by Ruby Dixon
It is easier that way.
As we travel, snow continues to pour from the skies, and the day remains cold and dark. The kit fusses, and she nurses him off and on. He grows more irritable as the day goes on, and I can tell Stay-see grows tired. How she can carry him all day and not grow frustrated shows me how patient she is. My mother would happily take him for a few hours, and I make a mental note to ask her about it tomorrow. Perhaps I can give Stay-see time to take a nap during the day while we travel. I am lost in thought for a time, trying to figure out a way to bring my mother or my sister back to us so Pacy can—
“Pashov!” Stay-see’s voice is full of terror.
I halt, dropping the sled handles into the snow, and turn around. “What? What is it?”
Stay-see presses a hand to her chest, her face as white as the bone-handles of the sled. “D-do we have to s-stay so close to the cliff?”
Eh? I look over to the side. We are skirting a low, narrow valley where the snow will be thicker. Instead of going through it, we are moving along the cliff’s edges. I am following the others as they leave a trail, and we naturally walk where the snow is less deep, usually along the top of a sloping hill. “You are safe, Stay-see. I will not let you fall.”
She bites her lip, and I am surprised to see her mouth is the same color as her square little teeth. All of the cheery pinkness is gone from her small face. “I’m scared,” she whispers.
I try not to frown with worry. “You wish me to go into the valley? It is dangerous in this weather.”
“I…no, I guess not.” She is breathing quick. Her eyes flick back and forth, and I realize she is panicking. “It’s just…do we have to be so high?”
Pacy wails, pulling at her braid, his little face screwing up with frustration. I know she is not herself when she raises a trembling hand to her mouth, and she keeps looking over at the valley below.
“Stay-see,” I say, my voice calm. “I will not let you and Pacy fall. This I promise.”
“I know. I just. I can’t. High. Really high.” Her words are quick and pulsing, her movements twitchy. I begin to worry that she will lose her grip on Pacy, who is already squirming. I pluck him from her lap, and his wet leathers slap against my arm. “He needs changing.”
“Yes. Of course.” She blinks rapidly, but her face is still bone-white. She cannot stop staring at the valley below.
I must get her away from this. “Stay-see.” I keep my voice calm. Is her fear of heights something I have forgotten? Am I a terrible mate because I am torturing her by bringing her this high? I eye the cliff, but this path is the best one, already rutted with the sleds that have gone before us. It will be quickest if I continue forward instead of taking her to fresh snow. “I am going to change Pacy’s leathers,” I tell her. “And then I am going to carry him for a while. You must calm down.”
“I’m calm,” she snaps, and sounds anything but. Her trembling hand goes to her brow. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be calm. I know it’s stupid. I just—”
“No,” I tell her. Greatly daring, I reach out and brush my knuckles over her cheek. Her face is ice cold, but she looks up at me with big, glowing eyes and a frightened expression that makes my heart ache. “It is not stupid. You are frightened, but I am here. I will not let you fall.”
Her hand brushes over mine, and she rubs her cheek against my hand. I feel a surge move through my body—protective, possessive, and full of need. “I trust you,” she whispers.
I gaze down into her eyes and feel a connection to her. Something deep inside—
“Why have you stopped moving?” Bek bellows, storming up to the side of our sled. He moves along the edge of the cliff, and plants his hands on the side of my sled. Stay-see jerks away with a whimper, and the moment is lost.
I want to snarl at Bek, but my anger at him will not bring the connection with Stay-see back. It is gone. “We need a moment.”
“Why? We are traveling. You can have many moments when we stop for the night.” Bek raises a spear, gesturing at the caravan of sleds far ahead of us. “You will lose sight of the group if you go any slower.”
“We need a moment,” I repeat, a low growl rumbling in my throat. I adjust my son on my arm. “Unless you wish to change my son’s leathers for him?”
Bek gives a constipated frown, then glares at me. “I do not think so.”
I flick a hand at him. “Then go on. We will move again soon.”
