He pushed aside such thoughts. The first day he had been tense and wary, certain that any moment they would be accosted and face grave accusations for desertion. But each day he began to relax, enjoying their excursion more and more for its own sake, and the prospect of what they would find at the end of it.
“Do you think your parents will like me?”
Rykkon nearly halted in his next step, the suddenness of such a ridiculous question giving him pause. But he continued, shaking his head at the strange mind of his mate.
As if they would ever disapprove of the one their son loved.
“Do not be foolish,” he chastised, though he kept his tone soft. Evidently, this was a genuine worry, or else she would not have spoken of it. “You were the one that convinced their son to bend the nature of his promise so he could visit them. I believe that alone shall recommend you to them.”
Prim was quiet, but he had come to learn that did not always mean she was satisfied. His caution was proven correct when she pressed further. “But that doesn’t mean they’ll like me, just that you had a wife at all who cared enough about you to want you to be able to see your parents again.”
“True,” he relented, trying to find the words to provide a fuller answer. “Faeder... he is a generous man. I rarely heard him speak against anyone, no matter how richly they deserved it, so I cannot imagine that he would make you an exception. He liked to tease my mother, and he may do the same to you.”
“So you take after him, I see.”
Rykkon smiled. “Perhaps I do. But I should not be so tempted to do so if you were not so pleasing to look upon in your indignation.”
He did not bother to look, but knew full well that she rolled her eyes at him.
“As for my mamé... I just hope she is well enough to speak with us at all.”
This time her grip was not due to mistrust, but much more resembled a hug. “I’ll hope for that too, then. Even if she hates me.”
Rykkon had to suppress an eye roll of his own. “She would never have hated you.”
A noise to his left gave him pause, and he rested his hand upon Prim’s leg to bid her hush as she began her next retort. She quieted quickly, and he listened more carefully.
A shuffle in the underbrush, the sound suggesting it was more than one of the small beasties that liked to scuttle amongst the branches.
He did not see the creature right away, a testament to its ability to camouflage itself with some amount of accuracy. Golden eyes peered at them suspiciously, the body held close to the ground. A mound of fur, partially obscured by the low growing plants at the base of the trees, mottled browns and greys blending quite adequately with the foliage.
Would it charge, or did it simply mistrust the strangers in its forest?
It continued to stare at them, its gaze intense, and Rykkon reached slowly for his blade, warring with himself. He could slide Prim off his back, charge the beast, before they continued on, or he could simply move quietly away and hope that it did not begin to track them.
His decision was too slow in coming, for it took a step forward, growling low in its throat, teeth, large and yellow barred.
“Prim,” Rykkon informed her, his words calm and slow even as his pulse began to race. “Climb down and move away. Carefully. Do not move suddenly.”
She began to obey, her legs meeting the ground with barely a sound, though the creature caught even that movement, its body coiling in what he could only assume was the crouch before a pounce.
Prim’s hands were clutched at his tunic as she began to back away as he instructed. His eyes maintained contact with the beast, a malmout if he had to guess, fearsome in their way, but not typically so aggressive.
Unless...
Prim stopped moving, and he could not risk startling the creature by vocally urging her to move.
“Rykkon,” she said, her voice firm yet soft. “Let’s just go. Just keep going forward and leave it alone.”
Every instinct rebelled when he turned his head to see what she must be referring to. There was a predator in his sights, and it was foolishness itself to do so.
But a single glance was enough.
The nest that had been so precisely scratched into the earth, padded so carefully with leaves and stolen cushions.
Three sleeping young curled inside.
No matter how inadvertent, they had trespassed upon a borrow, and he would not attack a mother for her urge to protect.
“My apologies,” he told her, knowing full well that she could not understand him, but feeling the need to speak of his regret in any case. He held out his hand to Prim who came back to him with measured steps, and they continued on their way, Rykkon listening closely for any sound that the mother still deemed them a threat and would follow.
Which is why it made it all the more shocking when the attack came from the other side, large paws hitting Rykkon’s chest before knocking him to the ground.
The male obviously had not heard his apology, or else he would not have reacted with such vehemence—at least, that is what Rykkon stupidly thought while he lay upon the ground, his thoughts somewhat muddled from the impact of his head striking a rock.
Prim screamed, and his attention focused, and he knew full well that had he not turned their provisions to be carried at his front, his torso would have been shredded by the male’s claws.
Rykkon reached for his blade, finding the handle, the heavy weight of the body atop him making the angle awkward as he struggled with its sheath. He pushed, against the weight, attempting to roll the beast to the side, but that only seemed to annoy the male further, his long teeth coming to grip Rykkon’s throat, not yet breaking skin, but the pressure intense.
Until a yip from behind them caused the grip to loosen, another longer rumble from the male issuing before he lumbered away, back to the nest and the unharmed young that awaited him there.
The female blinked at them, curled as she was around her young, the male coming beside her and licking the smallest of the bunch, before he sat and watched the fallen Arterian he had left behind.
