Unleashed

by Tiffany Roberts

  Nina smiled and touched a finger to his brow, gently rubbing to smooth out its crease. “I will do my best not to. It’s not like I chose to take a swim.”

  Jealousy brushed against her mind, a faint, fleeting sensation that made her glance over her shoulder at Aduun. He stood near the trunk of the tree, his posture stiff, arms folded across his chest. His eyes caught hers for a moment before he averted his gaze.

  “Did the treeclaws really just flee?” she asked, looking back to Vortok.

  “They did,” Vortok replied.

  “The fight was too much for them,” Balir said. “Their survival instincts came to outweigh their hunger.”

  Nina wiggled, and Vortok reluctantly set her on her feet. Keeping a hand on his hip to hold herself steady, she moved away just enough to glance at the other valos. Her lower lip trembled, and shivers coursed along her spine and spread through her limbs; the small amount of distance between herself and Vortok’s heat was enough to allow the chill to return. “What are we going to do now?”

  “The water doesn’t seem to be rising anymore,” Vortok said, pulling her back against his side; she eased gratefully into his warmth. “Perhaps it will recede soon?”

  Balir shook his head. “I do not believe that was the intention of this flood.”

  “It was a flood. It cannot have an intention.”

  “But it was an unnatural flood,” Nina said, looking at the large trees. “Everything about this place is unnatural.”

  “It was a trap,” said Balir. “Either drown in the flood or face the treeclaws. Whichever way it went, it was meant to be deadly.”

  “We wait,” Aduun said, calling everyone’s attention to him. “We rest, tend our wounds, and wait to see if the water recedes.”

  Nina bent her arm and reached behind her. To her relief, her bag was still there. She swung it to her front, opened it, and rummaged through the contents. Everything was wet, but nothing was missing. That was a small reason to be grateful.

  “Might as well eat this food now,” she said, “or it’ll spoil.”

  After asking Balir to drape the soaked blanket over the branch a little farther from the trunk, Nina passed around wet strips of meat and the remaining nuts and berries. When Vortok settled down with his back against the tree, she sat between his legs and leaned against him, relishing the feeling of being surrounded by his heat. His fur brushed her skin; it was long and shaggy in some places, short and bristly in others, but it was all comforting.

  The feel of his cock against her side was proof that her nearness affected him. While it was a large thing to ignore, she chose to disregard it.

  As the others ate, Vortok chewed some of the moonweed to smear over her wounds. Despite the aches in her body, a thrill swept through her every time he ran his fingers over her skin. Though his hands were huge and clumsy-looking, his touch was light and soothing, calling up the memory of the intricate braiding he was creating during their shared dream. That he’d set aside his food to tend to her first was endearing and warmed her heart toward him further.

  When he was done, his hands roamed over her shoulders and neck, gently petting and massaging, easing away the aches and the cold. It wasn’t long before her head lolled and her eyelids grew heavy.

  “Rest,” Vortok said gently. “We will watch.”

  She smiled and sank into slumber.

  Chapter Eight

  With his head leaning against the tree trunk behind him, Vortok stared skyward. The branches and leaves overhead were wrapped in shadow, reduced to black shapes against the darkening blue of the sky as night fell. The floodwaters below moved restlessly. Their sound had greatly diminished from its earlier clamor, but remained a constant presence, mingling with the rustling of leaves overhead, the snapping of distant branches, and the crash of debris against the trunks of surrounding trees.

  He absently trailed his fingers along Nina’s arm. She was curled up against him, so small and delicate. Whether it was beast or man, heart or heartstone, he wanted her. He wasn’t sure if coming to that conclusion so soon was normal; between his intimidating size and his rough features, he’d never won the attention of a female in his own life. But Nina saw past that. Despite his changes, she made Vortok feel like himself; she made him feel…desirable.

  Nina was new. A new experience, a new person, a new set of emotions, desires, and instincts.

  “She is at ease with you,” Aduun said.

