by RS McCoy
Admittedly, she was impressive. There was no denying it. Her size and strength and the sound of that growl echoing through the trees were like nothing he’d experienced before.
But then she was gone.
“Nice going. I swear by the Mother—” Hale snapped before he started after her.
Parson intercepted him and put a hand on his chest. “Let her go.”
“She doesn’t know where she is. She’s pissed off and—”
“And she’s not going to calm down with a bear chasing her.” Parson knew better than anyone. Sometimes you just had to go get it out of your system.
“And you don’t want her, remember?”
Parson felt the words like a slap across the face. He reeled and stepped back. “I don’t. But I know she won’t come back with you chasing after her.”
Hale glared at Parson for a second more before moving around him and continuing toward the clearing’s edge.
“Parson is right.” Lathan’s voice boomed and stopped Hale in his tracks.
“So what would you suggest? Just leave her out there? Just leave my future wife in the Alderwood and hope she decides to come back someday?” Hale’s words dripped with venom and anger. Parson had never seen him so unnerved—not even the day Blossom was taken.
Lathan nodded. “There’s nothing else you can do. Go back to camp and wait there. We’ll keep an eye out here. She’ll come back.”
Hale started to protest, but they all knew there was no arguing with Lathan, especially when he wore that stern look of his. They’d have it out about this later, Parson knew, but for now, he was satisfied to return to his axe and swing it into fresh alder wood.
The day wore on like so many did. The sun rose higher and higher in the sky, and heat filled the clearing by midday. Parson’s axe made quick work of several dozen branches, stripping them clean and cleaving them off to be cut into smaller and smaller portions for sale.
There was nothing remarkable about the day, but still Parson found his gaze skirting the edge of the clearing every few minutes. He satisfied himself with the reminder she’d probably followed her nose back to camp, but then he’d worry tigers couldn’t smell as well as bears. Maybe he’d made the wrong call. Maybe Hale should have gone to fetch her.
Then, Parson would remember he didn’t care. He’d swing his axe high in the air and bring it down hard into the next limb. Then he’d scan the clearing’s edge and start all over again.
The afternoon turned later, and the sun fell behind the canopy, casting long shadows across the cut, and still Parson was stuck scanning and worrying and scanning some more. With each passing hour, his anxiety increased until he spent more time looking for her than he did working.
When he heard the evening whistle to head back to camp, he still hadn’t seen her.
“Come on. You heard it,” Lathan said as he passed by with his axe in hand.
“I’m coming. Just going to finish this one,” he replied. In truth, Parson hated to quit with a branch half-cleaned, but even more than that, it didn’t feel right to leave—not yet. The rest of the work crew replaced their tools in the out-of-sight storage container and headed back to camp for the night. Only Parson remained.
Parson was wedged between two branches well off the ground, clearing the base of the last branch when a bit of red caught his eye. Sure enough, a girl in Pyro clothes emerged from the dark Alderwood. Even at the distance, he could see she was covered in blood.
He dropped his axe immediately.
Parson jumped down and trotted over to where she walked in a daze, her eyes on the ground. Blood coated her mouth and chin and her entire front of her shirt.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his frantic eyes searching over her.
Raene looked up at him and took three steps back, tears streaming down her face. When she moved to wipe them, she only smeared fresh blood across her cheek. “I killed it,” she squeaked between quiet sobs.
Parson froze in place. “Killed what?”
Her gaze fell to the ground. “I don’t know,” she cried. “A deer with horns.” Again, she wiped at her cheek and left yet more blood smeared across her face.
“An elk?”
Raene only shrugged.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, referring to the blood covering her hands and chest. It wouldn’t be the first time an elk speared a predator with a horn. He had a considerable scar on his leg to prove it.
When she bowed her head, her hair hanging over her face, Parson took a single step toward her, refusing to acknowledge how the sight of so much blood left him itching to hunt. Now wasn’t the time to get lost to his indulgences.
“Get away from me!” she screamed and lunged back a step.
Parson threw up his hands to show he meant no harm.
As she wiped at her cheek again, Parson chanced another a step toward her.
“Leave me alone,” she cried. “I’m not safe.”
Parson stopped, and this time he laughed. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
At last, she looked up at him. “I killed a deer. Or an elk. Or whatever it was. I ripped it open,” she said as her eyes fell to her blood-soaked hands. So quiet he could barely hear, she whispered, “I couldn’t stop.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a tiger.” When she only shot him a confused look, Parson explained, “If you weren’t killing things, I’d be worried. That’s what tigers do. When’s the last time you had any meat?”
“A week,” she admitted.
It was then Parson knew he’d been in the wrong. She’d been fighting against a strong totem without any meat to quiet her hunger, and he’d goaded her on until she erupted. It had been his fault, not hers.
She deserved better, even from him.
Parson sighed and took one last step toward her. “I’m sorry for what I said. I don’t like this situation, but it isn’t your fault.”
“Thank you,” she replied and wiped at the last of her tears. “I’m sorry I cried. I hate crying. I’m sure I look awful.” A half-second later, she seemed to realize what she’d said. She looked like she wanted to say something more, but she didn’t.
