by Ruby Dixon
He licks me with renewed enthusiasm, and then it’s just too much. I’ve gone too long without release, and it’s all built up in my system. The moment he pushes a big fingertip against my core, my entire body jerks, and I come. I come so fast and so hard that I cry out, startling Pacy awake.
Pashov doesn’t even lift his head, just keeps licking and tonguing me, lapping up every last drop of juice between my thighs. And I keep coming like a freight train, my entire body trembling.
Pacy hiccups in his basket, then is silent, and I bite down on one of the leather blankets, trying to muffle my orgasm as another fierce ripple of pleasure rips through me. Oh my god, he won’t stop licking. He just keeps going on and on. My eyes roll back in my head, and he just grips my hips tighter, going in for another round. I’m going to be unable to stand in the morning if he keeps this up. I tap his shoulder, and when that doesn’t get his attention, I yank on his good horn.
He lifts his head, bright blue eyes glowing in the darkness. “Mine,” he says thickly.
I shiver at how ferocious he is. “Want you,” I pant. “Inside me.”
Pashov moves over me, his big body settling over mine, and I eagerly wrap my legs around his hips. His tail lashes against my leg like a mad thing, and it just makes me even more riled up. He braces his hands next to my shoulders and looks up at Pacy’s basket. “The kit—”
I shake my head, pressing a finger to his lips. “Back to sleep,” I whisper. No second crying after the first initial noise means he’s fine.
He nods and touches my face. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead, he bends his head and shifts his hips. The head of his cock pushes against my entrance, and I cant my hips to welcome him. It’s been far too long since I’ve been filled. Pashov thrusts into me, so hard that my body jolts across the blankets, but it feels incredible. I can feel every inch of him seated deep inside me, his spur rubbing in that maddening way against my clit.
I wrap my arms tightly around him and nod, encouraging him to go on. He thrusts again, and then is pumping into me, fast and furious and so good that I’m biting down on my lip because I know I’m going to start crying out again. Another orgasm is about to blast its way through me, thanks to his spur, and I decide not to fight it. I just let go and totally give in, losing myself to the moment. One endless orgasm crashes into another, and I’m barely aware of Pashov straining over me.
He comes in the next moment, and I’m surprised by how quickly he gets his release. It’s all right, though. Right now it’s all about connecting again. And I’ve come so many times, so fast and so hard, that I don’t mind that he got his in a flash.
Pashov collapses on top of me, all sweaty, velvety skin, and I cling to him with arms and legs, desperate to keep every inch of our skin touching. I need this. I need my mate’s touch. I’m worn out, exhausted, but this is the best I’ve felt in weeks. And a happy, sated little smile curves my mouth when he rolls onto his side and pulls me along with him, letting my smaller body sprawl over his chest.
Now, it’ll come, I think drowsily. He’ll remember that he always grabs my ass right about now. No tail, he’ll say, and spend the next half hour petting and stroking my butt like it’s something special.
But he doesn’t.
He touches my hair, panting, and seems content to let me lie on top of him.
And as one moment ticks into the next, my skin prickles with just how…different this is. This isn’t our normal MO. At all. Pashov and I, we have a ritual. We’re not the most inventive or imaginative, and I like it that way. I like it that my mate kisses me for what feels like hours before he moves on to my breasts, and then licks my pussy before penetration. It’s like he’s going down a menu, and I enjoy that.
Except tonight…he didn’t kiss me. At all.
And he’s still not grabbing my butt. His hand rests at my waist.
My heart hurts all over again.
I can’t help it. I start to cry. At first it’s just a sniffle, but as one moment passes, and another, I feel more alone.
I feel…like I cheated on my mate.
Which is so stupid, but this wasn’t my Pashov. This wasn’t my kiss-hungry, loving, silly-and-grabby-handed mate. This was a stranger wearing his face, and I slept with him because I miss my mate so fucking much.
“Stay-see?” His hand moves against my waist, and I can hear the question in his voice. “Are you…well?”
