by Ruby Dixon
“Ha ha,” I say glumly. “I just worry about her. They’ve been gone a while.”
“You want everyone to see her for the person she is, not the person she has been,” Ereven says, pausing to brush a lock of hair off my face. “You have a kind heart, my Claire.”
“Oh stop—”
“You can have a kind heart and it does not mean that Asha was difficult to befriend. They can be two separate things.” He taps my cheek with a finger. “It does not mean anything at all, except that perhaps your example showed people that they should have tried harder to pull Asha from her shell. They are grateful, because not only did they have a good holiday, but they will have an old tribesmate back. Asha is more like herself now than ever, and you are a big part of that.”
“I guess.” I still think Asha is the only one to take the credit for Asha’s recovery, but any way you look at it, I’m glad the tribe no longer tiptoes around the whole ‘Asha’ topic. Everyone does seem to be excited for her and Hemalo to come back. “I’m just a worrywart.”
“I do not know what that is.”
“It means I won’t be happy without someone or something to fuss over,” I tell him, squeezing his arm tight as we walk. “You might get the brunt of it for the next few days.”
“I will gladly take the brunt of your attentions,” Ereven says, and he makes it sound filthy and funny at the same time. “But until then, can I show you my present for you?”
I stop in my tracks, my jaw dropping. “You didn’t!”
His eyes twinkle with devilish delight. “I did.”
“But, Ereven, babe, we talked about this! We said we weren’t doing gifts.”
He leans in and touches his nose to mine. “I lied, my Claire.”
“Oooh, you’re the worst.”
“Do you want to see it?”
“Well, I’m curious now,” I grumble, but I can’t stop smiling. I’ll have to make it up to him…in a lot of different ways. He’s going to be in for a few sexy surprises over the next few weeks, I think. What a sweet man. I have no idea why Bek’s presents feel awkward but I’m tickled at Ereven’s thoughtfulness. I suppose because I know Ereven’s heart, and Bek is still a mystery to me.
Ereven is grinning with excitement as he leads me to one of the abandoned huts in the back of the village. It’s one that no one ever goes to and is used for storage—or so I thought. Inside, there’s a baby crib. It’s very much a Not-Hoth crib, made of carved bone instead of wood. The rockers on the bottom are two sa-kohtsk ribs, and the inside of the cradle is a leather sling and lots of furry white blankets. It’s a complicated, thoughtful present, and Ereven must have had one of the other humans sketch out to him what a crib was, because it looks just like a human one. “It’s so amazing. How…”
“Many, many hours,” he says. “Many hours imagining your smile when you see it.”
“It’s so much work,” I tell him, awed. The crib is put together with dozens of bones, and each one is smoothed out and carved to perfection. “But how—”
“Bek helped me.”
I turn to him, shocked. “He did?”
He nods. “He wanted me to know there were no hard feelings. He wishes to be your friend again—and mine. I think he has finally moved on.”
His expression is tentative as he looks at the crib and then back at me. “Do you like it?”
I turn and fling my arms around his neck. “I love it!” I press a kiss to his face. “And I love you. So much.”
As I move to the side of the crib and run my hand over the smooth railing along one side, I think about all the gifts I’ve been given—every single one unasked for. Maybe I’ve been interpreting the giving spirit wrong. All I’ve wanted to do with organizing the holiday was bring a little bit of joy to the monotony of the brutal season and to make people smile. To give them something to look forward to.
Maybe that’s all Bek wanted to do for me. Make me smile. Give me something to look forward to. He helped my Ereven make me a crib, wanting nothing more than to brighten my day.
It’s the thought that counts, and I feel like I have the most thoughtful mate—and the most thoughtful friend in Bek—out there.
I can’t wait to show this to Asha.
18
ASHA
Days Later
“I see the gorge,” Hemalo calls over his shoulder. “We are almost home.”