He snorts and mutters something under his breath, storming forward.
I toss my light shoulder-wrap onto the snow and set my son down on it. He makes a burbling sound and raises his hands into the air, reaching for me. His tail flicks wildly back and forth, and there’s a bright, gummy smile on his face that makes me laugh with sheer joy. When he makes that face, he looks like Farli did when she was young. Does he look like me? I touch his small features. I have never seen my own face, but I must look somewhat like my sister.
His legs wiggle in the air and I peel one corner of his leather breeches off. It is hot and wet, and a horrible stench rises in the air. “Faugh!” I bury my nose in the crook of my elbow, trying to protect it from the smell. “Is he sick?”
Stay-see gives a small laugh—still fragile, but sounding more like herself. “No, he’s just a baby.”
“Does his dung always smell so foul?” I return the scrap of leather to its place at his belly in an attempt to cut the stench.
“Not always.” After a moment, she adds, “But a lot of the time, yes.”
I glance over at her. She’s lying down on the sled, and the hood is pulled over her face. Maybe she feels better now that she cannot see the cliffs. Good. I will fix the problem of my son’s leathers, and I will carry him so she can relax for a time. “What do I do with the dirty one? I have never changed a kit’s leathers…or if I have, I do not remember.”
“You have,” she says, and her voice is so soft. “But I can walk you through it.”
For some reason, I feel sad. It is just leathers…I look down into my son’s happy face as he waves his arms and legs. And I wonder what else it is I have missed.
4
STACY
Today makes my heart hurt so much. For a little while, it was almost like having my Pashov back. Not the Pashov with the single horn and the confused smile on his face when he changes diapers. For a brief, shining moment, we felt like husband and wife. Or mate and mate, I suppose. Like nothing had ever come between us.
But something always comes along to burst that bubble.
I hear a happy giggle and peer out from under the hood of my fur wraps. I’ve been keeping my head down and my eyes closed ever since we started traveling along the cliffs. I’d forgotten—safe and cozy in the tribal cave—that this land is nothing but peaks and valleys and snow as far as the eye can see. There’s not a lot of flat surface, and I’ve got a killer fear of heights, which means that when it gets rockier, I get freaked out. I want to go down low, where it feels safer to me, but Pashov says it’s not as safe or fast to travel there, and I trust him.
I don’t like the answer, but I trust him.
I glance out and see Pacy wiggling in his papoose, strapped on Pashov’s big, broad shoulders. Pacy’s small hands are waving in the air, and he’s laughing that happy, careless baby giggle that just makes you feel good all over to hear it. I don’t see what he’s laughing at, though. Then, a moment later, a long strand of leather with one of Pashov’s decorative feathers comes flying over his shoulder. Pacy gives another shrill giggle of delight and tries to grab it as Pashov pulls it slowly back. He’s rigged his sled to where both handles are strapped across a chest harness and it leaves him one hand free. I guess he’s using it to tease Pacy with a feather toy. It reminds me of someone playing with a cat, and I smile. I’ve never thought to entertain my baby while he’s on my back. He’s going to be spoiled, but I can’t find it in my heart to chide Pashov.
For a man that doesn’t have any memories of his son, he’s really, really good with hi
m.
I look out at the sky, but the snow’s still coming down in thick, heavy flakes. They’re so big they’re practically Cornflake-sized…and now I’m hungry for a bowl of Cornflakes and some warm milk. Sigh. I know that’s a pipe dream, but right now I’d settle for it to stop snowing. The world looks like one big gray and white blur, and the wind is picking up. My face feels hot and wind-burned under the cloak, and I’m sure it’s just going to get worse as we continue on. Nothing to do about it but suck it up, I suppose. “Is it almost time to stop?” I call out. I’m exhausted, and all I’ve done is ride all day.
“Not quite yet,” Pashov calls over his shoulder. “If you are yet tired, sleep longer. We have another valley to cross soon.”
