by Ruby Dixon
And a cub stands near Liz’s leg, which definitely counts as provoking.
“Run,” I command her again, but the stubborn woman doesn’t listen. Instead, she raises one of her bone-sliver arrows and aims, waiting. A protective fury comes over me when one of the metlaks bares its big, yellow teeth in my direction. They think to hurt my mate? To take her from me after waiting for so long? I will snap their bones and crush their filthy pelts under my boot before I let them touch her. A feral snarl escapes my throat and I pull one of my deadly bone knives free from its casing, my spear in my other hand.
Liz takes another step backward, ever closer to the edge of the cliff. My heart hammers in my breast, and a wave of pure fear moves over me.
“Liz,” I bark out as one of the metlaks prowls toward her. “Run past me. Go now. I will distract them. Quickly!”
“I’m not leaving you,” she calls out, not looking away from the metlak closest to her.
“Don’t be foolish,” I growl as it paces ever closer to her. Two more steps and he’ll be able to reach her with his long arms. She needs to move fast. “Come, Liz—“
My heart stops as it lunges for her. I cry out and surge forward, my spear flying. It flies through the air and slams into the side of the metlak reaching for my precious mate. It staggers and then falls forward, still reaching for her. I cry out in anger and storm through the snow, moving to stand in front of her.
Another creature bellows and begins to beat on its chest, sending a furious call forth across the snows. The other metlaks respond, and one charges forward. I’ve seen these tactics before. They will rush us to the edge of the cliff and pick off our carcasses later, once they know we are dead. I refuse to fall back.
Sssssthok.
One of Liz’s bone needles flies past and appears in the eye socket of one of the bigger males. It groans and falls into the snow, twitching. Her shot is beautiful, and I see the potential for the weapon.
“Watch your arm,” she calls to me as she raises another arrow and aims it. When another leaps for us, she shoots again, and again, her bone needle hits its mark. The metlak is dead before it can hit the ground.
It is a thing of beauty to see, and fierce pride in my mate surges inside me.
Then, the remaining metlaks scream and charge forward all at once.
My instincts honed from years of hunting, my need to protect fierce within me, I surge forward with a yell of my own. I hear Liz gasp, but it only encourages my ferocity.
They will not get near her. They will have to storm over my dead carcass first.
I launch into the first one with a fury, my bone blade slicing against its wooly neck with such ferocity that it’s nearly severed. I lunge for the next, and instead of fighting me, it ducks away. Another lands on my back, pulling at my hair and clothing. Sharp teeth sink into my shoulder and I hear Liz scream. I jam my knife into the one in front of me, even as the one on my back slides to the ground. I look down and see another one of Liz’s thin bone arrows jutting from its throat.
“I’ve only got the one left,” she cries out behind me, even as two more jump onto me and a third attacks from the front. One on one, they would be no problem. But metlaks are savage, ripping creatures. Already their claws and teeth are sinking into my skin, tearing at me. I growl with pain when one slashes across my face, and blood veils my sight. “Raahosh!” she cries from a distance. “You’re moving too close to the ledge! I—hey! Get back!” Her warning voice changes to one of fear, and I snarl and turn toward her. Three are heading for her, pacing in her direction, their large teeth bared. The one on my back bites at my neck furiously, and I feel shockwaves go through my arm even as my blade sinks into the chest of another.
Must save my mate.
The thought rings in my head over and over again.
Must save Liz.
She is everything.
With a brutal cry, I grab the two metlaks in front of me. My fingers sink into fistfuls of shaggy fur and I pitch toward the cliff.
“Raahosh! Look out!” she cries.
But she does not realize my plan until too late. I hear Liz’s scream of anguish as I topple over the side of the cliff, taking five of the brutal creatures with me.
I will even the odds this way. Maybe she can escape the two or three left.
The memory of Liz’s face swims before my mind moments before I hit the ground with a sickening crunch, and all goes dark.
