by Ruby Dixon
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” Veronica says. She hugs her arms to her chest and goes quiet for a long, long while. The air feels heavy, and Ashtar moves over to her side, rubbing her shoulders. It’s almost like there’s some sort of silent communication between them, but I don’t hear a thing. I watch Veronica anxiously and wait for an answer. Eventually, she speaks, her words hesitant. “I can…try to turn it off.”
“Turn it off?” I echo numbly.
“Yeah. Basically I can trick your khui into not recognizing his again. Into thinking his is dead. I trick his to do the same thing, and then I can refocus it on healing him.” Veronica gives me an uneasy look. “I just don’t know what will happen if we do that. I’m not sure if I can turn it back on, or even if it will work. I just know this…”—she gestures at T’chai in the bed—“isn’t working.”
It’s not even a consideration for me. Bet the future against the present, when T’chai is suffering right now? When he might not live through the night? I don’t even hesitate. “Do whatever you have to do to save him.”
“Are you sure? Think about it—I might be preventing you from having babies—”
I shake my head, cutting her off. “You have to save him. Nothing else matters.”
“I might not be able to turn it back on—”
“It won’t matter if he’s dead,” I say thickly, tears clogging my throat. “If he lives, I don’t care about anything else.” I press another gentle kiss to his bony knuckles. “Please, Veronica. Save my mate.”
She looks up at her mate and then sighs heavily. Then she puts her hands out to me, palm up. “I’m going to turn yours off first, just in case it strains the khui.”
I want to tell her to work on T’chai first, that he needs her healing far more in this moment than I do, but she knows best. If she thinks it’ll put a strain on T’chai, then I absolutely want her to test this out on me first. I don’t want to risk him for anything—he’s gone through enough. So I set his hand back down oh-so carefully on the furs. I put my hands in hers and close my eyes, waiting.
“Just relax,” Veronica murmurs.
I don’t know if I can relax, so I think about T’chai. I think about the smile he made when we first resonated, as if he’d been given the world’s greatest gift. I think about him grimacing as he ate the fish head, the rueful expression on his face. I think about how he looked when we first kissed. His sleepy expression when he was feeling relaxed and drowsy. His proud stance as he fished, his tail utterly still, back straight…and those two fascinating dimples that showed up just above his backside when he did.
I think of the beautiful sound of his laugh. Of the tender expression on his face as he changed camouflage colors to match my skin.
I think of the way he looked at me as we made love.
I think of the determined, resigned expression on his face as the sky-claw attacked him. He didn’t expect to live. He wanted to give his life to keep mine safe.
I can turn off resonance for that man.
So I remain calm and float in the darkness, waiting to feel it. Waiting to feel…something. Some sort of tearing, or a feeling of loss.
“I think that’s it.”
Veronica’s voice sounds as if it comes from very far away. I slowly open my eyes, and as I do, I notice the room is quiet. My fingers tingle with blood flow, but I no longer ache all over. I don’t have that awful, nervous edge eating at me.
And my cootie is completely and utterly silent. I touch my chest, because there’s no vibration there at all.
“How do you feel?” Veronica asks, her brows drawn together. “Okay?”
I shrug. I feel…I don’t know. I don’t feel like much of anything, if I’m being honest with myself. I’m not upset. I’m not worried. I’m not even exhausted. I’m just kind of…there. “I think I’m fine?”
As fine as I can be.
She smiles brightly. “That’s a good sign. Okay. Now let’s get T’chai’s to relax and then the healing can begin.”
I rub my chest as she puts her hands on T’chai’s sunken chest. His scars are livid against his blue skin, Frankenstein slashes that show just how badly R’jaal and I stitched him up. It’s amazing he’s lived for so long.
T’chai’s hand twitches on the furs, and I reach for it out of habit. The moment I do, I feel…strange. His touch doesn’t feel dear to me; it’s off-putting. I notice the irritating rasp of calluses and how he’s too warm. His scent bothers me. In fact, all of it bothers me.