Which means more walking along the ridge instead of in the valley itself. Eek. The thought makes me anxious as hell, but there’s nothing I can do. The sa-khui know the safest route of travel and are familiar with these lands. If it’s safer walking along a cliff instead of in a valley, I’ll take their word for it. And it’s not like I plan on ever making this journey again.
I just have to stick it out. I bury my head back under the blankets and hope I can fall asleep.
Seems like I must be pretty tired, because I do fall asleep. Right away.
When I wake up later, it’s bitterly cold and dark. Pacy isn’t crying, and I’m still exhausted despite riding around all day like a queen on her chariot. I sit up on the sled, peering around in the darkness. “Pashov?”
“I am here,” he says, and footsteps crunch in the snow before a warm hand touches mine. “Your tent is ready.”
“Where is the bonfire? Where is Pacy?” My breasts feel heavy with milk, and I resist the urge to put a hand on them as I yawn. “God, why am I so tired?”
“It is a taxing journey,” he says, and his hand goes under my thighs, his arm around my back, and then I’m being lifted into the air as if I weigh nothing. “Pacy is asleep. My mother fed him a mash while you slept, though he will probably be hungry in a short time. And there is no bonfire tonight. The weather is too bad.”
“Oh.” I huddle closer to his chest, because it’s petrifyingly freezing out here in the wind. “That sucks. I’m freezing.”
“I will stay with you tonight,” Pashov says in a low voice, and I feel his body bob and move as we duck into the tent.
“You don’t have to,” I begin to protest, but it’s not much warmer in here. The furs are spread on the snow, and as he sets me down, I begin shivering all over again.
“Yes, I do,” he says. He picks Pacy up out of his basket and hands him to me.
I take my baby, but he’s fast asleep, his body a heavy, solid weight. He doesn’t wake up even when being shifted, so he must not be hungry. I lie down and settle him next to me.
A moment later the tent flap closes and the wind becomes muffled. I can hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing. Pashov shifts in the darkness, and I feel his big body move onto the furs next to me. Not too close, but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “Are you hungry?” he murmurs. “I have some rations—”
“Not hungry. Just tired.”
“Then sleep. Everything is taken care of.”
I lie down. In the darkness, I can feel the blankets shift. Pashov’s body brushes against my arm, and I realize he’s lying down on the other side of Pacy. It’s almost like we’re a family again, and I’m hit with a bolt of such intense longing.
Please get your memory back soon, Pashov, I pray silently.
The wind picks up in the middle of the night, the walls of the tent shaking. The temperature drops again, and even with Pashov’s big body providing heat, it’s still chilly. Pacy wakes up to feed, but then goes back to sleep, completely unaffected by the wintry storms.
Me? I feel like a popsicle. And I’m drawn impossibly to all that heat. I tuck Pacy into his basket at the head of the bed, and slide a little closer to Pashov under the covers.
His arms go around me, and he pulls me against him. I’m enveloped in warmth, and his skin is touching mine, and it feels so good that I want to cry. My eyes well up, but I work on composing myself. The last thing I want to do is freak him out. It takes several minutes before my eyes stop pricking and the knot in my throat recedes enough that I can relax. I’ve missed my mate so much.
Here I keep thinking I’m being strong, and all it takes is a brush of his skin against mine to make me collapse again.
I rest my head in the crook of his arm, and my hand goes to his chest. He’s shirtless. I shouldn’t be surprised. Even the worst of the weather seems to roll right off of the sa-khui and their velvety blue skin. I should pick my hand up and keep it to myself. I tell myself this, but I can’t quite seem to lift my fingers. He’s so warm, and familiar, and I’m hit by a wave of arousal.
Oh boy.
It’s been weeks since Pashov and I last had sex. Weeks since I’ve felt the touch of my mate. My body’s craving him, hungry for his touch. For affection. For love. For connection. And so, even though I know I shouldn’t, I trace my fingertips lightly over his stomach muscles. One of my favorite things to do when we’re in bed is just to touch him. To feel the differences between his skin and mine. To explore every hard muscle with my fingers and get to know every intimate inch of him. Even when I was a jillion months pregnant with Pacy and completely uninterested in sex because I was so uncomfortable, we’d lie in bed for hours and just touch. His fingers would move over my skin, caressing me, and I would explore him with my hands, and we’d talk.