Am I well? I press a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle my sobs because I don’t want to wake Pacy up. I want to push off of him and retreat to the far side of the tent. I want to bury my face in his chest and let him stroke my hair and tell me everything’s going to be all right. “I wish you could remember,” I choke out. “Something. Anything. About how it used to be with us.”
I feel him suck in a breath. “Me as well. I would give anything to remember.”
And that somehow makes it worse.
PASHOV
The greatest moment of my life is followed by my lowest.
Being inside my mate? Sharing pleasure with her and feeling the sated release that comes with mating? The low thrum of my khui in my chest? The feel of Stay-see’s small human form resting on top of me? I feel like the strongest male in the world.
It means nothing when she begins to cry.
Her shoulders shake with weeping, and even though I ask what is wrong, she can’t speak between her sobs. Only I wish you could remember.
To her, I am still a stranger. This is why she cries. She misses her mate. And I feel…like half of a man. For the first time since I woke up and was told the strange news that two turns of the seasons had passed and I had forgotten them, I feel like I am missing. Missing something big.
Before now, it was just strange. To look at Stay-see’s odd human face and try to fit it into my memories was a game. Pacy? My son? Interesting, but I did not feel strain or worry when I did not remember him. It was just an oddity. It would come back in time. Nothing to worry over.
But now? I worry.
Now, I feel like less. I have mated with her wrong, and she realizes it.
I have mated wrong.
I have no memories of mating before this. How can I have forgotten something that feels so important? So primal? So perfect? Yet I have clearly mated with Stay-see many times in the past, and I have done it wrong this time, and this is why she weeps. It is yet another reminder that I am not the mate she thinks I am. And it hurts her.
Her tears hurt me. They wound my heart. I want to be whole, for her. I want to remember what I have lost. I want it so badly that my fists clench at my side and my entire body strains with frustration.
On my chest, my small mate trembles, and her tears wet my skin. Even though she lies atop me, I feel Stay-see is more distant now than ever. I do not want that. I want to be close to her. I want to remember.
I need it.
I must comfort my mate, though. Her distress is destroying me. Hesitant to bother her more, I stroke her back. Once. Slowly. Tentatively. When she does not push me away, I continue to run a hand up and down her smooth back, petting her. She is so soft. Her entire body feels like a soft clasp. Even her back is nothing but pink softness and a hint of bumps underneath her skin along her spine. There is no bony plating to protect her softness. There is no tough, sinewy muscle. She is…fragile.
She is mine to protect. From everything.
I hold her as she cries, her tears wetting my chest, and every one of them feeling like an icicle pressed to my heart. I must fix this. I must. But how? I worry over this, wondering, even as she slowly cries herself to sleep. Even when she no longer shudders with tears, I still hold her.
I want to hold her forever. I want back what I lost.
I did not realize until now just how much I had lost.
Even in her sleep, Stay-see turns to me for protection. She shivers and huddles against me in a deep slumber, and I wrap my body around her to keep her warm. Pacy is undisturbed in his crib, but the cold troubles my
frail human.
She is mine, now. I do not care that I do not remember her. She is mine, and I am not going to give her up. I will fight with every breath in my body to make her happy.
I do not sleep that night. Even though I am tired, I cannot. I push my mind, trying to recall every small thing that I can. My sister’s bald head when she was born. The first time Zennek and I went hunting with our father, Borran. My first taste of sah-sah. The crushing moment when Hemalo resonated to Asha and I lost my last hope of having a resonance mate. Of hunts, both good and bad. I remember so many things.
But of Stay-see, there is nothing but blankness. Of Pacy, my son, nothing.
And it makes me angry.
I have lost her. I thought when she reached for me, that we would mate and it would be pleasurable. I did not realize that in doing so, it would hurt her. I never want to hurt her again.
In the morning, the storms have cleared from the skies and the snow no longer falls. The ominous clouds are in the distance, and the weather has warmed. It will be a good day for travel. Not for me, because the snow will be thick and slushy due to the suns, but for my mate, who cannot stand the cold. I get up from our shared furs and dress, watching her. She is a small bundle under the furs, still sleeping heavily.