  Vortok lowered his chin to look at Aduun, who was perched on the branch a short distance away. “Because I am at ease with her.”

  Aduun snarled softly. “After everything, how can you trust her so easily?”

  “Who are you to say it is easy?” Vortok asked. “We spent so much time locked in those cages, slaves to our beasts, paying the price for seeking our freedom after suffering countless betrayals. I have not forgotten all of that.”

  “Then how? How have you cast it all aside?”

  “I have not. I made a simple choice, Aduun.” Vortok dropped his gaze to Nina and frowned. “If she is here because of Kelsharn, she is just as much his victim as the three of us. She nearly died today. He plays deceitful, terrible games, but if she were truly part of his plot, why would he risk her so soon?”

  “Think of what happened when she first came, Aduun,” Balir said. “She fell through the ceiling into Vortok’s cell with a shrieker. If it hadn’t been for that beast, or if she’d taken just a little longer to escape, Vortok would’ve torn her to pieces. Even after that, she blooded the heartstones accidentally, and gave them over to us without a fight.”

  “Because Kelsharn wants to give us hope,” Aduun snapped. “To make us believe there is a chance to—”

  “No,” Vortok whispered harshly. He paused to confirm he hadn’t disturbed Nina. “I am no rokahn, and I do not possess the wisdom either of you do, but I know hope is not our enemy. Kelsharn has taken much from us. Everything. But Nina has given us hope that we can have a future, a good future.”

  His heart thumped, its volume elevated in his own ears. It wasn’t a result of the rage that always seemed to course through him since his change; this was something he hadn’t felt in a long, long while. It was the very hope Aduun had condemned.

  “I want you to be right,” Aduun said, reflected light making his eyes flash as he turned his head. “But we stood against him once, and he crushed us. We thought we had little left to lose. He proved us wrong. I will fight him until there is nothing left of me, but after all he has done, I cannot allow myself to hope things will be different this time.”

  “There is no more fighting him,” Balir said. “He is gone.”

  “And we’re to believe that? After the way he fought us off, after the wounds we inflicted didn’t even slow him down?”

  “She has no reason to lie about it, Aduun. I believe her.” Balir lifted his hands. “And would it not be better to return to a world without him than one in which he still reigns?”

  “The best outcome I can hope for is to die with his blood on my claws,” Aduun growled.

  Vortok couldn’t accept that such a fate was the best they could accomplish. He understood Aduun’s bitterness, his resignation, and knew that he’d be in the same place were it not for one thing — Nina.

  “He is gone,” Vortok said, “and that means our vengeance must come in a different form, Aduun. We have people to save. People to look after.” He brushed his fingers gently over Nina’s long head fur.

  The trio fell into silence. Vortok kept his eyes on Nina, frowning as the fresh memories of the sudden flood and the battle against the treeclaws morphed into imaginings of what might’ve gone wrong. It was this body, which had been painfully, forcibly reshaped, that had failed Nina. A body Kelsharn had given him as a gift. A body that belonged squarely on the ground, that lacked the grace and dexterity he’d once possessed as a man.

  Nina’s aroma mingled with the pungent scent of the moonweed paste smeared over her wounds. While she’d fought alongside Aduun and Bali
r, Vortok had been trapped below them, battling several of the treeclaws on his own. He’d felt helpless; all he wanted was to aid his tribesmen, to protect the female who’d blooded his heartstone. When she’d fallen, his heart had constricted, and his heartstone had felt suddenly brittle.

  Even then, he was unable to help her. His body was made for rage, for destruction, to terrorize and trample and tear anyone and anything Kelsharn found displeasing to shreds.

  It was not made for swimming.

  Fury kindled in his chest now, erupting into a blaze that would sweep up and ignite the heavens if it escaped his body. What good were his strength, his toughness, his rage if he could not use them to defend those he cared about?

  A gentle hand settled on his chest, directly over his heartstone. Vortok looked down to find Nina twisted to look up at him, a frown on her face.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m fine, and you are still you, remember?”

