Jim's eyes flick to Ulric. Seems like he does, sweet thing.
But Jim says nothing. He just wants to survive this current catastrophe and be gone. Somewhere. Like my earth. A weighted exhale shoots out of Jim.
One of the tree men inch closer.
Adira tenses at his side.
“Back off,” Jim barks at the offender.
Protect.
That again.
“It is not that I do not want you,” Ulric replies in a strained voice.
Are we really doing this?
Brom's brow ridge ripples. “So you deny any claim for this female?”
Ulric fists his hands.
The female stares at him expectantly.
“Natasha knows she is free to make her own choices. I have never kept her against her will. Nor would I with any female. It is not our way.”
Natasha seems to sink into herself, eyes lowered.
Brom states, “Then it's settled. I have detained the Band and clanswoman, the female and male of Iroquois descent.”
What?
“Why?” Ulric asks, his tenseness has not left him. Instead, he seems even more like he's spoiling for a fight.
“Because they thought to leave.” Brom's eyes are hooded, his expression circumspect.
“And they may,” Ulric says slowly. “We are not a clan of dictators. There is the Fragment for that. And some who live within certain domes.”
Brom's brow lowers, and he cinches Natasha closer to his side.
The movement is not lost on Ulric, who glowers, tracking Brom's hand at her waist. Soft growling seeps from between Ulric's lips.
Not going well.
Jim feels Adira's hand wrap his forearm and ignores her. He feels her fear. The new beast inside Jim is helpless to not notice.
“Yes. Your clan. Mine will be different—more.” Brom's eyes blaze with challenge, spinning discs of gold.
Ulric appears to consider for a moment, his eyes running over Natasha in a sort of contained despair. “The clan that you lead will only be whatever their leader aspires to be. None shall surpass the example provided.”
Brom grunts. “That is what you believe.”
“That is what I know,” Ulric grates.
“Do I leave with your blessing, Ulric?”
Ulric's eyes consume Natasha like a meal he'll never taste again. “No.”
Brom scowls. “Then we part as enemies.”
Ulric's face contorts into anger. “If you think it would be another way, you do not know me, Brom.”
Brom sweeps his gaze around the crowd gathered. “All who wish to live a new life—a modern life of the Tree—you are free to follow me. A new start, new traditions.”
Brom's gaze falls on Ulric, but his eyes are all for Natasha.
She seems to be holding her breath, waiting for Ulric to do something—speak.
But even Jim knows, Ulric isn't a declare-your-love kinda guy. He's hard. Made harder by Brom, and Ulric's desire to avoid bloodshed for the sake of his clan.
“New leadership,” Brom states unnecessarily.
The murmurs of the clan rise. Jim can scent the uncertainty permeating the area.
But Brom begins to walk away, towing Natasha behind him.
Liquid pale brown eyes glance over her shoulder, long brunette spiral hair curls at her waist, lightly bouncing as she's led away by Brom.
Ulric clearly wants to go after her. Doesn't.
Jim frowns.
They've escaped war for the moment.
But as a roughly a third of the clan trails after Brom, Jim wonders if the uneasy separation will continue, or if it will devolve into violence, like everything else in this place.
Chapter 31
Elise
A tender caress is the next cognitive impression Elise has. Her eyes slowly open, and Adahy's bright emerald gaze peers anxiously into her own.
“I am fine,” she says in Iroquois.
Adahy nods, looking hardly less concerned.
“We need go,” Adahy says.
Elise is fairly certain the Stone Giants, as Adahy refers to them, will notice if they try to escape.
“Ulric come—Jim too.”
Elise sits upright too suddenly. Her vision swims. Too much healing in such a short burst always renders her as weak as a kitten. Her healing abilities rely on how Elise is feeling physically, and she brought minor harm to herself this day. Elise's weakness was something that never failed to anger the Fragment. If they wished for Elise to heal those they tortured, she must not also be compromised. The Fragment had learned that lesson after taking turns engaging in the unspeakable with Elise while feeding and quenching her hunger and thirst too infrequently to lend strength to her body. Their treatment left Elise nearly comatose in fear, shame, and physically incapable of much else but sustaining her own breaths, had not endeavored her gift of healing to be at its zenith.