I will get her food and let her sleep for a bit longer.
I emerge from the tent and use a handful of snow to wash myself, gazing about the campsite. There is a fire this morning, the faint scent of smoke permeating the air. Several human women sit around it, and everywhere the camp is full of sa-khui packing gear, sharpening weapons, or grabbing a bite to eat before setting off on the trail again.
I must find the healer. I must have her put my memories back somehow.
A tiny sneeze and then a gurgle catches my attention. Pacy. Quickly, I duck back into the tent and pull him out of his basket. His lower half is damp, and the smell of piss makes my nostrils burn. For a moment, I think about waking Stay-see, but then I feel shame. Surely I can change my own son. It cannot be that difficult. I pull off his filthy wrap, ignoring his wiggling and trying to remember how Stay-see did it yesterday. Her hands moved so fast. I find a square piece of leather that looks like it has been washed many times, with cords on the sides. This must be it. I toss his filthy wrap aside and try to put the new one on him, but he wiggles and bounces and makes it nearly impossible to do so. Exasperated, I wrap one of my own cloaks around his lower half, tuck him under my arm, and head into the encampment to seek the healer.
I head to the fire first, where there are many kits and females. Surely Maylak will be with them. She has a new kit of her own. But the faces that look at me are curious blanks. I do not recall their names. I try to focus on one. Ah, that one. With the black hair and the pale face. My brother Zennek’s mate with the funny name and the odd voice. I focus on her. “Have you seen the healer?”
Her black eyebrows go up and she looks worried. “Are you hurt? Shall I get Zen-nahk?”
I squint at her. It takes me a moment to realize that in her strange, rolling voice, she is speaking of my brother. Zennek, not Zen-nahk. “No, I merely wish to ask her a question.”
“Um, I don’t mean to point out the obvious, but your son is naked,” says another female. A chorus of giggles meet this announcement. “You want me to go wake up Stacy?”
“Stay-see must sleep,” I tell the giggly females and glance over at Pacy. My wrap has moved off of his shoulders, and his tiny tail is waving in the breeze. He gives me a delighted smile and taps a little hand on my face, and I chuckle to myself. How is such a small being mine? I feel a fierce, protective surge and hug him closer, re-wrapping him. “I will keep looking for Maylak. My thanks.”
“Check by Vektal’s tent,” offers a quiet female. Aehako’s mate, I think. She points in the direction of the far end of the encampment.
I nod and head toward the cluster of tents there.
At this end of the camp, Vektal crouches over a stone, spear in hand. He is using it to trace a map into the snow for Bek, Taushen, and the other hunters. Perhaps he is sending them off on a hunt while we travel. Days ago, I would have been the first to volunteer. Hunting is a source of pride, and I take great pleasure in it. But days ago, I was not thinking about my mate, Stay-see, or my small son, who even now is relieving himself on my arm and my favorite wrap. I adjust the leathers to try and find a dry spot, and when I do not find one, swap it out for the wrap I am wearing. I re-bundle him, tuck the filthy leather under my arm, and move to the other side of the camp, where the chief’s mate is talking with Asha as they pack their gear.
“Have you seen the healer?” I ask.
Asha frowns at me and moves forward, taking Pacy from my arms. “Why is your son naked, Pashov? Did you hit your head again?”
The chief’s mate gasps. “Asha!”
“I did not know how to tie his clothing,” I admit, and a flash of memory pulses through my mind. Of Asha, weeping over her small daughter, born too soon for even a khui to save. My gut clenches. It is a fresh memory, though it must be many seasons old by now, because I have my own son. I let her take Pacy, noting how her eyes light up at the sight of him. “Can you watch him for me for a moment, my friend? I wish to talk to the healer.”
Asha pulls Pacy close and holds her cheek to his, a peaceful smile on her face. “Of course. I am going to dress him properly, though.”
