by Dixon, Ruby
Oh god—I’m dying. I guffaw so loud that it startles Glory. “Don’t make me laugh so hard,” I tell him between fits. “It makes everything hurt.”
“Very well.” He waves a hand, not looking over at me. His back is stiff and I can’t tell if he’s offended or just confused, but his tone is patient. “Try this ‘joke’ again and I will pay better attention.”
“All right. Knock knock.”
“I am here.”
“No, you say ‘who is there.’”
“I did.”
“No, that’s what you say specifically. ‘Who’s there?’” He is terrible at this, but I have to admit, that’s part of the charm.
He sighs heavily. “Who is there?”
“Ken.”
“I…do not know this Ken.”
Argh. “You’re supposed to say ‘Ken who,’ and then I say ‘Ken you believe I have a new baby?”
“But…of course I can believe it?” Poor Vordis sounds mystified, and I just laugh again. “I’m sorry, never mind. Maybe the knock-knock jokes are a mistake.”
He grunts, his hands on his hips. “I will give them some thought.”
Poor man. I can’t stop smiling, though. His confusion is so dorky and charming. And oddly sexy, just like his protectiveness is. He continues to hover near the doorway, as if he has to protect us from the world, and I start to wonder if there’s something truly out there. Glory makes this wet little sound, distracting me, and I'm learning that means I should probably burp her unless I want to wear her meal. I pull her to my shoulder, rubbing her tiny red back gently. "Vordis, what are you protecting me from? Is there something bad going on in camp?"
"No. It is my duty to protect you," he says, glancing over his shoulder at me briefly. "I am dedicated to you."
Not this again. I continue to rub Glory's little back, her little movements flailing helplessly in the way that only newborns do. "But seriously, what do I need protection from? Someone at the camp? Wild animals? Or do you think the other aliens are going to come back for Glory?" Just thinking about it makes me so tense that I could scream.
"No. I think we are safe here," Vordis reassures me. "And I protect you…because it is my duty." He sounds confused by my lack of understanding about this. Like I'm the one that's not getting it.
"Vordis," I say gently, and then I get frustrated when he won't turn around. "Can you look at me, please? I promise I've covered everything."
He slowly turns around, his body stiff, and sure enough, he's got a tent in the front of his loincloth. It's kind of cute how he's desperately trying to ignore it, his hands fisted at his side even as he tries to stand casually. Like something of that size wouldn't be incredibly obvious? Please. I can't stop the smile curving my mouth because even though I don't feel sexy right now, it's nice to think that I'm floating his boat, even nursing a baby.
Glory lets out an obscenely loud burp, and I can’t help but laugh. "It still shocks me when she does that."
"She is…charmingly small."
I make sure her hindquarters are swaddled with the furs and skins I'll be using as “nappies” and then cradle her in my arms, glancing over at Vordis. He's watching us with such naked fascination on his face that it makes me feel…something. "Do you want to hold her?"
"Me?" He seems surprised at the suggestion.
"Well, yeah. There's no one else in here." I carefully hold her out to him. "Just be careful. Support her head and everything."
Vordis drops to his knees beside my bed. He gingerly takes her from my arms and cradles her against his chest in an imitation of how I held her, and the look on his face is full of astonishment and wonder. It gives me that funny little thump in my heart again to see his expression. One big red hand holds Glory's tiny head, and the floss of her hair seems to stick to his fingers. She looks tiny in his arms, sucking on her fist and blinking her strange, beautiful eyes up at him. Their coloring is nearly the same, I realize. He could be her father.
Funny how I like the thought of that.
"Greetings," he murmurs gently down at the baby. "I am to protect you and your mother."
I grimace to hear those words.
"No harm shall befall you when I am around," Vordis whispers, and when she coos at him, the dumbfounded look on his face grows. He glances up at me. "Is she agreeing?"
"No. She's a baby. It'll be a while before she talks, if she's anything like human babies." When he slowly nods, I have to ask. "Is this your first time being around a baby?"
