Fox’s Night: A Foxy Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (Foxes of the Midnight Sun Book 3)

by K. R. Alexander

  Chapter 26

  We met anew that spring, not only my family and me, but all of us; the reds and silvers, my mates and my latest rebirth. Yet no new evolution for the five of us was to last.

  As soon as they were recovered, with snow patches still on the ground, Demik and Mej accompanied a group of six others to return, due east, to Dawson City. They could not wait if there was to be any hope of bringing the rest of the Aaqann River Clan back here to the lake in skin for kits and all to make the journey. It would mean months again of travel. At least, if they went before the last snow melted, they could have a chance of making it back to us before the first snow fell.

  I promised Demik we would be here, that we would wait, not leave this camp, even if it came to winter, and they set out in fur early in May to make the journey back as quickly as possible. It would be the return that would take so long.

  I ached to go, to be with them and make sure they made it back safe. But I was too weak, sick and grieving with freshly opened emotional wounds after the journey I’d already made. Anyway, Demik would never have allowed it. He had a perfect sense of direction. He would get them there. Also, I think Demik was coming to terms with the idea that I was simply a fox—no divine messenger. I hoped so. I hoped he knew it was his strength and the others that got us here. Not mine.

  I spent those first weeks in a daze—like all the others. Sleeping, eating watery venison soups, trying to help and be useful as the summer home was set up along the river.

  By the time Demik and Mej left, I felt more clearheaded. It was time to face new meetings with old friends. First the lake. Then Black Ice. Then … Komu.

  Ondrog was just getting his strength back. I slept against him but didn’t see much else of him those early weeks. Komu, though, feeling better and at loose ends when Mej left, seemed a stray all over again. A solitary fox in a way he probably never had been before. He must be about the age Black Ice and I had been that summer.

  I sat on the rocks at sunrise where we’d first gone swimming, actively remembering, thinking of all that had happened here, when I saw Komu, also up before anyone else, watching me from a far distance, where the river met the lake.

  I thought he looked wistful, though I was too far away to see his expression. What I could be sure about was how very alone he looked, how unusual it was to see him on his own without another fox in sight. Mej would already be fifty miles away.

  I watched him, smiled, and hoped he would understand.

  After a time, Komu made his way, slowly, gaze downturned against the rising sun and golden light, along the shore to my rocks.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” His hair was long enough to fall in his eyes as he looked down. He was lit with that surrounding golden halo, only it was at his front, the side I was seeing, not behind, but ahead.

  I held my hand out to him.

  Komu removed his moccasins before wading out to me in the freezing water. He climbed to join me on the dry rocks.

  We all had moccasins and clothes in some form or other, loaned or given, while we worked hard to make garments of our own and return what we could.

  I kept a grip on his hand while he settled beside me, then watched lake and sunrise together in silence for a long time.

  “I’m sorry,” Komu said at last, a whisper among the calls of geese newly returning to the valley and lake. “For … what you’ve been through. You’re so… You’re the brightest spirit I’ve ever known. I had no idea… I’m sorry.”

  I watched him until Komu looked at me. “What about all that’s happened? Your people were on the verge of dying out. Now … if Demik and Mej and the others succeed… Don’t you believe Earth Mother has a reason for all things?”

  Again, Komu dropped his gaze. “One person should not have to die, and another to suffer, for a third to be saved.”

  “Have to? No … no one should have to. If only we could live without death and suffering. But we can’t. We don’t. We can’t escape pain, but we can find growth after each fire. We can know that things are not as bad as they might have been. I might have died in that cage. Tem might not have gone fishing with her Gray that day. Worst of all for me … I might never have remembered. I might never have found home, or been able to honor his memory. Instead, I remembered, thanks to all of you. We could have died, but we have come together for another sunrise; new light, new hope and futures for dozens of people in a chain of events starting out because one person died.”

  I squeezed his hand and looked down at our reflections. “I’m sorry too. I’m sorry Black Ice is gone, and died the way he did. I’m sorry I forgot him for so long. I’m ashamed I could do such a thing. I’m sorry about what happened to your people and that I did such a poor job helping you to a new home when I was the best hope you had. But there’s so much more I’m not sorry about.” I watched him again until he met my eyes. “Mostly, more than anything else, the four of you. At the end of it … I met you. That was worth the longest, darkest nights of all.”