Prim was at his side, her eyes wide and leaking. “Did he kill you?” she asked in perfect seriousness, and at any other time he might have laughed at her concern.
“Not yet,” he managed, his throat sore from its abuse. His skin itched with the desire to be gone, and he welcomed her support as he climbed to his feet, feeling anxious to find shelter. Their travels had been uneventful thus far, and it had deceived him into thinking that meant that all would be well, but he now could readily recognise that he had become lax in his vigilance.
He rubbed at his throat, certain that some vivid marks would appear, the pooling blood beneath the flesh distorting his flesh’s usual ability to shift in colour.
Prim kept looking at him, and he pulled her onward, his chest tight and each inhale a test of his determination to breathe, the force of the malmout’s impact leaving him sore.
A stream was to their left, the sound of the water assuring him of its direction, and he led Prim there. Waterways were typically safer, and if he could get a fire going...
He did not know of a beast that did not have a healthy respect for the flame.
Prim must have seen his intention for she set about finding kindling and logs small enough that she could lift, yet large enough to be of use, while he kept careful watch of the area while also taking out a cloth from their provisions and wiping off the malmout’s saliva. It was an irritating thing, and he would not be surprised if his flesh was already growing inflamed from the contact.
He grimaced when he looked down at their pack. The punctures were obvious from where the claws had found purchase, and he would have to inventory if any of their belongings and food stores had been damaged beyond repair. He had brought a needle and a good amount of thread, but he had not anticipated needing to do this amount of sewing while in the Wilds.
Prim came to the pack, also noting the slashes, fingering them for a moment before seeming t
o shake herself, digging inside its contents until she found the fire starter.
Her construction was sound, and he felt no need to offer her direction or critique, instead simply grateful for her willingness to help. He eyed the bandage on his arm, remembering her earlier words that he was truly the soft one between them.
He was coming to agree with her.
The stitches in his arm had already been removed, but he kept it bound and bandaged, a reminder that there was healing flesh that required some amount of care.
He felt along his neck, prodding and assessing as he did so. Nothing was misaligned, and there was only one smear of blood where a particularly sharp tooth had managed to puncture. He wiped it away, hoping Prim had not noticed, but evidently their days in the Wilds had made her too proficient at fire making, for she already sat and watched him, her expression grave.
“I don’t know why I thought you’d be safe away from your people. Apparently everything is intent on hurting you.”
Rykkon sighed, the fire making him more confident that there would be no more altercations with animal life until both he had Prim had recovered somewhat from their ordeal. “I find myself unable to argue on that point. Other than he must have seen his mate upset and his young threatened, and acted accordingly. I cannot say I do not understand the impulse.”
Prim grumbled something, too low for him to hear. He came and sat beside her, the bank of the stream offering softer ground than the twig-infested forest that had become their usual resting place.
“I am sorry it happened all the same,” he assured her, bringing his arm about her shoulders so he could hold her close. “I am sorry that you have had to see my hurts so often. I remember how unhappy I was to see all the bruises that covered you when first you came to me.”
“You should let me take one once in a while. Help even it out.”
Rykkon scowled at her, hating that she looked perfectly serious in her suggestion. “I think not.”
Prim shrugged, though he was gratified when she moved a little closer, her posture less stiff as she rested against him. “How much does it hurt?”
He considered deceiving her, assuring her that he was well. But there had been quite enough of that, and already he was burdened with the knowledge that he had yet to tell her of Kondarr’s threat against her people. He wished to know his own mind before he suggested it, and she had been so excited about departing that it seemed a cruelty to disturb her with a potential crisis of conscience.
“Only when I breathe. Or turn my neck.”
Prim hummed in displeasure. “Well, if that’s all.”
He found himself smiling, and he was glad she was positioned so she could not see it. Not when she would huff and remind him that his pain was not something in which he was permitted to find levity.
But he did, when she was there to fret over him.
“You quite possibly saved my life, you know, if that brings you any comfort.”
Prim turned, looking up at him. “How’d I do that?”
He tapped her on the nose, enjoying her frown. “With your weak legs and sensitive feet. If I had not had to carry you, that beast would have punctured my chest. Then we really would have had to test your ability to sew up wounds.”
Prim shuddered, though she hid it well, and he would not have noticed her discomfort at the prospect if she was not seated so close to him. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you out here. I couldn’t go back to your village... they’d kill me in a second. And I don’t even know how I’d go back to the colony even if I wanted to.” She took a deep breath, nodding to herself. “You’d be fine though, if something happened to me. That’s something.”
Rykkon blinked down at her. “I hope I am misunderstanding you.”
“What? You would! You’d go home, and... well, they may not like you very much because of your... humanness, but I don’t think you’d get nearly as many threats or cuts without me around to remind them of how different you are.”