"I have seen Z'hren in the camp," he tells me, not looking up from Glory's little face. He reaches out and touches one small arm with a big finger, clearly fascinated. "Though I have not gotten too close."
Seeing a baby around camp is not the same as holding one, but I don't point that out. I'm enjoying this moment too much. "No friends with small children?" I tease, and then feel bad. He was an arena gladiator—if he had friends, they were like Thrand. Other clones, born and bred to fight and die. The thought's a disturbing one. Of course he's establishing himself as a protector. That's all he knows how to do.
I feel guilty for even being frustrated with him for a moment. That's not really fair to him. He's trying to be the best guy he knows how to be, and I really do appreciate it…even though it's not necessary. Thinking about other clones makes me think of something else, though. "Have you seen Thrand?"
Vordis stiffens, as if offended, and his gaze flicks to me. "We are not always together."
"I know," I say gently. "I wasn't implying that. I've just been in my cave and a little busy for the last day or two, so I haven't seen him. I was wondering if you had. I need to talk to him. Actually, I need to talk to you both."
"Tell me what you need to speak to him about. I will pass it on."
His words are clipped, abrupt, and I get the impression he's not thrilled with me asking about Thrand. His hands are gentle as he carefully holds Glory back out to me, and I take her from him, our fingers brushing. Funny how that little touch makes me feel as nervous as a teenager…and yet I'm sad when it's over. "It's the same thing I want to tell you—you don't have to look after me or guard me anymore. Just because some aliens implanted in your mind that you need to protect me doesn't mean that you have to. This place is a new start for all of us. You're free to be whoever you want to be. That doesn't mean my bodyguard. It doesn't mean a gladiator. If you want to be a potter or a fisherman or if you just want to spend all your time exploring this world, you can totally do that. You're completely and utterly free." I smile at him, stroking my fingers over Glory's soft hair. "It's not the life you imagined, but it can be an amazing one. Don't let some weird sense of duty to me hold you back."
Vordis is silent. He watches me for a long moment, unblinking. "You wish me to leave you alone."
I bite back my exasperation, reminding myself that he's hearing what he thinks because he doesn't understand any other way. "That's not what I said, Vordis. I'm trying to tell you that you can be whoever you want to be. You can protect some other woman, if you feel the need to protect someone. It just doesn’t have to be me.”
He gazes at me solemnly. “There is no one for me but you, Angie.”
My heart skips a beat. “You’re just saying that because it’s implanted in your brain.”
“I am saying it because it is how I feel.” Vordis puts a fist over his heart, his look firm and resolved. “Just because I am dedicated to you does not mean I cannot feel other things.” He watches me for a long moment and then gets to his feet and leaves before I can think to respond.
13
VORDIS
I storm down the beach in frustration, not seeing the landscape before me. My thoughts are full of Angie. Angie and her child. Angie's teats spilling loose as she leans forward. Angie telling me to leave her alone. Angie touching me as we sleep.
I do not understand. I do not understand any of this and it angers me. My irritation grows when a familiar red-skinned form jogs up the beach, a net in his arms. "Where have you
been?" Thrand's voice is accusing. "You said we were to fish together."
"I went to see Angie," I tell him. "She does not wish for us to be dedicated to her. She does not want us to guard or protect her."
His expression is puzzled as he untangles a bit of the net hanging from his arm. "It is not her decision. It is never a slave's decision."
"We are no longer slaves." I can see that the meaning is lost to him. All of the rules we have been taught are rules that are given to slaves, to people who have only one task in their lives. We are not used to deciding for ourselves. "If she does not wish for us to be around, we must honor those wishes."
"I will tell her it is not her decision," Thrand says, pushing forward as if to move past me.
I stop him before I can even think. "No," I say when he looks at me in surprise. "She and her child are sleeping. I will tell her later." I will do no such thing, but I do not like the thought of Thrand going to Angie when I am not there. I do not want to see her face light up in greeting. I do not want her to smile at him more than she smiles at me.
"Are you keeping me from her?" Thrand asks, incredulous. He gives my shoulder a shove.