After days of travel in the ice and cold, I am relieved. The thought of my warm, snug howse with its stone walls, cozy fire, and my thick furs is enough to make me beam with pleasure. I have enjoyed the time with him, though. It has brought us closer together and taught us to communicate. We have no one else to talk to as we journey, and so it forces us to speak to each other, even when he is prone to be silent and I am likely to be annoyed. To my surprise, speaking to Hemalo balances my mood, and I find that I can pull what is bothering him out of him with a mere question. It is like we are learning to be mated all over again.
The travel has been so slow—and so cold—that we have not had a chance to pursue our resonance. By the time we stop most nights, we are both so tired and half-frozen that even khui-induced mating does not appeal. Our khuis have been mostly silent—perhaps realizing our bodies are too tired—but there is a low hum of energy inside me at all times. It seems to be rising the closer we get to the vee-lage, and I watch him as we walk. I am fascinated by the way his shoulders move as he strides, and the slow, steady flick of his tail. Though most of his body is covered with thick furs, I spend a lot of time mentally pulling those furs off and admiring him. Underneath his leggings, his buttocks would be taut and deep blue, thighs thick with muscles. His hands under his protective mitts are big and strong, and I love the lines of his back. Dreamily, I imagine yanking off his tunic and finding him completely naked underneath.
It would be impractical in this weather, of course, but so nice to have all that skin suddenly exposed to me.
As we near the gorge, Hemalo moves faster, his steps quicker. He is refreshed with energy now that our goal is in sight. As we get closer, however, my relief gives way to nervousness. How will the tribe react to our return? We have both missed all the days of the haw-lee-deh, and it is sure to be mentioned. Repeatedly. What if they tease us about leaving?
Worse, what if someone says something to pull us apart just as we are coming together again? We have been together on the trails, out in the wild, and been happy. What if that changes now that we are about to be around the others again? Nervous, I flick my tail forward, brushing against his. He immediately twines his with mine, a comforting gesture.
I feel better. A little, anyhow.
“All right?” He calls back over his shoulder, glancing at me.
“Just my mind full of bad thoughts,” I tell him. It is still hard to tell him what I am thinking without getting defensive, but I am trying. The old Asha would have pushed aside his concerns and made a hurtful comment.
“It will be all right,” he reassures me. The old Hemalo would have been silent. “Nothing they say is meant to hurt. They are our tribe. They want us to be happy.” He pauses and turns around, reaching for me. He takes my gloved hands in his, concern on his face. “What troubles you so?”
I shake my head. “It is…difficult to explain.” His hands holding mine helps, though. “I feel…as if the tribe does not understand me sometimes. When I grieved, I felt as if they did not grasp why it took me so long to get through it. Why everything would make me sad and why I would hide away. I felt like they wanted me to act like I was not suffering, and that made it hurt even more.” I lick my lips and blurt out my biggest worry. “What if we return and everything goes back to how it was?”
“Impossible,” Hemalo tells me in that rich, comforting voice of his.
“How is it impossible?” I can see myself falling into the bleakness all too easily.
“Because I will be at your side every moment of every day. When you frown, I will give you mouth-matings until you smile again. When you ar
e sad, I will hold you close until you are happy again. When we sleep, it will be together, under the same furs.”
I sigh, because what he says sounds so nice. “Do you promise?”
“I do. You are my heart, Asha. Nothing comes before you. Do you understand?”
I nod slowly and move forward into his arms, tucking myself against him. “I still do not feel ready to see everyone again. Not just yet. I wish we could race to a howse and just put the screen over the entrance and not come out until we are ready.”
He chuckles and strokes my cheek with his glove. “My heart, we can do exactly that.”
I look up at him in surprise. “Really?” My Hemalo is more social than I am. He loves to be around the tribe and talk around the fire. I am the one that pulls away first, the one that would be content to be at home at my own small fire instead of surrounded by others. I have been anticipating our return as hour upon endless hour of tribal celebrations, stories shared, and people feeding us and fussing over us until we can slip away. And while it sounds nice, it also sounds exhausting. Hemalo would enjoy every minute of it, but I would much rather retreat to my furs until I am ready to face them. I am pleased to hear he wants the same thing. “Are you sure?”