Which is odd. It’s kind of like touching velvet the wrong way. It’s not bad, just…unpleasant. I want to put down his hand, but I don’t.
I watch as Veronica’s face tightens and T’chai’s khui gives a dramatic, hard sound, almost as if in protest. It’s an upsetting sound, or at least, I think it should be. But I just feel very detached from it, and when it goes quiet, I feel relieved.
It’ll all be worth it, I tell myself, if he lives.
If T’chai lives, he can heal up and we can start over. The important thing is that he lives. Nothing else matters.
11
Months Later
T’CHAI
Even though wood is now growing scarce on this side of the world, I have kept a large, heavy chunk. It is made from a three-leaf tree, one that I passed many times when I walked the trails near my home. It still smells like the warm island, with its muggy air and permanently damp soil. That is not why I keep it, though. I lift the arm-length hunk of wood and then slowly, carefully, lift it over my head. I lower it again, and then lift it once more, feeling my muscles pull as I do. My joints feel tight and do not move like they used to, but every day, they get better. My long recovery has changed my body. There are now scars all over my chest and stomach, and my limbs had shrunk down to wasted shadows of their former selves.
So I practice moving and stretching every day. A'tar—the dragon one—gives me suggestions on strength-building exercises, and I do them faithfully. Sweat drips from my brow as I lift and lower the heavy wood, over and over again. When I tremble all over with exhaustion, I set it down, hands on hips, and take deep breaths to recover, pacing in my hut. I flex my arm, studying my muscles. I am vain enough that I like that I no longer have skinny, wiry limbs. With the plentiful food here in this cold land, there are many different kinds of meats and foods to eat, and there is no rationing. My once-wiry body has filled out to stronger bulk, but it is not perfect. Not yet.
I run a hand down my flat abdomen and wonder if M'rsl appreciates the way I look now.
Mari, I remind myself. She prefers Mah-ree, not Mah-ree-sowl or the respectful slurring of names that my people do. I push aside the flap that separates her half of the hut from my half of the hut, but her heavy, warm wraps are still in place. She is somewhere nearby, then. If she had gone hunting, she would have bundled up. I can guess where she is, and the thought fills me with a sense of jealousy that she prefers to spend her time with others instead of me.
Then again, nothing has been right between us since we landed on this cold shore. I am disappointed, but not surprised.
"T'chai! Brother!" S'bren's booming voice calls from outside the hut.
I move to the front entrance of our hut—a spacious place made from driftwood from our old island home and a peaked roof made from skins. It is very different from my last home, right down to the wooden platform that keeps us off the cold sands. The moment I step outside of my hut and onto the platform, the breeze hits me, making the sweat on my chest feel like ice. I shudder, wiping at my skin. I will never get used to this cold, frozen air, so different from my home. It has been another thing to adjust to—the loss of everything I knew and this strange, forbidding new land that has plenty of food but very little heat.
It is an improvement from the starvation we faced on the island, but sometimes I miss being able to walk around completely naked and enjoying the warmth the smoking mountain poured forth. I cross my arms over my chest and look around for S'bren. He stands nearby with his mate,
a round-cheeked, round-figured human female with a pale mane and a cheery attitude. Both of them are wearing light layers of leathers, and in the distance, I can see others gathered on the beach.
"The games begin this morning," S'bren tells me excitedly. "Are you joining in? Come with me and P'nee and we will cheer you on since I cannot play."
I glance down the shore. "Is Mari there? Does she wish to win a knife?"
S'bren and his mate exchange looks. "M'rsl is in M'dok's cave, helping out."
I grunt. I knew this. It is where she always is, unless someone needs her elsewhere. "Then no, I am not playing."
"You should," S'bren says. His broad face is full of enthusiasm. "There will be games of foot and balls—"
"Football," P'nee corrects with a giggle.
"And marching madness—"
"It's a March Madness bracket," she interrupts again, smiling. "Multiple elimination. Everyone will get more than one chance."