  As gently as he could, he brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. The soft upturning of her pink lips in response made her eyes sparkle despite the twilight. That quickly, his rage dissipated, easing his breath and relaxing his muscles.

  “I remember, Nina. I did not mean to wake you.”

  “It’s fine. Have you slept?” she asked, then glanced toward Aduun and Balir. “Have any of you?”

  “We do not need sleep anymore,” Vortok said, “but it sounds good, all the same.”

  Aduun rose from his crouch, quills lifting. “I will keep first watch.” He moved farther down the branch to crouch at a new perch.

  Balir approached Vortok and eased himself down near Nina’s feet. He lay over her legs, and she changed her position to allow his head to rest on her lap, touching his cheek with her fingertips. Balir closed his eyes.

  Vortok’s beast roared inside his mind. This was a threat to its claim, to its territory, and could not be tolerated. A crimson tinted his vision.

  Nina raised a hand and cupped his jaw, tilting her head back to look up at him. “It is my choice.”

  Her softly spoken words served as a firm reminder. He bit back his rage, squashed it down and released it with a shaky exhalation. She didn’t want them fighting over her, and he didn’t want to fight; he’d grown up with Balir and Aduun. They were his friends. His brothers. His tribe.

  The beast pushed back, creating a tightness in his chest and quickening his heart.

  No. Not in this. It will only be meaningful if she chooses me, no matter how much I want her.

  If she is forced, I will lose her.

  He braced himself for a draining struggle against his instincts, but it did not come. The beast receded, stewing just beneath the surface, undoubtedly waiting for another trigger. Even if the victory was only temporary, it was a victory he’d never known before.

  Nina stroked his cheek for a few moments before lowering her hand to his thigh. Her body relaxed against his, and she slipped back into sleep’s embrace, Vortok followed shortly after.

  Aduun sniffed the air and scanned the surrounding trees, as he’d done countless times since the others had gone to sleep. Unfamiliar stars twinkled through the canopy overhead, their broken reflections shimmering on the surface of the water below. The starlight offered him no comfort. Somewhere far-off, a treeclaw made an undulating call, but Aduun didn’t concern himself over it; the creatures were likely pursuing easier prey.

  He clenched his teeth and released a low growl, cursing his Creator.

  Kelsharn had cast an inescapable shadow over Aduun and his people, leaving them shrouded in darkness, blind and helpless. All of this was Kelsharn’s doing; he’d shaped this place into a world of its own, part of Sonhadra and yet separate, just as he’d shaped Aduun’s clan into forms of his liking.

  Turning his head, he settled his gaze on his companions. In his old life, he would’ve had difficulty making out the details of their forms in the poor lighting, but he had no trouble now.

  Vortok sat with his back leaned against the wide trunk. Nina remained nestled between his legs, with one arm over Balir’s chest, who lay between her legs with his head on her lap. All peaceful, all still. Their expressions were free of stress and untarnished by worry. Here, in the middle of a place constructed solely for their misery, they’d found a little piece of contentment.

  Wasn’t that an act of defiance against Kelsharn?

  Aduun padded toward his companions. Their familiar scents drifted to his nose — Balir’s faint, exotic spice, Vortok’s earthy musk, and Nina’s fragrance, sweet and alluring, blending in perfectly with the others.

  Whether she was a piece of Kelsharn’s game, even if she were a mechanism in an elaborate trap, why shouldn’t the valos take what pleasure and comfort they could in her? Wherever this path ultimately led, Kelsharn could not take away any joy they experienced during the journey.

  That joy belonged to them forevermore, no matter what came.

  Aduun’s beast wanted solitude, wanted freedom not only from this place and Kelsharn, but from the burden of caring for others. That nature warred with what Aduun knew to be right; this was his tribe. These were his people. Regardless of the beast’s inclinations, the man wanted their companionship, wanted them safe and happy.

  And he longed for the same contentment he saw in his companions now.

  He moved to them, reached forward, and tapped Balir’s leg with the backsides of his claws.