LIZ
I scream in horror as Raahosh’s long body goes flying over the edge of the cliff, several of the creatures flying over with him. I rush to the side where he went over and look down. It’s at least a thirty foot drop and Raahosh is on his back, crumpled in the snow. One of his legs is at an odd angle and he lies atop a dead metlak. The others are strewn around him, not moving, and the snow is spattered with blood. I can’t tell if he’s alive or dead.
I can’t be alone out here. I can’t.
I can’t lose him.
Hot panic rushes through me. I only have one arrow left and there’s three of the creatures remaining, along with the young one that still frolics and plays in the snow as if this is all a game. I don’t know what to do. They continue to advance and I see wicked claws tipping each finger, and their furby-like faces look more and more ominous as they approach.
And they killed Raahosh. These fucking dicks.
My last arrow trembles in my hand and then I get an idea. I fling my bow aside and grab the metlak youngling as it frolics close, and I jam the arrow under its jaw and pin it against my body. A hostage is the only chance I have — but I don’t know if the creatures are smart enough to realize what a hostage situation is. They look vaguely human-like, but I could be all wrong. They could just stare at me and then come and rip my throat out anyhow.
But they cry out and stop when I grab the young one. It wriggles and squirms in my arms, and its claws sink into my arms, but I hold the arrow against its jaw, grimly determined. I take a step to the side, and they watch me, their eyes wild. They make weird crooning noises in their throats, and the one in my grip responds.
This…might work.
I glance over the edge of the ledge, desperate for a way down. I have to get to Raahosh. Have to. In my head, if I can get to him, I can save him. Let him know that I don’t really hate him, that I’m just confused and unhappy, but that his smiles make the world not so bad…
I pace against the edge, watching the other metlak-things as I creep around the cliff, looking for the way down. I spy something that looks like a footpath and head toward it, my hostage squirming and clawing in my scratch-covered arms. I look at the others, to see if they’re staying back. They hunch in the snow, watching me with predatory eyes. “Raahosh,” I call out, hoping he’ll answer and is fine, and my eyes are just mistaking things. But there’s nothing but silence.
I call his name desperately again as I slide down the steep path. “Raahosh! Please! Answer me!”
The ‘path’ gives out a short distance from the bottom and both I and my captive tumble the last few feet to the ground, only to land in thick snow. The breath is knocked from my lungs and I pant, flat on my back. Next to me, my captive gets up and darts away, heading away from the cliff instead of back toward its parents. It disappears over another snowbank and I consider going after it, but pick myself up and grab my lone arrow and then rush to Raahosh’s side.
“Raahosh?” I press my hand to his chest. There’s blood tingeing his mouth and his eyes are closed. There’s a small puddle of blood where his head was and a sob escapes me at the sight of it. I press against the armored skin over his heart and hear it beating, slow and steady.
Oh, thank God. For a moment, I want to fling my arms around his big blue neck and cry my brains out, but I look up the cliff, my arrow clutched in hand, waiting to see if the others are coming down after me and the child.
But there’s nothing. For several minutes, there’s nothing and I sit alert at Raahosh’s side, waiting. I can keep waiting, or I can help
him. I focus on the fallen man at my side. I run my hands over him, trembling, trying to assess the damage. His leg is at an odd angle, and his breathing is shallow, but I can’t tell if he’s broken ribs or worse. I try not to think about that. His cootie starts up at my touch, and I hope that’s a good sign. “I’m going to get you out of here,” I whisper to his unconscious body. “You can count on me. It’s going to be all right.”
I wish he’d wake up and smile at me. Or frown. Or something. But he’s so still.
One of the metlaks twitches and makes a wounded sound. I gasp and turn to it, my hands scrambling to find a weapon. The only thing I have is my last arrow, and my bow was left atop the ridge.
But it’s not getting up. It makes a pitiful cry and jerks on the ground, as if trying to get itself up but can’t. Its hips are at an odd angle, and as I look around, I see another metlak is moving, just a little. I look at the top of the ridge to see if the others are going to return, but there’s no sign of them.
I think these wounded ones have been left for dead.