  Komu looked down at our hands, deeper color rising in his cheeks—just like Black Ice. “We … we shouldn’t have. If we’d known what you’d been through with your mate… You don’t owe us anything. You need some time…”

  “It’s been many winters since my mate died. Loving all of you … that’s my redemption. Your love is the most precious gift I could have found. The best healing I could have asked for.”

  “It is?” He shifted, even more uncomfortable, glancing at me sideways. “We thought, perhaps … well … when you remembered…” He shook his head.

  Demik’s words came back to me with a plummeting feeling in my stomach. About taking advantage of me?

  “Komu? What did they say to you before they left? They didn’t think … it was over? Not after all we’ve been through?”

  More embarrassed, he wouldn’t look at me at all. “I’m sorry, Summit. We want to be there for you. We just didn’t know how you’d feel now. I think … maybe they wanted to go because they wanted you to have your own space. Mej…” He chewed his lip, finishing slowly, “…told me to leave you alone. That we had to start over with you—to be on whatever terms you decide… I couldn’t stay away, seeing you out here every night and morning alone. You’ve been alone so much. I just wanted you to know … if you do want company…”

  “Komu…” I leaned into him, hugging his head to my shoulder. “I shouldn’t have let them go.” Voice catching. “Not if they were thinking like that. I had no idea they thought we might be finished. No idea… I’m so sorry.” I pulled back, grabbing his face and looking him in the eyes. “Mej was wrong. They’re both wrong. Understand? You’re right. I don’t ever want to be alone again. Of everything I went through…” My voice broke and I shook my head, still holding him. “Anything but that.”

  Komu wrapped gentle arms around my back.

  “Maybe we do have to start over,” I continued, leaning in. “Not because we love each other less, but because everything else has changed. Everything other than how much we love and need one another.” I paused, letting out a breath. “No… That’s changed too. We need each other more now. More than ever before.”

  So … we met again.

  First, Komu and I.

  As spring burst into this land and he recovered from our ordeal with the elasticity of youth, I showed him my home. In return, he showed me how far he personally had come to reach it.

  While I had found my past, Komu had found his future. He’d grown up in these recent seasons. Living now in a new clan without Mej, and with few of his close relations around, he had his own space to come of age in more than word alone—more than the number of winters he’d lived through.

  We spent much time walking or working together that spring. I taught Komu to make his own summer moccasins after he’d long been used to buying and wearing human boots. He began teaching me to read and write English. It turned out, I’d grown up with a little bit of English, then taken in more through years of confinement around Engli
sh-speaking humans. I’d never read anything in any language in my life. This letter learning made for a pleasant memory game and diversion to sit with Komu for hours in the sun while we both drew letters in the sand.

  We seldom changed, staying in skin after entirely too much time in fur. Instead, when we went for a walk or, as the days grew warm, a wade in the lake, we did it in skin, often holding hands, talking more than I’d ever talked with Komu. For the first time, he told about himself.

  “My parents are the sorts to say a kit needs to get on with his own life, be independent,” he said as we walked one evening after chores. “Mej is a cousin. He’s not so many winters older than me, but he never failed to impress—always seemed old in the right ways. Knowing, cunning… Not many foxes could get along with humans the way he did. When they made the gold strike he became ace with their card games and systems. He’ll play anything from faro to dominos to cribbage. But poker variations are what he’s really good at.

  “He didn’t mind me tagging after him. He was as lonely as me, maybe. He taught me to read and write, worked on my English, taught me all about humans and trading. Then the strike and we really went at it. All the games, all the tricks… We earned thousands in gold dust and trinkets, like watches and revolvers that we could gamble back. I loved it, and I love him. He’s been an uncle and a brother—and good teacher. Now … those times are over. There are no white humans out here, are there? You can live for yourselves here, meet up and work with your own kind. Only trade with the whites if you seek them out for wool or canvas or rifles… But you don’t seem to need much of that in your family.

  “Maybe you won’t believe me but … I like that. I love the idea that we can get back to our own lives, really be foxes—not pretend to be something else. I’d never want the years with Mej to be any other way. I hope our knowledge with humans can help your clan someday. All young kits should grow up with English now, even out here. The whites will never be satisfied until they’ve combed through every inch of Earth Mother for all they can harvest.