"And you are bigger than you ever were before," S'bren adds. "Surely that will help."
I shake my head, rubbing my arms. My muscles feel sore after my work with lifting the heavy weight of the wood, but it is a good sort of sore. Every day I feel a little more like myself…but I am not quite there. "I have no wish to win."
"Not even one of the special blades?" S'bren is aghast. "The ones that do not need sharpening?"
"And if I win? And drop it in the snow? Everyone will comment on how it should not be given to T'chai, who is not the hunter he used to be." I shrug, flexing my hand. It is something I have thought of a lot. I am better all the time…but I am still not quite whole. Sometimes my leg grows weak and I lose my balance. Sometimes my hand feels tight in the morning. V'ronca says it is because the khui takes its time to repair all the damage done, and I believe her. I remember those terrible moments after the attack, when I tried to stand and could not because my body would not work. This will take time. So I smile at my happy clan-brother and his mate. "Let the others fight over it. It will be more use to them."
S'bren doesn't seem pleased by this, though. "M'tok and I both are forbidden from joining the games." He glances over at his mate, no doubt thinking about the anger he caused when they stole their females. "But R'jaal is joining. You should, too—win the knife for all of Tall Horn."
"I am more interested in spending time with my mate."
The other male's eyes light up. "Oh, you mean…time?" He makes a gesture with his hand, as if petting something, and gives me a goofy grin. "Mating time? Are you and M'rsl back to good, then?"
I am silent. I wish we were having mating time.
"Ew, S'bren. Nosy much, babe?" P'nee lightly slaps at his arm and shakes her head. "Leave the poor man alone."
My jaw clenches. Now I am a poor man because everyone knows M'rsl and I are not…good.
Mari. Her name is Mari. It is just another thing that changed the moment we got here.
S'bren casts a worried look in my direction and then pulls his mate close. He whispers something to her, and they kiss and rub noses, and then she waves goodbye to me. "I'm going to go and watch the others get set up. Tell Mari I said hello."
She walks away and S'bren remains behind, a concerned expression on his face. When his mate is far enough away, he approaches me. "My friend, do you need to talk?"
I scoff. "What is there to talk about?" And why does everyone assume I have no idea of what I am doing with my mate?
"It is just that…I make my P'nee happy. I thought perhaps I could help you make M'rsl happy, too."
My irritation grows. S'bren is younger than me. He is only recently mated to P'nee and had to steal her away. I have been mated to M'rsl—Mari—for months now. It is not my fault that so many things have happened that have prevented us from settling into each other. "I have no wish to speak of this."
S'bren ignores my request. "When P'nee is mad at me, I distract her with kisses. It takes her focus off of the things that make her angry. She likes kissing." He gives me a proud look, as if he is the first one to discover kissing.
I think of those brief moments I had with my mate back in my old hut. Of my female in my lap, riding my hand. Of her soft smile as she kissed me, and the way she gasped when I touched her teats. Of the way she felt when I sank into her tight channel…it has been far too long since we have touched, and I am left with a miserable ache. "S'bren, truly—"
"A mate that is happy in the furs will be happy out of them," he says, as if he is one of the elders, passing out wisdom.
"I know this!"
"But M'rsl does not seem happy," S'bren points out, and it strikes me like a blow. "Are you sure you mate her properly? Make sure that she comes? I know we had no experience back on the island. It is why I bring these things up."
"I know how to pleasure my mate," I snap at him, arms crossed. It is just that…she does not want me to touch her. I do not share this with S'bren, though. I do not want anyone to know the shame of it—that my resonance mate can no longer stand my touch.
S'bren has never been one to understand subtle cues, though. He continues on, a helpful expression on his face. "Oh, I have a new move that makes P'nee wild. I growl against her clit and it makes her thrash like a fish caught in a net. I have never seen anything like it before. You should try it." He straightens, all proud male, and points a finger at me, enunciating his words. "Like a fish. In. A. Net."
"Her what?"
