.”

“If another male would make you happy, I would give you to him,” Hemalo says gently. “I know you have never wanted to be with me.”

I open my mouth to protest, but have I not said the very same words to him in anger? Before we mated, I enjoyed flitting from the furs of one male to another. I liked being coveted by every hunter in the tribe and choosing to bestow my favor. I never looked at Hemalo, because he was always quiet, never loud or demanding. He was content to stand in the background. When we resonated, the entire tribe was shocked, but no one more so than I. It was like I had seen him for the first time when my khui sang to his. At first, I was upset. Why did I not get one of the strong, brash hunters that flirted with me? Why did I get the quiet tanner who was content to stand in the background?

But resonance chooses. And I think it chose wisely for me. Over time, I grew to appreciate that Hemalo was steady and quiet. I learned to like his soft smiles and gentle voice. I liked that he was content to let me shine while he stood behind me. We never competed for attention, he and I. Hemalo is happy to let me take the lead. I did not realize how pleasant it was and how right for me he was until I lost him. Everyone else in the tribe eventually irritates me with their words or their demands. Not Hemalo.

Perhaps I pushed so hard against him after Hashala died because he did not fight. Because he did not rage like me. He was quiet in his sorrow, because he is always quiet. Why am I just now seeing this? Why did it take me so long to recognize that because he is different than me in personality, he will grieve differently than me, too?

I feel ashamed. “I might not have picked you at first, but you are the only one I can see myself with. You are the one that is right for me…except that you keep leaving,” I add, unable to resist jabbing at him. “Twice now you have abandoned me.”

He gives me a small, rueful smile that makes my belly flutter. “It is because the throbbing here,” he begins and presses my hand over his heart, “means that it makes the throbbing here,” he says as he leads my hand to his cock, “unbearable.”

“Do you think it’s more bearable for me if you leave?” I retort, and stroke his cock through his leathers just to be spiteful. And maybe because I enjoy teasing him. Maybe. I feel a shiver move through my body as he hardens under my grip, and his khui begins to sing even louder. I cannot resist touching him, just like I cannot stop the wetness that creeps between my thighs.

“I thought of Jo-see, actually,” Hemalo says.

That stops me cold. I lift my hand, frowning. “Jo-see?” That small, chattery human?

He nods. “Jo-see left and she was able to bear not mating to Haeden for almost a full turn of the moon. I thought perhaps if I left, it would give you time to adjust to the idea of being my mate again. That I could return when you were ready.”

It is the sweetest—and most ridiculous—thing I have ever heard. “That is foolish.”

He sighs and rubs his brow. “I seem to think many foolish things around you.”

“This is true. Why did you not talk to me?”

“You think I do not wish to talk? I talk. It is you that does not wish to listen.”

I scowl at him. “You never talk to me. You never tell me what you are thinking. You force me to guess, and I guess wrong. I would never tell you to leave our cave, and I would never tell you to walk away when we resonate! It solves nothing!”

“You never talk to me, either. You think it is easy for me to see you hurting and when I try to find out what is bothering you, you turn me away? You snarl at me and push me aside? You never tell me how you feel. I am your mate. Your happiness is everything to me. You think it does not wound my heart when you want nothing to do with me?”

I glare at him, but the tears come again, because I know he is right. I am not good at expressing myself when I get angry. I shut down and hide away. “I will try harder,” I grit out, and it sounds very sullen, even to my own ears.

“All I want is for you to talk to me when you are troubled or when you are hurting.”

“I am hurting right now,” I say hoarsely, thinking of Shasak out in the cold with his dirty, hungry mother. More tears start to flow from my eyes, and I cannot help myself. My lower lip quivers, and then I bury my face against his neck again, because it is too much for me to handle.

“I know you are.” He strokes my mane, his hands and voice soothing. “You are full of love and want a kit of your own. You want to be a mother.”

“I am a mother. My kit is dead.” I sob. “I still miss her.”

“I miss her every day, too. That will not go away, Asha. But we can keep our memories of her and still move on with our lives. She would want you to live. She would want you to be happy.” He strokes my cheek. “And you have not been happy.”

I have not. Not since she breathed her last. I have been miserable and tried to make Hemalo miserable, too. “Sometimes I worry I do not know how to be happy.”

“I think you do.” His caresses feel wonderful against my skin, and he smells so good. I love huddling against him. For the first time in a long time, I feel warm and protected and strangely calm. I am crying and upset, but…I still feel it will all be all right. Is this what I have been missing? Hemalo’s soothing love?

Perhaps I am a bigger fool than he is.

I sniff, snuggled against him. “I am still going to miss Hashala.”

“I know.”

“And now Shasak, too. He was mine, even if I only had him for a day.” I barely had Hashala for longer.