"No. She feeds her child. Leave her alone." And I shove him back.
"I think you lie to me, brother," Thrand retorts, and gives me another shove, then tosses the net on the ground.
"Enough!"
The hard, rough voice is a familiar one. Both Thrand and I look over to see Raahosh stalking forward. While Vektal is gone, the scarred, silent sa-khui male has taken it upon himself to lead us, and he has made it very clear it is not a task he enjoys. He stalks forward, glaring at both of us, and near his feet, his older daughter skips at his side, her hair bouncing as if she has not a care in the world.
I realize that we are not alone on the beach. There are many others nearby. I see Willa and Gren, the fearsome beast warrior, sitting nearby mending a net. Raahosh's younger daughter sits at Gren's side, petting his arm. Past them a cluster of females watch, and they are accompanied by some of the island males.
Everyone has seen Thrand and me argue over Angie now.
"No fighting," Raahosh tells us, voice curt. "That is for kits. You are hunters. Act like them. We do not battle here."
"Listen to him," Thrand says, and gives me a hard shove. I shove him back, and his grin infuriates me.
"We are not fighting." I step away before Thrand can shove me again. "We are disagreeing…with our hands."
Raahosh just gives me a narrow-eyed glare. Thrand pauses, curious. "Why can we not battle? What if we wish to compete?"
"No battles," Raahosh snaps again.
"Papa, you sound as cranky as Mama," his daughter says, holding his hand and gazing up at us. "Do you want a fucking floor, too?"
The color drains from Raahosh's face. He scoops up his daughter and pulls her to eye level, frowning at her. "We have talked about this before, Raashel. Just because Mama says bad human words does not mean you can."
"Fucking floor!" cries the little one sitting next to Gren.
Someone giggles. An adult female. Willa presses her fingers to her mouth, trying to hide a laugh.
Raahosh turns around and glares at everyone. "All of you, enough. Do not encourage them." He turns back to his daughter, shifting her against his hip. "Now see what you have started? Aayla will never stop now."
"She's naughty," agrees Raashel, looking smug.
The sa-khui male's nostrils flare, and he looks as if he is fighting back irritation. He pats his daughter on the back and sets her down again. "Go sit next to Aayla and Gren. Now. Papa is going to talk to the hunters."
"But what about Mama's floor?" Raashel asks, her little lip quivering.
"We will make her a floor before your sister gets here, I promise." He thumps her on the backside, and her tail flicks with irritation. "Go."
With a little flounce, she tosses her hair and storms over to her sister, who has crawled into Gren's lap and plays with a net from there. Raahosh just rubs a hand down his face. "They are a handful. I can hunt for hours with patience, but keeping two female kits occupied for even a morning is trying my nerves."
"You can help me, Raashel," Willa says sweetly, patting a spot next to her.
The children watch Raahosh closely, and their attitudes make me curious. I realize I have not seen their yellow-haired mother—and Raahosh's mate—this day. "Is your female unwell?"
The tall male crosses his arms over his chest. He eyes Thrand and me for a moment, but when we do not erupt into fighting, he sighs and speaks. "My mate is having belly pains that say her kit is on the way. They are too far apart for it to be coming swiftly, but too much for her to handle with the girls this morning, so I have them. She is…in a bad mood."
"She wants a fucking floor," Raashel says again helpfully. "That's what she told Papa this morning."
Raahosh's nostrils flare and his body stiffens. "Raashel…"
"Sorry Papa."
The child does not sound sorry to my ears. I eye their father, but he just looks tired and frayed. "A floor?" I ask, curious. If she is having a child and wants a floor…perhaps this is something that Angie will want, too? My body floods with eagerness. I want nothing more than to provide for her, to take care of her and her child. If this is something that will please her… I think of her turning to me and smiling, her face alight with joy. She will reach for me, and the furs will fall from her full teats once more and—
I grit my teeth, trying to focus. I cannot think of such things right now.