Though Elise does not feel in a similar state, the capture and unkind treatment from Brom has put her in a mindset she hoped never to revisit.
She gazes at Adahy, pleased by what she accomplished with his healing. Bruises remain, but faded. As though weeks have passed instead of hours. The result is well and good.
Elise cups his jaw, smooth of hair, like most of the Red Men, and he leans into the caress.
“Thank you,” he says softly. Then Adahy grasps her hand and settles Elise on her feet. Her hands land on his muscular chest, covered with a filthy tunic full of grime and blood. Her shaking fingers fall from the proof of his abuse.
“No time,” Adahy says in abbreviated English, glancing significantly at the wooden rail that resembles a branch encircling the perimeter of their tree home. Now a prison.
“Ulric has returned?” Elise confirms hopefully.
Adahy nods but is already turning away from her, stripping the tunic off as he walks, and tossing it on the floor.
Elise hisses in a breath, viewing the discoloration of his broad and muscular back—remembering the extent of healing she executed. Still, the ghost of the grievous wounds remain like a smear of violence, never to be erased.
Elise grips the tree anchored inside the center of the tree home, their bindings littering the floor at her feet.
She sights Adahy's wrists. Raw abrasions wind around his wrist like bloody whips.
“Adahy,” Elise calls in a low voice.
He turns, slamming a clean tunic over his head and regards her with solemn eyes.
“Your wrists.” Elise beckons him, and he shakes his head.
“Adahy fine,” his smile barely stretches his lips as he repeats what she had said upon waking moments before.
“I know,” she whispers and cups her elbows. “However, if I could make that...” her palm sweeps toward the angry marks.
Adahy vehemently shakes his head. “Adahy strong—Elise tired.”
Yes, I tire. But not for the typical reasons. Mainly for a life lived in anticipation of violence.
She nods. Time is of the essence if they plan to go.
“We leave. Stone Giants pay attention to Ulric—Jim.”
Ah.
Elise understands now. She swiftly moves to her closet, really no more than a pocket for storage with a drape of material strung across its front by a slim twining vine.
Elise tears it aside and recognizes her rucksack immediately. Elise sinks to her knees, opening and scanning the contents.
Nothing's been misplaced or taken. She can only surmise that the tree men acted quickly to restrain them and that was the singular goal. They must not have had sufficient time to gather more information—search their quarters. Had they done that, leaving would have been difficult without the prepackaged supplies her and Calia had set aside.
“Good?” Adahy asks from behind.
“Yes.” Elise stands, and Adahy takes the rucksack from her fingers, swinging it on his back.
After the heavy sack settles between his shoulder blades, Adahy turns his attention to the jumping platforms.<
br />
He is not a Man of the Tree, but the blood of the Band runs within his veins. Adahy has superior strength and heightened senses.
Elise moves to the rail and leans forward, looking down from the great height to the ground. She finds Ulric and Jim easily—Brom and Tabben. The body language tells her what they say without benefit of hearing their words.
Adahy's strong arm encircles her waist and she takes a deep, cleansing inhale. Bracing herself for the freefall.
“Do not be afraid,” Adahy murmurs in Iroquois. “We will first visit Calia and Philip. I believe their guard is occupied elsewhere.” He jerks his chin toward the group of tree men who gather around their leader.
Elise nods, tucking her face against Adahy's body and shutting her eyes.
She loathes the hopping from one platform to the next. It is somewhat better with Adahy, but when the tree men had her, they are so fluid she feels as though she's never held, just falling with purpose.
Adahy jerks her against him as he leaps, swinging to the first landing platform.
The wood shudders beneath her feet and Elise tenses.
The next comes, then another.
“We here,” Adahy says in English.