“If you do, you have my thanks.” I offer her the wet, pissed-on leathers I am carrying. “What do I do with this?”
“You take it back with you and clean it when we arrive at our new home,” Asha says.
The chief’s mate grimaces. “My laundry pile is growing enormous, too. If we stop near a hot spring, I’m going to ask Vektal if we can take a day and just clean clothing. Babies go through so many changes, and there’s no time to set out anything, much less dry it.” She turns her gaze to me. “Does Stacy have enough clothing for Pacy? Do you need extras? I know she lost everything in the cave-in.”
“I…did not think to ask. I will talk to her.” I feel shame. How have I not thought about my mate’s comfort? Every time I turn around, there is another task I am failing at. I must do better.
“Go find the healer,” Asha says, bouncing my son and making him laugh. “She is in the small tent near the end.”
I nod at the females and head toward the tent indicated. The flaps are closed, and so I clear my throat, unsure how to signal that I am waiting outside. I do not wish to be rude if she is mating with Kashrem.
Esha’s tiny head sticks out of the tent a moment later. Maylak’s kit. So small in my old memories, but a gap-toothed toddler now. I grin at her. “Is your mother inside?”
Maylak emerges, moving Esha gently aside. “Pashov. Are you well?” Worry crosses her face. “Does your head trouble you?”
“It does not hurt, but it does trouble me,” I tell her. “May we sit?”
“My tent is full.” Her smile is apologetic. “But there are endless amounts of snow we may sit in. Kashrem, watch Esha, please,” she calls into the tent and straightens, gesturing at the snow. “Shall we?”
I follow her a short distance away, to a rocky outcropping overlooking the valley below. It is peaceful here, the snow thick and a herd of dvisti staining the snow in the distance. I take a deep breath, inhaling the crisp air. Normally I enjoy the turn of the weather toward the brutal season, but now, with a mate and kit and no shelter, it fills me with a vague sense of dread. I glance at the healer, but her expression is as calm as ever.
“Tell me what is bothering you,” Maylak says, voice gentle. “Perhaps I can help.”
I extend my hands toward her so she can touch them and use her healing magic on my khui. “My memories. I need them back.”
Maylak looks startled, pausing before she takes my hands. She grips them a moment later and gives me a gentle squeeze. “I have done all I can for that, and your horn. Some things take time to heal, Pashov.”
“Try again,” I demand. When she frowns, I re
alize I am being unfair. “Please,” I ask her. “I want to remember my mate. My kit. I…there is nothing there when I think of them. I should at least remember something, should I not? The memories must be there. Can we just try to find them again?”
She must sense my desperation, because she gives my hands another squeeze. “You were very hurt when they pulled you from the cave,” she murmurs. “Your brain was very damaged. It took everything your khui had—and mine—to keep you alive. I am pleased that all that happened to you was memory loss, Pashov. Do you realize how close you came to dying?”
“I am still dying.” My voice cracks. “My mate’s pain is destroying me. Help me, Maylak. Please. Try again.”
She nods and closes her eyes. I close mine, too, waiting for her healing to sweep over me. I feel it a moment later—a subtle warmth that pours through my body. My khui shivers in my chest, responding to hers. I force myself to relax, to slow my breathing, to let my khui speak and tell her of the pain I am in. I need my mate back. I need my life back.
There must be a way.
The warmth recedes, and I open my eyes, frowning. That was…fast. I rack my brain, trying to think of the first time I saw Stay-see. Of memories of how she arrived and our quick resonance.
But there is…nothing.
My disappointment is obvious to Maylak. Her expression is apologetic as she releases my hands. “Your mind is as healed as I can make it. Only time can say if your memories will come back, Pashov. Be gentle with yourself.”
I rub a hand over my brow, frustrated. “Can you try again in a few days?”
“There is no further injury to be healed,” Maylak tells me, and there is a firmness to her voice that wasn’t there before. “Your memories will either come back, or they will not. I must save my healing for emergencies.”