“This is a pointless conversation,” Rykkon informed her. “For I would not be fine if you were suddenly...” He refused to even give her horrible thought voice. “Perhaps I do have some measure of choices that would not be afforded to you, but do not mistake that for...” he shook his head, words failing him. Instead, he held her closer, even with all her foolishness.
She must be punishing him for forcing her to see him hurt again. That was the only logical reason she would bring up such a morose topic. He thought wistfully of the joy and freedom he had felt earlier, exploring the Wilds with his wife upon his back. Reality had been quick to ground him once more, that nothing was truly safe, nothing was simple and easy.
“I’m just being practical,” Prim argued, though without any true force. “If this kind of thing keeps happening...”
He silenced her with a kiss. It was a short one, and purposeful, but it did its job admirably.
“Not now. Not today. We may speak of... contingencies, at another time. But to speak of it now would make me turn back even now, to lock us both away in our dwelling where it is much safer. Is that the outcome you would prefer?”
For a moment she looked contrite, before she smothered it with a glower. “You know it isn’t.”
“Good. Then we are agreed. There shall be no more talk of death and who shall be more fine.”
Prim nodded in agreement, even as her words broke their agreement immediately. “Would you really be upset if something happened to me?”
Rykkon groaned, tempted to kiss her again, to halt her foolish talk at its source and keep her occupied with other things until these ridiculous thoughts were pushed thoroughly away. “I believe that is what love is,” he said instead, knowing that it was equally possible he would be equally caught up in her, and he had to remain vigilant. “Or do you still believe that I do not care for you as you do me?”
Prim looked rather sheepish. “Maybe I just like to hear it.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes, though there was an undeniable measure of fondness even in that. “You are ridiculous,” he informed her, though he was rather certain she knew that already. “And I love you.”
He did not know why her eyes were leaking again, or why she felt the need to tug at him until he leaned down and kissed her, but it was not remotely unpleasant. Perhaps he would need to remember that saying those particular words led to kissing, though he did not like it when she cried.
Eventually she pulled away, her expression stern. “No more getting hurt.”
He could not promise that—she could not truly expect him to. So instead he rested his forehead against hers. “I will do my utmost.” She opened her mouth, but he pressed on. “But know that if anything should happen to me as I protect you, I find it completely worth it. And you shall bear no guilt.” This time she lurched back, her eyes revealing her rebellion, but he ignored it. “None.”
She did not get to answer, to stage her protest with all the robust mutiny he knew she was capable of expressing, for a sound drew their attention.
Both turned and stared, and Rykkon stood, stepping in front of his mate as he eyed the newcomer.
Not a beast, this time.
“Rykkon?”
21. Reconcile
He looked older somehow. More worn. Rykkon knew that it must be so—many cycles had passed since he had last seen his faeder, but to have him so close now...
Rykkon did not know what to do.
He had once spent much time imagining such a meeting, though typically he had thought that it would wait until his mother’s death, his father returning, heart-sore by the loss of his beloved.
He felt frozen, unable to move, to go to him, to even speak a word of greeting.
Prim’s hand in his was a tangible thing, as she squeezed life back into him. “Rykkon? Is that... is that your father?”
“Yes,” he murmured, trying to persuade his legs to manage even a small step, though they felt so limp and useless.
His father—
how strange that seemed, that his father could be doing anything within his eye line, for it meant he was here—was drawing near, his hand outstretched in greeting, his steps somewhat hesitant, though bringing him ever closer.
“You have grown,” he noted, his eyes drifting over Rykkon’s entire self, evaluating the changes.
“You have...” withered was on the tip of his tongue, but that would be rude and he did not wish to offend the male he had long since wished to see again.
His father smiled ruefully, evidently not having to hear the assessment for himself. “I have grown old, is what you mean to say. That is true. It is not... easy living out here.”
Life was only easy when there were enough hands to do the work—when items could be traded instead of each having to be harvested and refined alone.
Which could only mean...
“How is Mamé?”
His father’s eyes betrayed some sadness, though he hid it with another smile of welcome. “She has good days. Very good days. And then... sometimes she slips away, back to wherever she goes. She is at our dwelling, if you should like to come? You and your...” His attention finally settled upon Prim, who looked at them both with some measure of... frustration?
Rykkon wondered what he had done wrong, but his father spoke before he could enquire. “My apologies, it was rude of us to speak so you could not understand.”
Prim startled at first, obviously forgetting that his father would be well versed in her language as well.
“And you are, my dear?”
“I’m...” she glanced up at Rykkon, her hand still in his, and she shuffled just a bit nearer. Could she truly be nervous of his father? He could remember none less threatening than he, but she had her moments of skittishness, and apparently that would be now.
“This is my wife,” he answered for her, drawing her close to his side—only to comfort her, no part of him was suspicious that his father would harm in any regard.
His faeder looked at her in some surprise, before he closed the rest of the distance between them, clasping Rykkon’s upper arm. “May you live long together, and be happy.”
Mercy (Deridia Book 1) Page 27