“Depends on who you ask,” he teased. Parson enjoyed the sight of her covered in blood, but he wouldn’t tell her that. Gone was the dainty princess, replaced with this ferocious, predatory young woman. Even Parson couldn’t deny the allure of such strength.
When she didn’t smile in the slightest, he told her, “You smeared blood on your cheeks.” He didn’t mention her braid of golden hair was so disheveled it looked more like a bird’s nest.
With the back of her hand, Raene wiped at her cheek, but it was too late.
“There’s a stream nearby,” he offered.
“Yes, thank you.”
Parson didn’t mention how ridiculous she sounded in her coy, demure voice with drying blood on her cheeks. She looked aggressive and powerful and dangerous, but she sounded like a shy girl. He couldn’t help but wonder which was the real Raene.
The closest stream was a fifteen minute walk south of the cut. The last traces of evening light were long gone, but Raene’s tiger eyes had no trouble seeing in the dark. Parson, too, seemed to make his way well enough.
When they arrived at the modest creek bed, Raene was all too eager to kneel by the water’s edge and rinse the stickiness from her hands. The idea that she was covered in blood made her stomach churn. But when she thought of getting sick, she remembered the contents of her stomach—the undigested meat of the elk she had killed—and she choked down her disgust. That was one particular meal she didn’t want to see again.
Raene splashed cool water on her hands and arms, but it took a good bit of scrubbing to get the drying blood to come off. Even with her cat eyes, it was hard to tell if she’d gotten it all. Then Raene started on her cheeks, scrubbing them over and over again, never knowing if they were clean.
Then she remembered her shirt. It was soaked through, so badly stained it would li
kely never be scarlet again. But she had brought only a handful of Pyro tops to the Alderwood. She couldn’t let one go to waste.
Raene looked around to find Parson sitting on a nearby rock jutting from the creek bed, his animal eyes glowing a faint green.
Raene’s wet hands made the straps of her shirt trickier to remove than usual, but she managed. The drying blood caused the fabric stick to her front, producing a vile sucking sound as she pulled it free.
Parson stood and walked a dozen steps away, keeping his back turned toward her. Only then did Raene remember Terra rules on modesty.
She was so very far from home.
The reality of her situation struck her. She’d killed an innocent animal for no reason other than she wanted a taste of it. Raene Randal, former Pyro elite, was now nothing more than a common criminal, a murderer, a monster.
Alone in the Alderwood with a man who hated her, scrubbing her blood-soaked shirt in a creek, she couldn’t help but feel her life had gotten away from her.
“Did you mean it?” she called out to him over her bare shoulder.
“Mean what?” he shouted back.
“That I should choose Hale.”
An eternity passed before he answered. “Yes.”
Even now, the truth of it pained her. Raene had never been so casually dismissed in all her life.
“Is there someone else?” she asked, hopeful. She could live with that—if his rejection stemmed from a connection with another woman.
But Parson renewed her anguish when he said, “No, there hasn’t been anyone in a long time.”
“Then why?” Raene tried and failed to keep the desperation from her voice.
“He’s the right choice. I’m no good for you.”
“What does that mean?” Raene asked, thankful her hands were occupied.
When Parson finally answered, she could hear he’d turned to face her. His voice was low but carried on the wind well enough. Every word sank into her like a stake. “I’ll be your husband’s brother. I’ll be your brother-in-law, and I’ll be your friend. You can come talk to me if you need anything, but I can’t marry you. I can’t.”
“Why?” Raene repeated. She felt like he’d pointed out she was the ugliest girl in the realm.
“It’s hard to explain.” The exasperation was clear in his voice, even from so far behind her.
“It has to do with Blossom,” Raene answered for him. “Because a Pyro man came into your home and took her away. And when you see me, you think of him, and then you think of her. And you remember that she’s gone.”
“Yes,” he answered, now only a step behind her, his voice little more than a wisp.
To her surprise, Parson pulled his tunic top over his shoulders and handed it to her. It was still damp with sweat and reeked of musk and work, but Raene was nonetheless grateful to be spared more Terra words of disapproval. She gladly covered herself and continued washing.
“I didn’t take her from you,” Raene couldn’t help but remind him.
“I know.”
“I thought she was going to be my sister.” Raene was glad the darkness prevented him from seeing the tears that sprang into her eyes. She kept her hands moving, grinding her soaked shirt against a flat stone. She would do anything to keep from looking at him.
Parson crouched beside her, mindlessly turning his rings. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being selfish, but I can’t help it.” He dragged a hand across his bearded chin before he said, “Hale is a good man, and he’ll be a good husband. He won’t hold it against you. He’s closer to your age. He’s calm and understanding. He’s not as—I don’t know—grouchy?”
Despite the awkwardness, Raene and Parson both chuckled. “You are rather grouchy,” she agreed.
Raene didn’t know how she felt about this turn. Parson declining any interest in her didn’t feel good, but she was glad to have an answer. There was no reason to be nervous over whether he liked her or not. She knew she wouldn’t have to marry him. Now he was nothing more than her future husband’s brother.