“You can miss them both,” he agrees. “But you cannot allow it to destroy your life.”

He is right. Still, I think of Shasak and how small and helpless he was in my arms. His mother was starving and injured, and the one-eyed mate to her not much better. “What if they cannot survive the brutal season?” I whisper. “What if I have sent Shasak back with his mother just to starve to death?”

Hemalo pats my back, reassuring me like he would a kit. Once I would have found it irritating, but today I find it soothing. “If you wish, we can spend a few days gathering roots and bringing them back to the cave so they will have food to eat. We can see if they will follow us, since they know we have food. If they do, perhaps we can lead them somewhere where the food is more plentiful.”

I suck in a breath. What he is suggesting, no other hunter would consider. Take time during the brutal season to feed metlaks? But Hemalo does not think like a hunter. He never has. “You would do such a thing?”

“Of course. You are my mate, and it is important to you.” He rests his chin against the top of my head, next to my horns. “And for a day, he was my son, too.”

Tears blur my eyes again. “You are a good mate. I am sorry I have been so awful to you.”

“Not awful.” He touches my cheek again. “Just unhappy. And I did not work harder to make you happy. I retreated into my own hurt, thinking I was doing what was best for you. I will talk to you from now on, I promise.”

“And you will not leave?”

“Never,” he whispers. His fingers graze my chin once more, and then he tilts my face up. We gaze at each other for a long moment, and then he leans in and presses his mouth to mine.

I draw back, surprised. “What are you doing?”

“A mouth-mating, like the humans do.” He looks puzzled. “Did I do it wrong?”

“I…do not know.” I press my fingers to my lips, curious. My khui is singing loudly, but I do not know if it is because we are snuggled close or because the mouth-mating is exciting.

His smile is gentle. “Then we will have to practice it.”

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15

HEMALO

Six Days Later

“Are they still following us?” Asha murmurs as she moves to my side, wading through the deep snow. “Or did we lose them?”

I glance backward, squinting at the distant ridgeline. My eyes are better than hers, and I can pick out the yellowish coats of the metlak in the distance, even against the endless white hills. “They are still there.”

“Good,” she says, her expression brightening. “I think this is a good valley. Lots of plants. They will have plenty to eat here.”

I grunt agreement, turning forward again and wading through the snow. The weather has been foul off and on, dumping snow every time the clouds appear. Between storms, Asha and I have been collecting roots to feed the metlak couple. We leave them outside of the cave every evening, and by morning they are snatched away again. It does not matter how much food we put out, either. It is all gone by the morning. Asha frets that they do not know how to pace themselves, to save food when their bellies are full. She worries what will happen if we leave.

I do not want her upset, so we stay on, even though I wish to return to the tribe. I will not leave without her…and my need is a selfish one, I admit to myself. I want to take her back to the vee-lage so I can claim her as my mate. So she has no more distractions. I force myself to be patient, because I know this is important to her, and she is important to me.

So we hunt roots every day for the metlaks. Trudging through the thick snow and digging out roots takes its toll on both of us, and by the time we return to the cave each night, we are both exhausted. The days that the weather is bad, we have kept to the cave. I thought perhaps it would be awkward between us to be alone again, but we have fallen into an easy companionship once more. Asha keeps busy with weaving and cleaning, and I work on scraping furs. We chat, and she tells me about Claire’s plans for the haw-lee-deh that we are missing. I suppose we should be upset about not being with the tribe for the celebration, but I am enjoying the quiet time with my mate. It’s nice to be alone with her, just the two of us. When we return to the vee-lage, I will give her the presents I have been holding back, waiting for the right time to give her. To show her that my love is unchanging.

But until then, I will be patient and let Asha take the lead.

We walk, and my khui hums in my chest as her hand grazes my arm. My cock immediately hardens, and I reach through my layers of clothing and tighten my loincloth against my flesh. It is difficult to walk with a stiff cock, but I cannot stop. Nor do I want to call Asha’s attention to the fact that I am full of hunger for her. I am letting her lead in this, as well. She will call me to her side when she is ready to mate. Until then, I will endure silently…

…and take myself in hand whenever I have a quiet moment to myself.

I hear Asha’s khui singing to mine, and it makes me smile even as my body fills with tension and need. Perhaps it affects her differently than me. Sometimes, I can smell the scent of her arousal in the air, but she has not indicated that she wishes to mate. She ignores resonance and ignores the song in her chest, so I suspect it does not fill her with the aching, bitter need that I feel. Perhaps she does not wake up in the night, full of unfulfilled desire and hunger. If this is true, then it is good. I do not like the thought of Asha suffering.