My heart gives an uncomfortable little squeeze. Even I wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on our attackers. The sounds they’re making are horrible, and I glance around and spy Raahosh’s bone blade a short distance away. I grab it and stand over one of the wounded creatures. There are five of them in total, but only two are moving. I don’t know that it was a big enough fall to kill them, and I don’t know what I’ll do if they wake up and attack again.
I’m low on options. So I kneel beside the first one. “I’m sorry,” I say, and cut its throat. I remind myself that it’s a mercy killing. That it’s kill or be killed out here, and that it’s wounded beyond its ability to get up and limp home. It still doesn’t make me feel any better. It was easier to do this when they were attacking and there was no time to think or process. I move to the next creature. It’s unmoving, but I cut its throat anyhow, just to be sure. By the time I finish the last one, I’m spattered in blood and crying.
I move to Raahosh’s side and touch my fingers to his cheek. Does he feel cool? Oh God. I don’t know what to do. “Please don’t die on me, Raahosh. Please, please.” I lean over him and give in to girly tears for a bit longer, sobbing. Then, I sit up and wipe my eyes, because tears won’t make it magically better.
I have to get him home to our cave.
“Okay, think, Liz,” I tell myself, and glance around, sniffing. “You have a big honking alien you can’t carry and can’t walk, and you need to get him home.”
I look over at Raahosh and wonder if my cootie has made me stronger. Can I drag him? Our home cave is up the cliff and a few miles away, but there’s got to be a way back up that doesn’t involve the shitty footpath I came down. There has to be another way around. I just have to find it. I stand up and examine Raahosh, then grab his arm and tentatively tug on it.
The fucker is heavy. I pull harder, trying to move him. He makes a low groan of pain and I immediately stop. “Shit. Sorry!” I examine his other arm to see if it’s any better and I can see the bones sticking out of a break near his wrist. Fuck. I can’t tug on that one. It’s just as well, because that test-tug only told me that he was super heavy.
I need a better way.
Desperate, I look around. In the distance are the pink, whippy trees that bend and move with the breeze, and I grab Raahosh’s bone knife and head for them, an idea in my head. When my dad shot a deer, we’d normally tie the legs to a pole and then shoulder it, but there’s no one to hold the other shoulder for me this time. One time, though, I was being a whiny kid and my dad got pissed and made himself a travois out of two branches and a tarp, and dragged the deer home behind him while I blubbered at his side.
God bless me being a shitty kid. I can make a travois and drag Raahosh home.
It takes me nearly an hour to chop down one of the flimsy trees, but they’ll suit my purpose just fine. The ‘trunk’ is big enough for me to grip comfortably, and even though it’s sticky and spongy to the touch, I should be able to carry it just fine. I chop down another, and by the time I drag them back to Raahosh, I’m trembling with exhaustion and I worry I’ve ruined his bone knife by dulling it.
There’s no time to worry about that, though, because a fine snow is now falling and the skies are overcast. If I don’t get Raahosh home, we’re going to be in deep shit. So I kneel to the ground and shrug off the warm cloak he gave me this morning, and begin to tie it down to the poles to make the base of the travois. I use some of the ties on my leggings to tie the cloak down, and by the time I’m done, I’m shivering in the cold, my clothing is wrecked and half gone, and the snow is coming down in a thick blanket.
“Raahosh?” I call softly, tapping his cheek to see if he’s awake. No response. In a way, I’m glad. This will hurt less if he’s unconscious. With an apology in my brain, I grab his good arm and drag/roll him toward the travois. He groans with pain but doesn’t rouse.
I grab the poles, clench the knife between my teeth, and begin to drag my makeshift travois after me. Fuck. It’s heavy, but I’m out of options. I’ll just have to suck it up. We can’t stay here. I bite my lip and begin the long, slow, drag home.
It takes me hours to find the way out of the canyon, but once I do, I’m able to see the remainder of our footprints as dips in the falling snow, and the glacier’s in the distance. I can make it home. I can. My fingers feel like bricks of ice and I have blisters on my hands, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
As I give the travois another tug, Raahosh groans. I gasp and set it down gently, then rush to his side. “Raahosh? Are you awake?”