We’ve always been a handsy couple. That hasn’t changed since the day we met. After the first time we had sex, Pashov grabbed my ass and jiggled it with one big hand. “No tail,” he’d said, as if both awed and surprised by this fact. And I had laughed, because it seemed such a ridiculous thing to say. Of course humans don’t have a tail.
That little ritual has continued for us. He always grabs my butt and jokes about my lack of a tail. He says it’s because he likes to make me laugh. It’s just a silly, corny moment between mates, but god, I have missed it so stinking much.
For now, though, I’ll take the touching.
“Is this okay?” I ask as I trace my fingers along his ribs. I can feel them a bit more prominently than I could in the past, but I know that’s because he was sick. He’s better now, and other than the horn, there are only small changes left behind.
In response, his hand covers mine. His thumb strokes over the back of my hand, and it’s such an easy, affectionate gesture that I’m lost. This is my mate, isn’t it? That’s how Pashov always comforts me, with caresses. Touches. Simply grounding me with a caress of his hand.
In that moment, I really, really want sex. My khui fires up in my chest, thrumming. I can feel the need spreading all through my body. This isn’t resonance, this is just me responding to my mate, his nearness, my need.
So I stroke my hand over his chest, gliding over one of his nipples to see how he’ll react. He immediately pulls me tighter against him, nuzzling at my hair. My mate. My love. “Touch me?”
He groans low in his throat, the sound nearly muffled by the howling wind, and then he’s pushing me onto my back, tearing at my leathers. Yes! I want this! I undo the tie at the front of my tunic, letting it fall completely open.
His hands are immediately on my breasts, caressing my skin and rubbing over my nipple.
I whimper, because they’re extremely sensitive, especially while nursing. I can feel a bit of milk dribbling down each breast, but in the next moment, his mouth is there, lapping at the nipple, and I don’t even care. I grab a handful of his hair and hold him to my breasts, so aroused and wild that my hips are arching up from the furs.
Pashov’s mouth is everywhere, nipping at my breasts, his tongue moving over my nipples, licking at the valley between them. There’s no subtlety in either of us, just need.
He licks lower, moving down my belly. It’s a little jiggly post-baby, and covered in stretchmarks, but it also doesn’t
matter. He flicks his tongue at my navel, then tugs at my leggings, hauling them down my hips.
I try to help out, wiggling, lifting my butt into the air to free the leathers, when he pulls down on them, and I kick them off. Almost feels like a stupid move because it’s so damn cold, but in the next moment, Pashov slides his big body down, and his arms cover my hips and thighs. He pushes them apart and slides even farther down in the tent, and then buries his face between my legs.
A sobbing gasp escapes me. “Yes!”
He growls low in his throat, and his hands tighten on my hips. He licks my folds, exploring me with his tongue, and the broken shaft of his horn jabs against my thigh. I don’t even care. I just want him to keep licking. He moves all over, his tongue with all those fantastic ridges dragging up and down my pussy. It’s like he’s deliberately avoiding my clit to make me crazy, and when he starts to lick my core again, I get impatient and slip a hand to my clit, desperate to get off. He gives a possessive growl and bats my hand away, and in the next moment, his mouth and tongue are there, licking and sucking at that tiny bit of flesh.
And oh god, this is exactly what I needed.
My toes curl, and I cry out. He makes another growling sound and redoubles his efforts, until I’m writhing and squirming on the blankets. The pattern of his mouth is impossible to figure out, and just when I think he’s about to speed up and push me over the edge, he changes tactics and begins soft, slow licks that make me even crazier. Frantic to come, I try to push his mouth aside so I can touch my clit myself, but he growls and pushes it aside again. God, that should not be nearly as hot as it is. He’s so…possessive of my pussy.