She went forward carefully, her gait quickening when she saw no more of the creature. She wanted to be out of the trees, back in the open, though perhaps that would prove even more dangerous when there was nothing to offer cover.
She heard the growling first, a low, rumbling sound that made her shake, made her fear bloom from a prickle to outright terror. There was nothing playful about it, no woolly head coming to bump mischievously at her calves, only the menacing beginning to a creature about to attack.
And then it did.
The body was long and sleek, nearly invisible in the darkness. She would not have even been able to detect its direction except for the low rumble it still produced before it lunged, her own instincts taking over as she crumpled to the ground, the scrape of claws meeting the flesh of her back, but not as deep as she expected.
It seemed temporarily confused that it had missed, but she did not wait, did not stop to think.
She ran.
Perhaps she should have kept to the trail, but the creatures she’d known in the Wastes typically did not venture into the water, keeping either a leery distance or looking to the pool as a source for drinking, not for hunting.
So she ran into the river, slipping on the moss covered rocks, crying out at how utterly cold it was against her skin.
Her limbs did not want to cooperate, screaming at her to exit, to find shelter and warmth and anywhere else for safety, but the beast was still growling, offended that she had even made the attempt of escaping.
Her breath was coming in heaving gasps, her toes going numb as she tried to keep walking, forcing herself to go deeper into the water, to stay away from the edge. The creature was pacing, a clawed foot entering the water before it retracted it sullenly, and she felt a moment’s hope that it would lose interest in her.
The water was to her waist when the creature decided she was worth pursuing, and she scrambled forward as best she could. It was smart enough not to enter the water in the same place she did, keeping pace with her slow trek within the river, its own paws dry upon the shore.
She released a sob, not knowing what she should do. Her back ached from both the cold and the sharp sting of her cuts, and her body was shivering violently. Despair was creeping in, her panic overcoming what little was left of her wits.
Because the only thing she could think to do was give the bond as strong a nudge as she could, wanting and needing him to help her.
Machrus!
For she did not want to die.
Please...
It would be one thing to return home, back to her people as she nursed her own injured heart, knowing that she had made the best choice she could.
I need you...
But this...
She did not want to perish out here all alone, cold and frightened and likely to be eaten.
She had no idea if her entreaty had worked. The bond was as quiet as ever, her feeble understanding of its workings likely unable to wake him.
Renna kept moving as best she could. She considered crossing the river and finding shelter on the other side, but the grenpeets never ventured far into the water, and it could easily be deeper than she knew, and if her head should slip beneath the surface, she had no idea how to navigate the water herself.
Never had she considered drowning as a possibility for her death, not until Machrus had made the attempt, and it was not how she wished to die. She was trapped, and freezing, and she could not even manage to find the energy for weeping.
The creature paced along the shoreline, a strange snorting coming from it every so often, before she noticed its ears prickle, its long body suddenly immobile as it listened.
And then darted into the trees.
She did sob then, mostly in despair for she did not know what to do. Was it intelligent enough to move off, to lure her out only to attack her later? Or did easier prey become available and it was truly gone?
She waited as long as she could, but eventually she could stand the cold no longer, and she shuffled out of the water, trying to get her uncooperative limbs to obey her commands.
They did, but only just, her nightdress soaked, her fine boots utterly ruined.
And she knew from the way she shook, from how sluggish her limbs seemed to be, there was little chance of her making it back to Machrus’s home—to her bed with her nest of blankets, and a husband that radiated warmth, at least in body if not at all in manner.
She was weary, and when her legs gave out and she fell down upon the ground, she lacked even the strength to brace her fall. The hard-packed earth was jarring, her tailbone likely bruised from the impact, but she could not bring herself to care about that, tears freezing onto her cheeks as she lay there, helpless and so fully aware of how foolish she had been.
She didn’t know what this meant for the treaty, when Machrus would inevitably find her body out in the snows, frozen and still and utterly dead. She hoped Desmond wouldn’t blame him too much—none of this was his fault. He wasn’t to blame for not wanting her. She was the one who had overstepped, who had been thoughtless and rash and would now pay for it dearly.
She thought death would be painful, but instead there was numbness, the cold no longer painful. It simply... was. And she felt strangely peaceful, though it felt wrong to be so. She should be fighting, should be crawling back to Machrus, regardless of her embarrassment at having taken such poor care of herself. But she was tired, and she gave the bond tenuous little strokes, as much a lament as she could manage.
Her eyes fluttered closed. There was not much to see in any case, the clouds obscuring the trees and masking what little light there was.
And when she heard footsteps approaching, she closed them even more tightly, now willing herself to die lest she have to endure being torn apart by sharp teeth and even sharper claws.
The gait was quick, the steps heavy, and she buried her head in her arms and curled up as best she could—if she could just be as small as possible, perhaps it wouldn’t notice her...
But of course it was fruitless, something warm settling on her face. Not violently like she expected, just a weight that had not been there before. She bit her lip to keep from crying out all the same, her fear chasing away just a bit of her sleepiness.