His head tosses, and then he gazes at me with a pain-glazed stare. I’m not entirely sure he’s aware of where he is. “Liz,” he breathes, and tries to reach for me with his hand. His face contorts in agony and he falls back against the travois.
“Don’t move,” I tell him. “I’m getting you out of here. It’s going to be fine.”
“Leave…me…” he pants. “I am too wounded.”
“Bullshit,” I tell him, though he’s voicing my worst fears. “You’re fine! You just need to rest and recover for a few days. Let the cootie do its work!”
“You’re….not….safe.” His eyes slide closed again.
“I’m fine,” I bellow a little louder than I need to. I lean forward and grab Raahosh by the collar. “Are you listening to me? I’m fine, and you’re going to be fine. Don’t you die on me!” He doesn’t answer, and I panic a little. I shake him, eliciting another wounded groan from him. I don’t care. If he’s groaning, he’s alive. “Don’t you fucking leave me, Raahosh.” I release him and smooth his clothing down, then lean in, putting my hand over his chest. His khui vibrates at my touch, and I decide bribery is the best weapon I have. I place my mouth close to his ear. “If you come out of this alive, Raahosh, I’ll fuck the hell out of you, so help me God.”
RAAHOSH
My mind is a blur of red pain and black dreams. Sometimes my khui resonates in my chest, and everything feels better. Sometimes there is a jolt of dark pain, and I sink further into the blackness. I need to focus, to concentrate, but my mind won’t stay alert.
But I have to, I remind myself. I must protect Liz.
“Liz,” I breathe. “My mate.”
“I’m here,” a soft voice says in the darkness. Tender fingers brush my cheek, and I fight against the tide of pain that threatens to pull me under. My eyelids feel as if someone is sitting on them, they are so heavy. “Relax,” she says, her breath sweet. I feel her lips kiss my cheek, and then she caresses me again. “You’re safe. Just heal, okay?”
I lick my dry lips. “Metlaks—“
“Taken care of. I’ve got a fire and meat drying, and I’ve resharpened your knife.” Her hands smooth down my chest and my arms, and I feel a fiery bolt of pain surge as she does. A hiss of breath escapes my throat. “You’re healing well. Really fast, actually. I had to set your bones. I’m sorry. I know it must hurt. Just relax, okay?”
&nbs
p; My khui thrums in my chest, and I hear hers respond. Even though I am grievously injured and awash in pain, my cock stirs in response. We are taking too long to answer the call of the resonance, and my body reminds me that we must obey soon. “Do not leave me…”
“I won’t,” she says in a soft voice. “Just live. Sleep.” Her fingers brush over my lips. “Sleep,” she repeats again.
And I do.
• • •
I’m in and out for what feels like forever. My mind is full of the soft touches of Liz’s hands, her soothing words as she pours broth down my throat, and the throbbing ache of my body as my khui works to heal it. My limbs are not the only things that ache – my cock burns ferociously for my mate, and I worry that I will wake up, healed, only to fall upon Liz and force her into mating.
I do not think a human would like that. Not with all their rituals of denial.
But my choices are not my own. My body must have time and rest to heal, and so I slip in and out between dreams.
At one point, I wake up, surprisingly clear-headed. There is an ache in my body like a rotten tooth, lingering but not overly painful. I’m able to open my eyes without it feeling a chore, though, and I look over to the fire.
Liz is there, my leather tea-pouch boiling over a tripod placed over the fire. She sharpens my knife against a rock and as I look over, I see strips of dried meat hanging from a net of woven reeds placed against the wall. Her bow – no, a new one – is placed against the far wall, and a companion to it lies unstrung nearby.
My mouth feels as if it is leather. I lick my lips and try to sit up, thirsty. I am weak, and my khui throbs and hums with hunger.
Liz looks over at me with surprise. “Raahosh!” She moves over to me and puts a hand on my chest. “Don’t get up. Seriously. You’re still weak.”