The Chieftain

by V. K. Ludwig

  His pacing stopped for a second, then he stormed toward me.

  “I am already fucking exhausted of your games. You can’t just walk in here and make yourself at home again.”

  I rose onto my toes once more and stretched myself as close to his ear as I could, whispering: “Watch me!”

  Chapter 11

  Darya

  I opened the cast-iron door on the oven and grabbed for a bacon-stuffed bun, the sweet and hearty smell of it making my stomach rumble. Two forks split it open, releasing puffs of steam into the early morning. The others I left inside. Another ten minutes, and they’d be just right for my husband.

  The door to my old bedroom stood still, Rowan and Rose still fast asleep behind it. He had refused to let me sleep in the same room with him, putting a new sort of wall between my daughter and me.

  For the first couple of nights, I held nothing back and stormed inside whenever Rose as much as whimpered. He now locked the door from the inside, and I had no other choice but remain in Autumn’s old room all night, listening to how he took care of my child.

  I strolled over to the old table and sat down, the bun all but melting on my tongue. Even surrounded by the familiarity of the wobbling chair underneath me and the crooked picture frames on the walls, loneliness never held me stronger in its clasps.

  The seconds ticked away on the clock above the front door, and I waited patiently until a bitter taste filled the room. Twenty seconds before the buns could officially be pronounced burned, I took the rag and pulled them out of the oven. They rested on the counter, their close-to-black top making a devilish smile pushing the corners of my mouth upward.

  Faint noises grew from behind Rowan’s door, and I shoved the last bit of bun inside my mouth, almost swallowing it whole.

  Rowan pressed himself between door and frame, either unaware or uncaring about the morning wood he sported poking against his briefs. “It smells like the cabin’s on fire.”

  He wrinkled his nose, took one step out and let his eyes gaze around the corner, careful not to accidentally cross with mine.

  “I made breakfast,” I said, wiping my palm across my mouth to make sure I had erased all traces of guilt.

  He stepped out of the room and into the kitchen. With one hand resting on his waist and the other scratching the top of his head, he looked over the buns and shook his head.

  “How the hell can you burn simple buns?” he asked and threw me a blameful look.

  “Well, it’s been a while.” I shrugged.

  “You’re fucking doing this on purpose. One of these days you’ll endanger Rose by starting a god damn fire in the kitchen.”

  “The only thing endangering Rose is your foul language,” I said and stood up from my chair.

  He walked up to me. “Oh, is that so?”

  His naked torso stopped less than an inch away from me, the popped veins on his body, making his tattoos seem almost moving and alive. Rowan’s breath skittered down my cheeks and across my collarbone, pebbling my skin underneath my morning robe. Beautiful gray eyes stared me down, their pupils darting back and forth from my lips. I wouldn’t fall for that trick again.

  I looked him straight in the eyes. “Your breath stinks.”

  “I didn’t brush my teeth yet, because I thought the damn house was burning down,” he said, breathing each word straight at me. “Now I know it was just my damn wife, who forgot how to cook while at the Districts.”

  He turned away and walked back over to the buns on the counter, tossing one of them back and forth between his two hands.

  I pressed my back against the wall, pushing myself slowly into the direction of Rowan’s bedroom door. He must have seen me from the corners of his eyes because he darted toward the door and threw himself between me and the knob.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To get my daughter,” I snarled.

  “No, you won’t. I already told you we’ve got in under control without you.” He held the charred bun under my nose. “How ‘bout you sit down and have breakfast?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “No shit,” he said, slowly backing up and disappearing back into his room, the bun still in his hand.

  Bam!

  The door slammed in my face, the draft so painfully whipping against my cheeks, I feared it left behind a cut.

  I wanted to sink to the ground along with my heart, but my limbs were too tired to take commands. For months I had hundreds of miles separating me from Rose, and a wall so high I feared I might never see her again.

  Now it was less than fifteen feet, yet I still couldn’t get to her. Rowan had replaced the wall. Almost seven feet tall, muscle-packed and with a heart even more impenetrable than concrete.

  Ten minutes later, a dressed Rowan stepped back outside, a diapered and powdered Rose sitting on his hip.

  “Aww, look who got up in such a good mood,” I said in my sing-song voice, mirroring the wide and bright grin on her face.

  The moment I stretched my hands out for her, Rowan shoved a ball of fabric against my chest which reeked of old sweat. “I need those ready in an hour, so how about you wash’em out for me and hang them by the stove to dry?”

  He struggled himself into his jacket with Rose still on his hip, then dressed her up for the cold temperatures and stomped his feet into his boots.

  “Where are you going?”

  “For our morning walk.” His hand rested on the handle as he turned around and gave me a revenge-is-sweet kind of smile. “Do me a favor and try not to burn them.”

  “I’m not your fucking maid.”

  “No, you’re my wife. And laundry definitely falls under your domain around the house. And please do me a favor and watch your language in front of Rose.”

  He closed the door behind him in slow-motion, as if he knew there wouldn’t have been a point in slamming it. My husband had made his point, and the song from his lips pushing muffled through the door told me he enjoyed its glory.