  Balir opened his eyes and sat up immediately, the red spots on his throat glowing like tiny beacons in the darkness. Nina stirred, moaned softly, and drifted back into sleep.

  “Will you watch for a while?” Aduun whispered.

  Offering a nod, Balir carefully slipped away from Nina and Vortok. Aduun moved aside to allow him past.

  “When was the last time you slept?” Balir asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. I am going to sleep now.” Aduun turned toward the others.

  Balir caught his arm, calling Aduun’s attention back.

  “Lean on us, Aduun. We are here with you, not against you.”

  Aduun settled a hand on Balir’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I know. I am sorry I have not behaved accordingly. You have trusted me through everything, and I have not extended the same trust to you.”

  “Though we all went through the same experiences, we each carry our own wounds, and they will all heal in their own ways.” Balir smiled; the expression was full of sorrow. “We will make it through this together, as we always have.”

  For the first time in a long while, Aduun smiled. It was unsettling and relieving at once. “We will.”

  “Get some rest.”

  They released each other, and Balir moved toward the end of the branch to keep his watch. Aduun looked down at Vortok and Nina. Now that he was here, a strange anxiety tightened his chest. The beast wanted to mate with Nina, to claim her, but didn’t want to get close to her. It didn’t need to know her to have her as its own.

  He cast aside his uncertainty, flattened his quills, and lay down on his side with his chest and abdomen pressed along Nina’s legs. He settled one arm over her thigh and drew in her scent. Vortok grumbled and shifted his leg.

  After a few moments, Nina’s hand moved, brushing over Aduun’s brow before coming to rest on his cheek. Her body heat seeped into him, and a sense of calm settled over him like a blanket. Despite its desire for solitude, even his beast was soothed by her closeness.

  He took in another deep breath. Sleep claimed him swiftly.

  Aduun watched the flickering flames for what felt like an eternity. The wood didn’t seem to burn down at all, and the heat of the fire felt far away, though he was close enough to reach out and stick his hand into the flames if he so chose. He huddled beneath the heavy furs draped over his shoulders.

  Warmth remained elusive. The tent was small, and the hide walls were thick; they should’ve served as barriers enough against the cold. Wild shadows leapt and danced around him. Unease and apprehension soured his gut, leaving his mouth
dry and his hands clammy. A chill crept along his spine.

  Come morning, he would speak with his father, the chieftain.

  “Aduun?” a familiar voice inquired. He looked across the fire to see Nina seated upon the furs, her face bathed in orange light. Her wide eyes sparkled. “What’s wrong?”

  She wasn’t supposed to be here, but he was grateful for her presence all the same.

  He raised a hand — a hand with blunt nails instead of claws — and rubbed it over his face, sweeping his palm back along the nubs of bone that jutted from his skull. It encountered no fur, no quills.

  “Tomorrow I will speak to my father,” he said, and the weight of the words crashed down upon him with crushing force.

  “What are you going to speak to him about?”

  “I will convince him to accept the friendship of Kelsharn,” he replied. “It will be the doom of my clan. Of my people.”

  Nina rose and stepped through the flames. The fire licked at her legs but left no mark, and she made no expression of pain. She knelt before him and took his face between her hands to stare into his eyes. “You didn’t know. How could you have known?”

  Everything about this place — the tent that he had slept in, that he had built up and taken down and carried as his people moved around Sonhadra — was hazy and unreal, a distant memory without substance. He could barely feel the fire’s warmth, the furs he’d wrapped himself in, the hide spread beneath him…

  But he felt her.

  Nina’s hands were firm, warm, and surprisingly strong. Her palms were against his skin, not his fur. The feel of that was so much better than he could ever have imagined. Her touch grounded him.

  This moment — this memory — had long since passed. He knew what was to come, knew what had already occurred.

  “It was my duty to know. To do what was best for them,” he said, placing his hands on her upper arms to steady himself as this little world threatened to spin around him. “I failed them all.”