“If it is what you want, it is what I want. The others can wait to celebrate.” He rubs my back. “We can boot Farli from your howse, light a fire, and relax until we are ready to emerge.”
I pull a glove off, then reach down and caress the base of his tail where it emerges from his leathers. “It might be a while before I feel like seeing the others.” When I hear him suck in a breath, I tighten my grip. A sa-khui tail is sensitive at the base, where it joins the skin, and Hemalo is more sensitive there than most. I wonder, idly, if the humans have figured this out…and what they have figured out that I do not know. Perhaps I should ask Claire sometime. I let my fingers trail along the underside of his tail. “When I have you alone, I might feel…very un-social.”
“All the more encouraging,” he says, a husky note in his voice. “Does this mean you are ready to fulfill resonance, Asha?”
“I…am still a little scared.”
“Of losing the kit?”
A knot forms in my throat. “What if we lose it again? What if we break again?”
“We will not let it break us again.” He leans down and brushes his nose against mine in an almost-kiss that feels somehow more intimate than mouth-mating. “Look at how far we have come. We are talking, are we not? We say the things we hid before. And I miss Hashala. I will still miss her. But I have room in my heart for more.”
I do, too. So many more. It is the wanting them so badly that terrifies me. What if I want and it never happens? Am I doomed to hold only the kits of others and never my own? I give him a panicked look.
“Stop,” Hemalo murmurs, shaking his head at me. “You are worrying too much. Whatever happens, we will face it together. Let the world bring what it does. I will take it all on as long as I have the perfect mate at my side.”
His words fill me with warmth. I give a playful snort. “You have a strange idea of perfect.”
“No, I do not.” He smiles. “My perfect is a tall, strong female with lovely blue skin and a generous, giving heart. A female with fire in her heart to spare.”
The knot forms in my throat again because he makes me feel so good. How did we grow so far apart before? “You are my heart, Hemalo,” I whisper. “Let us never be bad to each other again.”
“Never.” He nuzzles my nose and then presses his lips to mine. “We will fight from time to time, but we must remember that we are better together than apart.”
I drag a finger along the underside of his tail again. “I want us together. More than anything.”
He growls low in his throat. “Female, I am close to throwing you down in this snow and claiming you right here.”
My body tingles with excitement, and I feel a surge of answering heat between my thighs. “What is so bad about that?”
“The fact that other hunters might come upon us mating in the snow? Or the fact that I have had more snow in my backside in the last hand of days than I would care to?”
I laugh, because he always knows how to bring my mood back from the brink. “Then let us go find my howse and kick Farli out.”
He grins at me, surprisingly boyish, and then grabs my hand. “Come, let us hurry.”
We race forward—as much as one can race in the thick snows—and when we get to the edge of the gorge, we both hurry down the rope ladder with great speed. At the bottom of the gorge, it immediately feels warmer out of the wind, and my face feels flushed. Perhaps it is because I am thinking about mating.
A great, great deal of mating.
We race through the canyon, heading for the vee-lage. The snow is nonexistent down here, and we can run as fast as we please. It seems like it only takes moments before the rock path turns to neat stones and the vee-lage comes into sight. In the distance, I see people walking between howses, and two humans are talking in front of the long-howse. Curls of smoke rise from several teepees, and I catch sight of a familiar human with a rounded pregnant belly as she walks with Tee-fah-ni, both of them carrying baskets full of dirtbeak nests. Claire sees me as well and raises a hand in greeting, her face lighting up.
I pause, wondering if I should stop and speak to her.
“There is no smoke coming from your howse,” my mate reminds me. He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Unless you have changed your mind?”
I look over at him, at the simple love and understanding on his face. He is the best of males, my mate. “Oh, I have not changed my mind,” I tell him with a grin. I grab the front of his tunic and pull him toward my howse on the outskirts of the vee-lage. I glance over at Claire, and she has a hand to her mouth, hiding her laughter. She understands.