I will gladly pay whatever I must to ensure that my mate is content, and if that means ignoring my cock as if it is a frozen, useless limb, then that is what I will do. Until then, I will just imagine spreading my favorite fur cloak onto the snow and laying her down upon it. I will think about pulling off her thick, woolly leggings and revealing her long, beautiful blue limbs and the smooth, bare cunt that seeps with arousal. I will dream of burying my face between her legs and licking her until—

“Do you think they will follow us into the valley?” Asha asks, interrupting my thoughts. “I would hate to think we have come all this way for nothing.”

“They will follow,” I reassure her. “Do not worry.” And I force myself to think of metlaks again, instead of my mate’s sweet limbs or the way she sighs and clutches at my horns when my tongue is buried deep inside her.

“I just want to be sure they are well off before we leave them,” she frets. “We cannot stay out here forever.”

I am glad we are agreed on that. “They follow us yet,” I reassure her, extending my tail backward to her. I am pleased when her tail twines with mine in response. Just a brief touch, and then she detangles it once more, but it is enough.

Today, we have decided that since the metlaks cannot be trusted not to eat all of the supplies we gather them, we must bring them to the food. So we have gone out, trekking through the snows despite the bone-deep cold. Metlaks are territorial and do not venture far in search of food. I believe these two will starve before leaving their territory…but they also know we have food and provide things to eat. Our hope is that if we find a good place with many plants, they will realize that food is nearby and move someplace new. At least, that is our hope. I secretly worry the metlaks might be too stupid to realize this and will continue to follow us endlessly, all the way back to the gorge that houses the vee-lage.

“There,” Asha murmurs, pointing ahead. “I see a cluster of chadok roots. They like those.”

“And there is a stream in the distance,” I agree, noting the puffs of steam rising from the thread of blue at the far end of the valley. I pause and look back at her, walking close behind me. “This is a good place. Perhaps we should dig up a few roots and leave them in our trails?”

She bites her lip, her small fangs white against her mouth. “I do not know if that is a good idea. What if they continue to think we are feeding them? Perhaps we should just make sure our trail goes past the plants and let them figure out the rest.”

I nod agreement. What she says is wise.

We spend the afternoon walking around the valley, pausing by each cluster of plants. There is a variety of foliage here, enough to feed several families of metlaks throughout several seasons. Asha is encouraged when she looks back and sees the metlaks stopping by a few plants to dig them up. By the time the suns begin to lower in the sky, we have trekked around the valley several times and paused by every bit of greenery in the hopes they will realize what we are trying to show them. My mate begins to slow down, her steps lagging as the day goes on. She is tired, but when I suggest we return to the cave, she refuses.

“We have to make sure they have food to eat,” she tells me, protesting.

“We have led them past food several times today,” I say, patient. “They know how to eat, or they would not have grown to adulthood. Let them be, Asha. It will grow colder by the hour, and we must return to the cave so we do not freeze.”

“But,” she begins, and then sighs, flinging her arms up. “Fine! We will return to the cave.” She stomps away in the trail I have cut into the snow for her.

She knows I am right, and so I do not get mad at her frustration. Asha has always burned hot. I move to walk next to her, keeping pace with her angry storming. She ignores my tail when I caress hers, a sign that she is angry, as are her hunched shoulders and deadly silence.

I let her sulk for a bit, and then when she continues to remain quiet, I decide to prod her. “Asha.”

“What?” Her tone is sullen.

“Are you angry? We promised we would tell each other if we were upset, remember?” It is one of the many good conversations we have had in the last two hands of days. One of our big problems is not talking to each other, so we have agreed that if we are upset, we will tell the other. It is a good rule, but we have not had to put it to use…until now. In the past, I would let Asha bluster all she wanted, assuming she would get it out of her system. However, I am learning that her anger is a cue for me to pay attention. That when she is wounded, she turns thorny because she is hurting and she needs to be distracted away from the hurt. So I will make sure she does not dwell on it. “Talk to me.”

“Yes, I am angry,” she snaps back, casting an irritated look over her shoulder at me. “Is it not obvious?”

“Tell me why.”

“Because I am not ready to leave yet!”

“Because you are not ready to abandon the metlaks and their kit, you mean?” I press.

The look she sends me is full of anger. I lift a challenging brow. She sighs, and her lower lip trembles. “I just…what if they cannot take care of Shasak?”

“If they cannot,” I say, keeping my voice low and soothing as I move forward and put my hand on her back, “then there is nothing you can do to change the situation. They are metlaks. They are wild creatures. Let them be. If we were not here, they would find their own food. We must let them survive as they must.”

“I still worry!”

“Of course you worry. They will not be as good parents as you and I.” She looks surprised at my response, and I add, “But they are still his parents.”

She sighs heavily. “I think I liked it better when we did not talk.”

“No, you did not,” I say easily.