  No matter how fast I drew in air and blew it back out through my puffed cheeks, the anger inside me wouldn’t recede. It burned me up from the inside, stoked by the endless despair inside me. If he thought it would be this easy for him to push me away, he was mistaken.

  I’ll show him wife…

  I stepped out on the porch, grabbed a handful of kindling sticks and the biggest oak log I could find stacked against the cabin. The kindling sticks went into the stove first, followed by the well-seasoned wood.

  From the pantry, I carried the huge aluminum pot Rowan used to dunk in the chickens before plucking and placed it on the stove. I only filled it a quarter full of water. Just enough to cover his laundry and heat up to boiling in less than ten minutes.

  I threw the stinky stuff into the water and stirred it with the handle side of a cooking spoon. The cabin soon filled with an uncomfortable amount of steam, making the windows go fogged and the air clingy.

  Another log. More kindling sticks.

  Gray and yellow oozed out of the fabric, the bubbles from underneath rising and working through the material. The boiling water went blub, blub, blub, tugging on the fabric and pushing and pulling it into its smoldering heat.

  Pouring the water into the sink was tough work and left me covered in sweat and steam. I waited for a few minutes, then wrung the fabric over the drain and, like the obedient wife I was, hung them by the fire. Not close enough to burn them, but sure as hell close enough for the strands of thread go pheeeew like a whoopee cushion.

  I walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind me, letting the bathrobe slip to the ground along with my long nightgown. A hygiene pod stood in the corner. Proof that just a few months ago, things had been better for my Clan.

  The water came down in colors of green and blue, each stream lit by the small lightbulbs inside the shower head. I let the streams of water run down my body and cave in my aching body. A week ago, I thought escaping the Districts would set the world right again. Now it seemed
things went from emergency-bad to slow-death-over-time.

  The slam of the door ripped me out of my thoughts.

  “What are you doing?” Rowan asked.

  “What does it look like?”

  Silence. That, and Rowan’s blurred outline swaying from left to right, as if he didn’t know what to do with his body. His hand raked through his hair not once, not twice, but three times in jerky movements.

  “You’re not naked, right?”

  “How do you usually shower? Besides, I can see you’re dressed so I’m pretty sure you can see I am not.”

  “Right.” He turned around, adding a constant tok-tok-tok-tok of his foot pounding against the tiled floor to the sway of his body. “Uh… I need to take a dump.”

  “Then you’ll have to wait.”

  “It can’t wait, so you either get out, or I’ll just drop the bomb right here next to you.”

  I turned the water off and ran my hands along my hair, squeezing as much water out as I could. The moment I stepped out, Rowan’s body squared itself up and his body tensed.

  “Oh, come on,” I said, grabbed the towel from the bar beside me and walk up to him. “Don’t tell me you’re scared to see me naked.”

  He began bouncing Rose on his arms. “Not scared. I just don’t care about seeing it again.”

  The way he bounced Rose harder and harder gave away how nervous he was, giving me a feeling of power in my otherwise helpless situation.

  I rubbed my hair between the ends of the towel, taking my time to dry them.

  “You’re about done?” he asked.

  “Just about.”

  I took another step toward him and shook my head, each water drop clashing against his neck and cheeks, making his body twitch. If his eyes were open or closed I couldn’t tell, but I heard how each breath he took through his nose was deep and desperate. Did he try to take in my scent? Clean and naked, with subtle traces of chamomile soap left behind?

  I leaned in closer to his shoulder and looked up at him, whispering, “Let me take her. I promise you’ll get her back.”

  “You think I’m stupid?” His body twisted, but he stopped his movement mid-way and stiffened into solid rock. “I know you’ll make a run for it.”

  “And where to?” I asked and let my hand glide over his shoulder, cupping Rose’s bouncing cheek. “You and I know there’s no place for me to run to. Please give me just that. A few minutes with my daughter. Please, I beg you!”

  I let my hand slide back over his shoulder. A sensual moan escaped his lips, but he quickly drowned it with a scoff.

  “Are you done?”

  “Yeah.” I took a step back, anxiety, and hope squeezing my chest. “I’m done.”

  He turned around. “Good, because there’s no —”

  His words choked his throat. His eyes ping-ponged between my breasts, pussy, and eyes. “What the hell! I thought you draped the towel around you!”

  “Am I making you feel uncomfortable?”

  “Here.” He flung one hand across his eyes. With the other, he tossed Rose against me. “Take her and get out of here. And fucking put something on for fuck’s sake.”

  “Alrighty.”

  I left him standing there, arm pressed against his face like a six-year-old who thought girls are stupid. With Rose pressed against me, I strolled over into my makeshift bedroom, taking in the fresh scent of her clothes and rubbing my cheeks against the familiar softness of her hair.

  She didn’t complain but rubbed her nose against my collarbone.

  “Not yet,” I whispered. “You will get your nap soon enough, but first I need to tell you something.”

  There was no time to lose, and I slipped back under the blanket of Autumn’s former bed and draped it across my chest. With the fabric tugged underneath my arms, I placed Rose tummy-down against me and rubbed circles across her back.