Elise's eyes open, she is so relieved to be stopping the leap frog of their short journey she feels almost sick. Her eyes quickly take in the scene. Calia and Philip are laid out, both breathing—neither conscious. An untouched plate of food lays between them.
Voices reach them, and Adahy and Elise glance quickly at the escalating tempers of Brom and Ulric from below.
“Quickly,” Adahy says.
Elise lowers herself beside the food, cramming bread and berries from an open jar with a spoon into her mouth. Chewing, swallowing—eating more.
Water appears in a smooth wooden cup and Elise smiles up at Adahy. She takes the water, gulping greedily.
He refills it.
Elise sits on her rear, sorting where she will heal first. Her eyes shut in misery. There's so much.
Philip is already healing, as Calia is. That is good—but some of their injuries need guidance, for lack of a better word. Or their bodies will knit bones incorrectly. She has seen it happen and it is ugly to rectify later.
Elise rocks forward on her hands and knees, balancing her weight between the two of the Band, and touches Philip's forehead.
Healing energy sears through her fingertips and swarms his head first.
A great sucking breath later, Philip's eyes open, and he grabs her wrist like a clamp.
“Elise help,” Adahy says in both explanation and caution, stepping closer to Philip.
Understanding fills his gaze and Philip releases her wrist. His nose is smashed and he breathes through his mouth.
Elise runs a fingertip down the bridge of the worst damage she has ever beheld on a face.
His nose rises from the smashed, unusable cartilage of before. Fresh skin sprouts in soft tones of nude and pink, running like fleshen water across the sides of his face as it stretches across his cheekbones.
The half-moon bruises seated directly underneath Philip's eyes begin to fade, melding into ugly mars of chartreuse and finally settling into a vague yellow.
Elise runs her hands down his huge and muscled bare arms, one elbow is canted awkwardly. Elise can imagine how that happened.
The Band are fearsome warriors. Yet, there is no recourse against the First Species. They claim to be above all species.
Elise wonders if this could be true. Philip is a giant male—powerful. Yet his injuries speak to his deficit when faced with the tree men. With their powerful supple bodies, and fangs as both feeding and weapons, there is almost no hope to escape without grievous injury
Except sunlight. In that one regard, Elise and her comrades have a slim advantage.
The dislocated elbow joint moves seemingly of its own accord and back into the socket.
Philip groans, trying to move, his eyes slits of agony.
“Do not-not until I am completely through. Let this healing be a complete one.”
“Calia,” Philip says, turning his head toward the one he would have as mate.
Elise shakes her head. “I must be pragmatic,” her fingers smooth down the rips in his breeches. Flesh on flesh contact is critical, and each time she touches his skin, a ripple of healing seeks a target of injury like an arrow shot true.
“You are the protector, and must be made whole first. When your healing is complete, then I will move on to Calia.”
“After eat,” Adahy corrects.
Elise smiles at his concern of her. She never takes it for granted.
“Where are the guards? What has occurred?” Philip's eyes seek Adahy but it is Elise who answers, “Ulric has returned with Jim and Adira. We saw them with our own eyes.”
Adahy nods, folding his arms as Elise holds Philip's massive ankles and he clenches his teeth against the healing fire produced through her touch.
She has been told it can be nearly as painful as the injury, but in a way that sears rather than breaks.
“Let us go while they are distracted by leadership roles.”
Elise gives him a sharp look. “Those are Adahy's exact thoughts.”
Philip sits up, and Elise turns to Calia's still form.
A large warm hand on her shoulder stays her. Elise looks up at Adahy. He holds the remaining food.
“Eat. Then heal.”
He is right.
Elise eats.
Her healing of Calia is shorter, and for the time gained, they are all grateful.
Chapter 32
Ulric
Ulric's shoulders bunch with tension as Natasha glides away with Brom.
Brom—who has been his treemate since childhood. Who through his actions, infers to take Natasha as mate. At the very least he has claimed her for his new clan. Who Ulric spent time teaching the way of languages so if anything were to befall the clan, he could manage in Ulric's absence.