There is no explaining what needs to be done. I feel light and free, and I laugh as I drag my mate into my howse. Farli is not inside, and the fire is cold. Good. We are to have our time alone, and this makes me happy. I pull Hemalo inside and then push the privacy screen over the entrance, shutting us away from the world.
“Do you need a fire?” Hemalo asks, moving toward the fire pit. He shrugs off his pack and glances over at me.
I do not need anything but him. I grab him by the front of his tunic again and press my mouth to his in a quick, fierce kiss.
He groans, forgetting all about the fire, and his hands go to my face. He cups my cheeks, and our kiss grows deeper, more passionate. My khui begins to sing loudly, and his chest vibrates with a strong, urgent song. This feels good and right. I lick at his mouth, frantic for my mate. My tongue slicks along his, teasing and coaxing in a playful manner. My kiss is light and teasing, but the urgency in my body is anything but. Our khuis demand a mating, and they will get one.
I jerk at his leathers even as we kiss, tugging him toward my bed and the furs there. “I want you,” I tell him. “I want this. I want us. I want our kit.”
“I want all of that,” Hemalo says thickly. “I have waited forever to hear you say those words to me, my heart.”
I smile at him and undo the knots that hold his heavy overtunic closed. We are wearing so many layers it is frustrating to pull them off. I want my mate naked, his skin against mine. “So many clothes,” I mock-growl.
“Would it go faster if I took them off?” he asks.
It might, but that would deprive me of the joy of stripping him bare. I shake my head and tear at his leathers with determination. Off comes the outer layer. Off comes the furry vest. Off comes his leather tunic, and then his delicious, broad chest is bared to me. I make a noise of satisfaction, skimming my hands over his skin. How long has it been since I touched him? I want to put my mouth everywhere. I want to lick him in all of his warmest, softest spots and make him shiver. I love the power that I hold over him, and the intensity in his gaze as he watches me. I press my hands over his heart, where the protective plates are thickest, and I can feel his khui singin
g to mine. “I love this,” I tell him softly. “I did not dream it would happen for us again.”
“May it happen a dozen more times,” he whispers. “I will be glad of every one.”
I will, too. I kiss him again, mating my tongue to his, and I can feel my thighs quiver in response when the ridges of his tongue drag along mine. I undo the cords of his outer leggings, and then the ties of his inner ones. Instead of pushing them down his legs, I reach in and caress his thick cock, the head slick with thick, milky pre-cum. Hemalo groans into my mouth, shuddering at my touch. His hands go to my shoulders, and he holds me tight against him.
I stroke my hand along his length as I kiss him, and when my tongue plays along the length of his, I let my fingers glide up and down his shaft, then tease over his spur.
“This seems unfair,” Hemalo tells me between kisses. “You are covered in furs and yet you are able to put your hands all over me.”
“I am an unfair female,” I tease back, sliding my hand to the back of his leggings and dragging my finger under the base of his tail again. He shivers, and I grin. “What are you going to do about it?”
He gives me a challenging look, and then his hands go to the front of my outer tunic. He puts his hands on the knots, and then, to my surprise, rips the leather asunder. It falls off my body and pools on the floor, and he goes to work on my next layer, ripping and tearing at it. I gasp, though I do not stop him—this wild, fierce side of my calm mate is making my cunt pool with heat. “My leathers!”
“It is good for you that I am a tanner, then,” he rasps, and jerks the belt off of my tunic. Before he can rip it away, I pull it over my head. His hands go to my leggings, and he tears at them like a wild creature. I have never seen Hemalo this obsessed before. It is fascinating—and incredibly arousing. He drops to his knees before me and drags my leggings down my thighs, pressing his mouth to every bit of skin he can as he does so. I feel his tongue flick against my belly, my hip, my inner thigh…my cunt.
And I cannot help the gasp that escapes me.