And she would marry Hale. She’d only talked to him for a few minutes, but he seemed nice enough. Raene’s thoughts had only started down that path when Parson interrupted them.
“You know that’s never going to come out.”
Raene continued scrubbing, her hands shaking from the cold water. “I have to try.”
“Is that why Pyros wear red?”
“I have no idea. And it’s scarlet.”
“What?”
Raene stopped her scrubbing and glared at him, knowing he could see her in the dark. “It’s not red. It’s scarlet. Or sometimes crimson. But it’s not red.”
Parson only blinked.
Frustrated and tired, Raene threw the wadded shirt into the creek with a splash. “I’ll work on it in the morning. I can’t see anything anymore.”
“Yes, you can.” Parson didn’t even hesitate to call out her lie. “But Hale is worried. You should get back.”
Raene cringed. “Are you going to tell him?”
“I’m not in the habit of keeping secrets from my brothers.”
She could only imagine how that conversation would go. Oh, Hale. I found your bride in the woods covered in blood and crying her eyes out about some deer she’d murdered.
Raene took her time wringing the water from her shirt as best she could, but she knew she was going to have to face him eventually.
“At least tell me if I still have blood on my face.” She didn’t want Hale to see her so out of sorts. Then again, she was the definition of out of sorts.
Parson stepped forward, and all at once, Raene remembered she was wearing his shirt. His bare arms and broad shoulders caught every bit of the scant moonlight that snuck in between the trees. He put a finger under her chin and moved her face into the light.
Raene kept her gaze on the trees and let him assess her, desperate to get it over with.
“There’s a bit here under your eye.” His finger skimmed the spot.
Raene turned away and sank beside the creek. She scrubbed the patch of skin raw before wiping her sleeve across it and returning for his assessment. “Better?”
Parson tilted toward her. “Better,” he agreed. But he didn’t release her chin. Instead, he moved his thumb to her temple and traced the faint line she knew well. “Did he give you this scar?” he finally asked, his brow knit with concern.
“Yes, but he didn’t mean it.”
“You’re defending him?” Parson stood with his lip curled in disgust.
“He’s the best man I know,” Raene admitted. And now that she had her totem, it was possible to think she understood him better than ever.
Parson’s eyes fell to her scar once more. “But he—”
“He didn’t mean it.” Raene finished, squeezing the water from her ruined shirt. When Parson only stared back in confusion, Raene told him, “It was my fault. He told me to stay away from him, but I didn’t listen. I made him do this, and he never forgave himself. I made him lose control. It was my fault.”
Raene hadn’t meant to say so much, but it felt good to get it off her chest. Kaide deserved her honesty on the matter, even if he’d never hear it for himself.
“After his transformation?” Parson asked, and Raene nodded.
As if he expected it all along, Parson told her, “Some of us never really get it under control. I killed my fair share at first. A pair of moose and three wolves the first week.”
Raene rolled her eyes and pulled away from him. She’d been honest, and in return, he was making fun of her. “I don’t need you to make up stories to make me feel better. I know what I did—”
Parson reached out for her waist and yanked her back toward him, but he pulled too hard. Raene crashed against his bare chest as he said, “I’m not making up stories.”
Raene let that sink in before she asked, “What did Da say?”
Parson chuckled under his breath. “To keep my totem under control. Like it was as easy as that.”
“And did you?”
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?” Raene searched his emerald eyes, desperate for the answer.
“That I hunt small game further from camp. I hunt more often so I don’t get to the brink. I stay well away from the cut or anywhere else I might find someone I know. It’s not ideal, but it works. It keeps me from lashing out. Most of the time…”
Raene wondered if she could do that, too. Maybe it wasn’t so much about controlling her totem as managing it. With her chest pressed against Parson, it was possible to think it might work, but still, she’d have to tell Hale where she went and what she’d done.
She pulled her hand from Parson’s grip and collected her shirt where she’d dropped it. In her best elegant tone, Raene said, “Thank you for your candor, Master Frane. I’m ready to go back now.”
Parson shook his head, not accepting her words in the slightest.
With her wet, crumpled shirt in her hands, Raene side-stepped him and started toward camp. She could find the way easy enough. Already, she recognized the scents of it—the smoke from a dozen small fires, the sweet fruits and berries, the aged odor of the canvas tents. The walk was longer, as they’d gone out of the way to pass the stream, but Raene didn’t mind. She had that much more time to organize her thoughts. She needed to figure out what she was going to say to Hale.
Thankfully, Parson didn’t bother her. He said not a word until the camp was in view.
“This way,” he announced as he darted to the right. Raene followed him as they rounded the exterior of the camp and arrived behind Lathan’s tent. From there, it was easy to slip inside unnoticed.
Lathan and Tasia sat in conversation, each perched on a plump pillow. “Do I even want to know?” Tasia asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. She looked back and forth between Parson’s bare chest and Raene’s shirt wadded in her hands.
“Probably not,” Parson answered for her.
Raene ignored them all and crossed the tent, darting behind the partition before the Terras could harp on her lack of modesty. There, she pulled out a fresh Pyro shirt, still saturated with the aromas of home. She stripped out of Parson’s shirt and replaced it with her own. Already she felt better.