They fought together against Vaughn from the corrupt clan by the sea. In the end, none of those shared endeavors is sufficient to cause him to remain as Beta to Ulric's Alpha. His actions are gravely disappointing.
Ulric's gaze seeks Adira. At least she managed to keep human form while Brom was speaking of his anarchy as though commenting on the fullness of the moon.
“Well that sucks,” Jim comments and Ulric sighs. The Traveler, who is now a Man of the Tree, is correct. However, verbalizing the interchange is salt in the wound.
“Yeah, it sucks, Jim,” Ulric agrees in the vernacular of Jim's world.
“Listen, Ulric—Brom is an asshat, there's no debating that. But it's time to figure out who we've got left, where the Band guys are, and see if Elise and Adahy are okay.”
“They have healing injuries,” Ulric comments, scenting their differences from where he stands.
He inhales deeply, closing off his other senses, instantly wishing for Brom while hating his defection. His possible claiming of Natasha for his own. Does she want Brom?
“You're growling,” Adira notes, and his people look at Ulric with alarm.
Ulric opens his eyes. A deep rumble continues from his chest. He shifted back to gorillan after Brom's departure and never noticed. His control is slipping along with his emotions.
“Brom has left us.” His eyes spear his audience of perhaps one hundred. Of those, maybe there are twenty women and a possible similar number of elders.
Ulric is pleased that all the elders chose to stay at Ulric's clan. What Brom did weakened everyone of the Tree this day. They are too few as a species to compromise themselves through purposeful separation.
As Brom just did.
Anxious voices, chirps and communication of distress fill the normally quiet woods.
Ulric clucks once, the noise buried, yet deliberately amplified from deep within his throat.
The sounds of the assembled crowd abruptly ceases.
“Nothing will change. He will succeed or fail. This clan will contin
ue.”
“What of Brom's talk of the aberration?” The elder who spoke looks an unspoken accusation at Jim.
Ulric does not direct his attention to Jim. “This new Man of the Tree saved me.” He places his fist above his heart. “I turned Jim as he faced death. He possessed enough ancient memory to conform to First Species.”
Ulric catches Jim beginning to open his mouth. Ulric is well aware of Jim's role of expertise in these matters from his home world.
Ulric turns to Jim. “Let me explain in a way most easily understood.”
Jim's mouth snaps shut, his gorillan eyes are a deeper gold than any of his people. A small amount of Jim's human looks bleed through in his gorillan form. It is a subtle difference, but present.
“Fairly hard not to correct things here, Ulric.”
Ulric allows a smile. Jim is a male of comedic ideas.
“Brom has been influenced by a unique event. Changing Jim has shaped his focus from that of the Tree, to that of a male. Jim is one male, albeit a changed one. If that event is all it took for Brom's wish to separate from his clan of origin, he was never part of this clan to begin with.”
A dull roar of agreement moves through the crowd, and Ulric knows both argument and attribution of Brom's behavior makes sense. “Brom is not satisfied, so he removes himself.” His eyes move across the crowd. “This is good.”
Except for the taking of Natasha.
The elder who spoke earlier folds arms in front of his still-muscular chest, though the hair that covers his gorillan form is silvered. “Females left with him, Alpha. And might I remind you—that your father would have killed Brom.”
Ulric is aware, and does not appreciate the reminder.
“Good point,” Jim comments, nodding a finger in the elder's direction.
Ulric frowns, feeling his beast move thinly beneath his flesh. When emotions run high, Ulric always feels better to give into the primal need to be his beast. Letting his gorilla out to do what his half-form cannot is a natural reaction.
Further—Ulric needs blood. I thirst.
The blood he took from the imposter Man of the Tree seems ages ago, though he knows it was only a few hours. The turmoil, and the fact that he's denied his instinct to mate Natasha, is driving his metabolism dangerously fast. Ulric, like all Men of the Tree, does badly when the thirst consumes him. There are no cohesive thoughts to be had when blood lust is upon him.
savage 07 - the dark savage Page 17