“You stupid, stupid, girl!” came a growl above her. Not quite the animalistic one she was expecting, but it was close.
Something draped over her, heavy and nearly suffocating in its weight. And then she was being lifted, not in the grip of a mouth as she had accepted would come next, but into strong, human-like arms.
“I rescind what I said before. I now call your intelligence into question.”
It took a great deal of effort, but she coaxed her eyes to open, if only just a little.
Apparently Machrus had heard her after all.
“’ello,” she mumbled, her lips not working properly. She had always thought Machrus was warm before, but now he was scorching. But his heat did not seem to be seeping into her, no matter how she tried to burrow into him.
Machrus snorted, shaking his head above her as he resituated his hold, bringing her closer. “You know how to survive a sandstorm. You know which insects are at least tolerable enough to eat if you grow sufficiently hungry, yet nowhere in the knowledge of your people do you at least have the courtesy to know how to keep from killing yourself with cold!”
“M’sorry,” she answered sleepily. “Didn’t much matter ‘efore.” Her words were slurred, and her head felt too heavy to support as it slumped against his chest.
His hand was suddenly at her cheek, firm and insistent, though not exactly painful as it tapped at her. “No. No closing your eyes. I am angry with you, and you will listen.”
“Mhmm,” she agreed, though not sure she would be able to oblige. “My toes feel funny.” They didn’t, except that she couldn’t feel them much at all. Wasn’t she supposed to?
Machrus halted, setting her down more gently than his tone would have suggested, pulling back the host of blanket
s he had draped her in. She felt oddly detached as she watched him, his hands reaching out to feel the fabric of her nightdress, then her soiled shoes, hissing as he touched them.
“M’sorry,” she said again. “I ruined everything.”
“Quite thoroughly too,” Machrus granted absently. Perhaps she should be cross at his gruffness, but suddenly his hands were beneath her shawl, strong fingers plucking at the thin straps of her nightdress, two quick tugs causing the entire thing to peel away in his hands, seemingly with little effort.
Leaving her naked except for the shawl still tied about her torso.
But he hardly seemed to notice as he draped the blankets back over her, leaving only her feet exposed as he made quick work of her shoes as well. His mouth formed a grim line as he assessed them, his hands almost too hot as he rubbed at them furiously. “You need to be home,” he declared, his voice betraying him. He sounded utterly torn about what to do, and she knew the feeling well, remembering her panic in the river.
“No more rivers without you,” she informed him, her mind trying to reach out and touch his cheek, to smooth away the worry she found there. But she hadn’t the strength to get it out from beneath her pile of blankets.
He stopped his rubbing, his eyes flashing darkly, before he tucked her feet back in and picked up his bundle of both blanket and wife, his steps hurried as he continued his way back home.
“What possessed you to go in at all?” Machrus asked angrily. She couldn’t fault him for his upset. It still seemed rather unbelievable that he was here to be angry with her at all.
He must not have seen the claw marks, otherwise he could easily have guessed the reason. But she didn’t have the words to describe it, not with her jaw chattering so, not when she had seen so little of it in the first place.
And Machrus had already jumped to his own conclusions.
“Is life so terrible here with me,” he continued, his voice strained and almost hollow. “That you would try to...” he shook his head as if to banish the very thought.
She was too tired for this, to piece together his presumptions from half-formed sentences. “T-to what?”
She could see the house, the fire inside causing a welcoming glow to shine through the window, a promise of shelter that was nearly enough to make her weep—though that impulse came easily enough of late.
“Later,” Machrus ordered, his tone once more tightly controlled. “You need warmth first.”
She wouldn’t argue, and when he opened the door, she did begin to cry—or perhaps she had never really stopped, only the heat of the room allowing them to remain as proper tears. She’d been so absolutely certain that she would never see any of this again, and to be here... to have him deposit her before the fire before stomping into the bedroom, it was all too much.
She might still die, for all she knew. But at least her last memory would not be of gnawing teeth, of perishing alone and frightened, and that was a welcome thought.
Machrus returned with their bed. Not the frame itself, just the cushion, but even that protested going through the doorway. But with grumbling and effort, it came through, and he deposited it next to her.
He stoked the fire into a brighter blaze, situating first the cushion as close as he dared, then shifting her onto it. He tucked the blankets all around her, making movement nearly impossible before exposing her feet once more and rubbing them briskly.
For as angry as he appeared, his every touch was carefully measured, purposeful yet gentle as he helped her. But she supposed that was simply... Machrus. All that was gruff and surly, yet his actions were kind, his touches light.
And, she supposed, that was how it should be. At least, it was far better than the reverse.
She was so dreadfully tired, and being tucked in so snugly was making it worse. Her eyes fluttered closed, only to startle back open at a sharper nudge at her foot. “Eyes open, Renna,” Machrus insisted.
She shifted, which was pathetically little, but it allowed her arm to settle into a more comfortable position. “Sleepy,” she protested, already closing her eyes again.