  “I want you to know that I never wanted to send you away, but I had no choice. Whatever comes, I need you to know you’re the best thing in my life. I won’t love anyone more than I love you.”

  My heart settled into a calm and reliable beat, and I continued stroking her back. I listened to her slowing breath. Felt how she dug her fingers into my skin.

  If I wanted more of this, I had no choice but to find common ground with Rowan. Something dark overshadowed the moment. A thought. A question. How could we make this work? Him and I raising a child together, living here like lovers-gone-enemies-gone-roommates.

  “Are you dressed?” came from behind the door, which stood slightly ajar.

  “No. But I’m underneath the blanket if that helps.”

  Rowan stepped inside, the hem of his shirt hanging half-an-inch above his belly button, and his muscles oozing out from the strained fabric.

  “What the hell did you do with my shirts?” he asked, his shoulders curled up because those seams were bound to rip at the slightest movement. “I look like a fucking slice of head cheese.”

  “Well, I… uh… you told me to wash them.”

  “And how hot was the water?”

  I gulped. “Rowan, it’s been —”

  “Let me guess,” he said, stomped over and grabbed for Rose. “It’s been a while?”

  Chapter 12

  Rowan

  Autumn and I were on our way home from yet another Clan meeting which had me drained and distressed. Men and women wouldn’t stop pestering me about why Darya was still here, if she would leave and why their chieftain would let a traitor live among them.

  I took another silent step into the bleak evening, a strange tick worming through my left eyelid. My nerves lay bare from the constant bickering between us. She had burned almost every single meal she had prepared so far, and I slowly started to think she did it on purpose.

  But what truly got to me was her running around the cabin in nothing but her bathrobe. Open in the front, of course, revealing my wife’s delicious tits and her beautiful waist. She definitely did that on purpose, fighting me with weapons I had no protection against.

  “You’re quiet lately,” Autumn said, a few copper strands poking out from underneath her beanie.

  “Got a lot on my mind.”

  She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket. “I guess sending her someplace else isn’t an option?”

  “I won’t separate a mother from her child. For that, I could have left her in the Districts.”

  She gave a heavy sigh, which carried all the questions she didn’t dare ask. Should I give up on Rose? How do we avoid people to rebel against me? Can I keep them safe if things go south?

  Autumn stopped and held on to my arm like an anchor. “Is it possible that you still love her?”

  “What?”

  A breath caught in my throat and sent out a string of stuttered coughs. Her question weighed me down as if she had poured lead on me, and my best guess was, the answer wouldn’t lift it.

  “Hell no,” I blurted and put myself back into motion, pulling her behind me as her feet stumbled through the snow. “We’re through with each other.”

  She let go of my arm and had trouble keeping up with me.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said.

  “I’m not upset. Why would I be upset? But I need to get back to Rose so I can tuck her in for the night.” I picked up speed and turned around once more. “Tell Max not to forget the sparring. He better be prepared, ‘cause I won’t go easy on him anymore.”

  She gave me a wave and our ways parted. Autumn turned right to her husband and home. I turned left, expecting little more than havoc and mutually felt hate.

  The moment I stepped inside and kicked the caked snow off my soles, a bitter sniff worked itself into my nostrils.

  “Your dinner is on the stove,” came from the bedroom.

  I sat on the chair, pulled my boots off, and placed them on the rack beside the door where my jackets hung. On the wood stove stood a skillet, the bacon in it crouched into a sad-looking fetal position, one side as black as the skille
t itself.

  She is doing this on purpose.

  “This bacon is burned,” I shouted.

  “It’s crispy,” came back.

  I grabbed the cast-iron skillet, caring little about the hot handle. Neither did I care about Darya being in my bedroom. Or her shoving furniture around. One can burn many things, but the bacon was the last straw.

  “Why on earth did it have to be the bacon? The bacon, Darya!” I held the abused piece of meat between my thumb and index finger, pointing the dead side right at her. “How can you burn it black in such a short… what the hell are you doing?”

  A cramp shot through my lungs making me hold my breath, my eyes following what seemed like the worst idea of her life… right after leaving that was. Darya pushed my sister’s old bed right next to mine, nothing separating them but the crib in the middle which held Rose, fast asleep.

  “I tried to be quiet.” She shoved my favorite sweater underneath one leg and silently pushed it across the dusty floor. “Where did you put the tools?”

  Tools? What?

  “Once she wakes up, I will take the other side of the crib off,” she continued. “That way, we both have access to her at night.”

  “What exactly did you not understand about I don’t want you in my room?” I asked, standing there dumbfounded and with bacon grease running down my arm. “You can’t just rearrange the whole house without talking to me.”

  “Why not?” She stopped the nesting for a moment and straightened herself, throwing me a look that had both anger and amusement dancing behind her eyelids. “I live here, and I can do whatever I want with our house. Or did you think I’ll just be good for the cooking?”

  “Good for the cooking?” I glanced at the skillet. “Even my sister got a better bacon on the table.”

  She came and grabbed the mistreated slice from my fingers, letting it disappear inside her mouth. “Too bad you didn’t like your meal.” Her lips suckled the grease off her fingers. “Considering you’ll have to do the wash-up.”