“No, I did not,” she agrees. “I am just being prickly.”

“You are.” I brush my tail against hers and am pleased when hers twines with mine. “But I would not have you any other way.”

Her smile is faint, but it is there. She reaches for me and puts her hand in mine, a human sign of affection that makes my heart leap with gladness. “I just want to know they will be all right.”

I pat the pouch at my hip. “I saved a root from our walk today. We will leave it outside the cave. If they take it, we will know they followed us back instead of staying in the valley. If that is what happens, then we will lead them to it again tomorrow. We will not let them starve, my mate.”

Her eyes shine with relief, and she squeezes my fingers.

I wake up in the middle of the night. It is so cold that my tail—sticking out from under the furs—feels numb. I tuck it in and gaze up at the ceiling, sleepy. I am exhausted, but Asha is pressed against me, her hand on my side, her cheek tucked against my shoulder, and it is making my khui sing to hers. My cock aches painfully, and my entire body is brimming with unfulfilled need. She slumbers on, though, so I do not wake her. I slide out from her grip and stretch, moving to the entrance of the cave. I step outside, shuddering at the intense cold, and relieve myself quickly. The root we left out is still there, iced over. That means the metlaks stayed in the valley. Good. Asha will be relieved. I move back inside, replacing the privacy screen over the entrance, and head to the fire to stoke it up.

Asha sighs in her sleep, turning. I glance over at her absently, and then go still. She is on her back, and the blankets have slipped. Her tunic has hiked up, revealing one teat, the nipple erect. I close my eyes, because a male can only be so strong. My khui sings forcefully, demanding that I get back into bed with her. If I do, though, I will surely touch her…and I do not want to push her into mating with me again. I want her to want me.

But it is cold outside of the furs, and her body is so warm and inviting. I hesitate, and then move back to the bed. I grasp the hem of her tunic to pull it down over her tantalizing body. Even as I do, a wave of her arousal perfumes the air, and I realize her hand is between her thighs, cupping her cunt. I can smell the slick heat of her.

It is too much.

I bite back a groan and move under the blankets, pushing her thighs apart. She makes a small noise, stirring, but does not fight when I press my mouth to the mound of her cunt. Instead, she moans, breathless, and spreads her legs wider. I cannot tell if she is awake or asleep, but her body wants mine. I bury my mouth in her slick folds, dragging my tongue over their sweetness. She is soft here, soft and perfect, and I groan with the taste of her on my lips. I must have her.

Asha moans, and her hands go to my horns, like they have in the past. She pushes my face down, toward the entrance of her body. I obey her, letting my tongue glide down her slick cunt folds until it dips into her heat. She is fiercely hot here, hot and slick with need, and I lap up the taste of her. “Hemalo,” my mate breathes, and the sound of my name on her lips nearly makes me spend my seed. I groan and drag my tongue over the entrance to her core, then thrust inside her with it. She cries out and arches against me, and I mate her with my mouth, pushing into her cunt with my tongue over and over again, as I know she likes. I use one arm to brace my body on the blankets, and with my other, I grip her at the base of her tail.

She makes a high-pitched, keening noise, her legs jerking against my shoulders, I can feel her hands tighten on my horns, and her breath puffs out rapidly. “Yes,” she pants. “Yes! My mate!”

I growl with pleasure at the sound of that. I know how to touch her, how to make her body sing like her khui does. I know everything she likes, and it feels as if I have been given a gift to be able to touch her once more. I do not care about the need throbbing in my cock. I do not care about myself. There is only my mate, Asha, who must be pleasured. I want to make her come, want to taste the juices that will flow when her body clenches up and she screams out her release. She is so wet right now, so full of need that I cannot stop pumping my tongue into her sweetness, lapping it up and pleasuring her at the same time. She whimpers, the sound sweet and agonizing all at once.

I grip the base of her tail tighter, and she squirms in my arms, wild. I cannot use my tongue fast enough, so I decide to use my hand, as well. I lick her folds as my fingers push into her sheath, and use my hand as I would my cock, thrusting into her with my fingers, until she is crying out my name once more and her juices flood onto my hand. I enjoy her shudders, leisurely licking her clean as she comes down from her pleasure, until she pushes my face away and collapses on the furs.

“I was not sure if I was dreaming,” Asha murmurs as I lick my way up her belly to her hard, perfect little teats. I cannot resist tasting the nipples, just once.

“Not a dream,” I tell her, my voice raspy with need. “Just your mate desperate for a taste of you.”

She gives a dreamy sigh and traces her fingers along the length of one of my horns. “Shall I do the same for you?”

I shake my head and drag my tongue over one of her hard nipples, then roll back onto the furs. “No.”

“No?” She sits up and rests on an elbow, looking at me in surprise. “You do not want my touch?”