Machrus stopped his rubbing, tucking the blanket back over her feet before he stood.
And began removing his clothes.
Her eyes shot open, then, not understanding in the least what he was doing. But her mouth wouldn’t cooperate enough to ask, and so she simply... watched.
She hadn’t paid any attention to his attire when he’d found her. He was not even wearing boots, his clothing the usual garments he wore to bed—soft leggings and an oversized tunic, though he seemed to have taken the time to hastily don a coat before leaving the house.
She had not been so wise.
His coat was divested first, then his boots, and, to her great surprise, the leggings even followed.
He was down to only his tunic, as nude as she had ever seen him save for the day they’d been forced to change in the forest—that felt like a lifetime ago—and she had not been so brave as to look much at the time.
Except now she was probably still dying, and it was easy to accept that more would not be happening. Not because Machrus didn’t wish it, but simply because her body was going to give way at any moment, and the draw to sleep would be eternal. There would be no rejection, no consequences that her forwardness would ruin what little relationship they had managed to build between them.
And so she looked her fill, half-suspicious that Machrus had only begun this performance knowing she’d be unable to do anything else.
He was so strong, each limb perfectly proportioned, though the voluminous nature of his shirt made inspection quite impossible for either his torso or—she lacked the ability to blush, and for once was grateful—his nethers. The markings at his temples did extend beyond, twining up his ankles to his thighs, the hem cutting off her ability to see the rest.
She wondered what they would feel like beneath her fingers, but she supposed that was something she would never learn.
He left then, back into the bedroom, and she released a weary sigh. Closing her eyes now that her distraction had departed.
“Open, Renna,” Machrus called, and she obliged, ready to see his chastising glare from the doorway. But it took him a few moments more before he did so, her eyes flitting downward and noting the socks upon his feet. His appearance would have been rather comical if guilt was not threatening to crush her. He must be cold too, running out barefoot into the snow, all because of her.
He had another pair in his hands—one of his own, she noted vaguely—but what drew her attention more was Maisie’s blanket that he must have fished out from the host of blankets on their bed.
She felt her heart might burst, not from sickness, not from cold, but from the wave of affection that settled over her as he laid her precious blanket across her, tucking it under her chin so she could feel it.
He said nothing about it and she did not expect him to. It was not his way to add sweet words to his gestures, yet every one of them made a little more fondness overtake her, helpless to stifle it, no matter how often she reminded herself that her romantic feelings had no business here.
He untucked her cocoon enough to put his socks on her, first one leg, then the other, the increased size allowing them to swallow almost her entire calf.
He tucked her feet back in with a pat, and she waited to see where he would go next, utterly surprised when he undid the side of her nest and slipped beneath the blankets himself.
And lay down on top of her.
She could not have formed a protest even if she wished to. Her mouth wasn’t working right, the muscles focused on chattering rather than speech. His hands were rubbing determinedly at first her arms, then down to her hands, adjusting slightly so he could take hold of one without crushing her under his weight.
“I do not trust you to remain awake,” he explained at last, cupping her hand between both of his and blowing into it, his breath hot. “But this is shocking enough, yes?”
Renna merely blinked at
him, unable to do anything else. It was a strange thing, to be powerless. Even more so not to mind. Feeling was beginning to ease back into her toes, first an awareness, and then a tingle. But it was growing, and she feared what it would eventually become.
She did not even consider nudging Machrus off of her, telling him that she would be fine enough now with the fire and the generous nest he’d provided for her—though in truth, she hadn’t the least idea if she would be. Could blood freeze in the body and she still be alive? She didn’t know. Maybe her organs were half-frozen and something would rupture as she thawed.
That was an unpleasant thought, but she could not even seem to manage a grimace.
She felt hazy and muddled, her judgement utterly compromised as she simply surrendered to Machrus’s ministrations. Except his work must have not have produced the desired effect, for soon he was tapping her cheek once again, her eyes having closed of their own accord.
“Or perhaps not,” Machrus conceded bemusedly.
Renna hummed. “It’s safe here, with you,” she murmured sleepily. The prickles in her hands and feet were giving way to tingles. She did not know if that was good or not. “And I’m sleepy.”
Machrus huffed out an irritated breath and she would have smiled at him if she wasn’t so tired.
“You are impossible is what you are,” he grumbled lowly, still paying such careful attention to her hands. She didn’t like him touching them, not really, not when they were so disfigured in comparison to his own unmarred appendages. Yet despite her embarrassment, she could not deny that she liked the feel of him paying her such careful attention, even liked the weight of him as he leaned so close—a warmer blanket than any he had piled onto her.
“Renna,” he prompted, and she wanted to glare at him for keeping her awake again. “Renna,” he said again, and she watched him swallow, watched him struggle as he tried to find the words. It was an odd thing, to see him so. He was always so steady, so sure. But finally he seemed to settle on it, his eyes flitting to hers, almost forceful as he searched hers for truthfulness. “Did you try to end your life? Was... being here with me so very terrible?”
Trade (Deridia Book 2) Page 28