"Her clit?" He gestures between his thighs. "The little bud on her cunt?" When I frown in his direction, he gets an astonished look on his face. "You have not played with her clit? I think I am starting to see why M'rsl is so unhappy—"
I give him a light shove. "Get out of here. Go give your advice to your brother. He was yelling at his mate earlier."
"She was yelling at him. And then they made up very, very loudly," S'bren adds, completely unaware of my foul mood. "It is a thing they do. M'tok is M'tok, and C'lie gets mad, and then the next thing I know, they are mating so loud they are shaking my hut next door."
I run a hand over my face. Must every word out of S'bren's mouth be about mating? "Go and join your mate, brother. Your advice has been very helpful."
He brightens. S'bren moves to my side and claps my shoulder. "I am here to help."
Shrugging his hand away, I return to the interior of my hut as he leaves, and my thoughts are turbulent. I cannot help but think of his words. How everyone knows M'rsl is unhappy. How P'nee thrashes like a fish in a net when S'bren touches her.
A clit. A tiny bud on her cunt. How have I not seen this before? I rub my jaw, thinking hard. Is this problem between M'rsl—MARI—and myself because I am not pleasuring her properly in the furs?
Am I a bad mate after all?
12
T'CHAI
I go to find my mate.
The entire camp is busy with excitement, several of the females and Shadow Cat clan clustered around a spot on the beach. I see N'dek with his tall, slender mate as they pick up dead things on the shore and study them. He will join in the games, I think, his balance stronger now that he has his false leg to support him. I flex my bad hand again, wondering if I will need a false hand to replace mine over time, if the tendons continue to tighten and I cannot grip small things properly. So many things have changed with my body.
I would sacrifice myself a hundred times again if it would save my mate. I should not even worry over such things.
I raise a hand in greeting as others walk past. There is Shail, with Z'hren in her arms. She rocks him as she stirs a pot of food over the fire, chatting with another female. All of Strong Arm has settled in so easily here on this cold beach, I realize as I walk past. L'ren and K'thar are with the others for the “marching madness,” and J'shel sits on a rock while his mate weaves his long braid for him by the fire. N'dek is on the shore, and Z'hren has a new mother. Shadow Cat clan has been less lucky—not one of them has resonated as of yet, and I feel a small, spiteful surge of pride that at least some of Tall Horn have acquired
mates. Both M'tok and S'bren recently resonated, and of course, there is myself and Mari.
I do not know if we count amongst the lucky.
I look for R'jaal, my friend and our leader, and the only one in our small clan who has not yet resonated. He is with the others on the beach, talking to a dark-maned female. I know his fondest hope is for a mate of his own. He is lonely, and I think of how excited he was when he found Mari, only for her to resonate to me.
Sometimes I wonder if my mate was unlucky to resonate to me, if she should have been R'jaal's instead…but the thought fills me with so much jealousy that I quickly staunch it.
Mari is mine. She will always be mine, khui song or not.
I find Mari in the work cave where M'dok obsesses over his projects. She sits alone near one of the strange artificial lights, a basket of small, sand-covered bits on a table in front of her. In the back of the cave, M'dok raises a hand in greeting to me. I nod and he turns back to his mate, who is carefully piecing something together, her tongue sticking out as she concentrates. I do not know what anything in this cave is or what it does, but it is important to Mari, and she spends a lot of her time here.
Far too much time, if it is up to me, but I never say so. It already feels as if Mari is drifting away from me. I do not want to give her excuses to drift further.
As I move to my mate's side, I watch as she carefully brushes grit off of a tiny metal square with a bit of fur. She examines her work, holding it up to the light, and then purses her lips to blow on it. I watch, hungry, and think of her soft mouth, and how she used to melt under my kisses. Now, our kisses are few and far between, and she never, ever melts.
Mari frowns, turning to look over her shoulder. Her expression brightens at the sight of me. "You're standing in the light, T'chai." She pats the empty stool next to her. "Come and sit."