Raahosh gestures at a large pile of wood at the far end of the beach. “A floor,” he agrees. “And possibly walls. We had permanent homes in Croatoan, with stone walls and sturdy floors. She does not like a tent on the beach. The more her belly swells, the less she likes it. She does not like sand, my Liz.” He glances over at us. “So while she chases us away from the tent, I am gathering materials to make her a sturdier dwelling, since there are not enough caves for everyone. We will use wood for the floors since so much of it is washing up from the island, and I will make my mate a hut so she is more comfortable. We spoke of this in the tribal meeting days ago. Were you not listening?”
As Raahosh speaks, I look at the pile of wood, my thoughts racing. How many times has Angie mentioned that she does not love her cave? That it is cold and damp? She would like a floor, I bet. It would be something just for her and Glory, something to show her how much I can provide for her and her child.
Perhaps then she will realize just how much she means to me. That I do not do this simply because I am dedicated, but because she is everything to me, her and her child both.
Raahosh makes an irritated sound. “Clearly you are not.”
I turn to him. “Eh?”
“Listening,” he says, voice sharp. “You are not listening.”
I do not care what he speaks of. I have a new idea, a grand one. “I wish to build a hut, too.”
Raahosh looks surprised at my words. “You do? For yourself?”
“For Angie. She deserves a floor for herself and Glory.” I think of the sleep chambers I have used in the past. Many were hard and unpleasant—a’ani are not given comforts—but occasionally there would be one where the bed would be the softest padding and the floors smooth and clean of debris. I think of Angie’s cold, dark cave. A hut with a wood floor would be perfect for her. I think of how her eyes would shine with happiness.
“Did she ask this of you?” Raahosh’s voice is disapproving and his arms cross over his chest. “She recently gave birth. You should leave her alone.”
I ignore his reproach, already visualizing how I will set up her hut. It will need to be circular, I think, with a central sunken firepit surrounded by stones so a spark does not touch the wood. I can build a frame underneath of stone so the wood does not sit flat on the sand and shift. The walls—
“Yes, Vordis.” Thrand is at my side, and there is a fierce frown on his face. “Did she ask this of you?” His tone is accusing.
; I will not be thwarted in this. Thrand does not understand how I feel about Angie, not truly. He simply feels compelled to protect her. It is not the same. This is deeper. This is…me willing to do anything for her smile. Her laughter. Her touch.
“I wish to court her,” I tell them bluntly. “I want Angie as my mate.”
Raahosh says nothing. He simply watches me, as if waiting to see if I break underneath his gaze. I meet his eyes, unflinching. I am no slave any longer. I am free to do as I choose, and I choose to court Angie.
“I will build a hut, too,” Thrand says. “It is my duty.”
I turn to look at him, incensed. “No.”
“Yes.” His expression turns challenging. There is nothing Thrand loves more than competition. “You do not own Angie. She has no mate. I am free to court her just as much as you are.”
Anger flares through me, and my fists clench at my side. I know Thrand. I know he does not care for Angie as I do—he only does this because he likes to compete with me. He would not hold her close as she slept, or touch her as tenderly as I would. He would not rub her feet when they are hurting, or participate in her bizarre knocking jokes.
He just wants to win.
“Do not do this, Thrand,” I warn.
“We shall both build her a hut and she will pick the one she likes best.” He claps his hands together and then rubs them eagerly. “It will be a fierce competition.”
For a moment, I am so angry at Thrand I cannot speak. He would take Angie from me? He would step between us? Just because he feels the need to win at some unseen competition? My jealousy threatens to spill over and I turn to Raahosh, rage blazing in my eyes. He is the chief. He needs to stop this.
Raahosh rolls his eyes and turns away. “You are both fools. Leave her alone until one of you—or neither of you—resonates to her.”
What? I watch as he scoops up one of his daughters, hefting her onto his shoulder. She holds onto his horn, giggling with glee, and then they head toward the pile of driftwood he has made at the far end of the beach.
“Two huts,” Thrand says, challenge in his voice. “Angie will pick which one she likes best and then whoever wins will be free to court her.”