  “Your kit may grow without ever crossing paths with a white or English. Or … she may need to know all about them. We should educate ourselves and protect ourselves, so there will always be foxes in this land.”

  I watched him as we walked, while Komu looked ahead and out across the lake, getting to know his new home.

  “Then you really like being here?” I asked. “Without Dawson City? You’re not homesick?”

  Komu smiled, then turned his gaze to me. “I wouldn’t trade being here with you for anywhere else in the world. Honestly … I thought I would, but I don’t miss it. Mej, now…” Looking away again.

  “You think Mej will suffer here? Without Dawson every night?”

  “Maybe… But … I imagined I would feel lonely here, cut off. I don’t. This is a whole new life. Does that make sense? This is now. And it’s where I want to be. With you. I do miss Mej, but I trust in Earth Mother to bring them home. He’ll adjust. And Demik … he was made for your clan.” A quick smile faded as he dropped his gaze. “I pray they’re all right.”

  “I know.” I squeezed his hand. “They will be. We’ll see them … soon.”

  He glanced to the sky. “Before the first snows.”

  “Yes.”

  We walked in silence along the shore for many minutes before I said, “Komu? You followed Mej to me. If not for him, we wouldn’t… Your life isn’t Mej anymore. There are young females just of age in the Bowl River Clan. Different horizons are opening for you. You mustn’t cling to me only because I am familiar.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. Not now. Each moment I spend with you…” He looked at me and paused, gazing into my eyes. “I love you, Summit. I sniffed you at the same time Mej did. He didn’t lead me into anything. It was being around you, how you were, your light, that made me love you. Not how Mej felt about you. That’s why … it’s so hard to see you hurting. If you don’t want me, if you need more time, or you prefer Mej or Demik … that’s your place. For my part, there’s nothing led or contrived about how I feel. There will be other males for your young vixens of the clan. I’m sure they can get along without me. I’m not sure … I can get along without you.”

  I stopped on the trail to face him, reaching to touch his sharp face and rumpled hair. “You’re hurting too. All this change and growing up. But … a life in which we don’t remember the pain is a life denying half its value—its learning or compassion for the pain others also suffer. That’s no life at all. Anyway … isn’t it best to heal together?”

  Komu kissed my lips and wrapped his arms around me. We stood for a minute in a gentle embrace, merging into the lake and bird and insect sounds around us.

  Chapter 27

  Ondrog was back on his feet, starting up his patrolling and hunting in fur as he used to do to maintain the territory of his own den on the Aaqann River.

  I changed with him some, showing him around the lake and into the hills and forests, or down the river.

  His work ethic was offended by his long convalescence, so he also took it upon himself to go with his rifle and bring in deer for the clan after sitting many a night and waiting on trails that he found in fur.

  We feasted and danced on such nights. Ondrog, who did not dance, sang with our drums and prayed to Moon in his own tongue. He did understand a fair bit of Vulpen, but it was hard on him, as many things about life with us were.

  We had to build our own den of hides and poles to have a space for Ondrog, Komu, and myself. He did most of this work as well. Then I was finally able to spend more private time with Ondrog, who still lingered many days by the den, sitting and fashioning new clothes for himself, including a headband.

  I found a raven feather for him on our hikes and carried it all the way home in my teeth. After that, I began to collect, bringing him any bit of wood, stone, or bone for beads that caught my eye, as well as feathers and reeds and grasses for weaving.

  He soon made one for me, which I wore so often, and was so beautiful, other young vixens began tentatively making requests for similar work. They started by asking me but I refused to be a go-between for someone who desperately needed social contact and, before long, many were bold enough to approach the intimidating newcomer themselves.

  He even made a very plain band for Komu, whose hair kept growing at a shocking pace.

  Ondrog could turn his hand to anything, while making a few new friends also offered him new interests. Still, he was more frequently alone than not—aside from myself. I spent all the time with him I could.

  As it turned out, he and I had much in common. Yet, there was the new concern troubling my own mind: that we did not have so much in common. That Ondrog had turned back to the wolves, the first wolf pack he had met in many winters, but come on with us only for loyalty to me.

  While I was finding myself and my home again, and Komu was coming into his own, Ondrog, I feared, remained nearly as lonely as he had by the Aaqann River.

  Since Ondrog preferred to discover his new territory in fur it was only at home in the den when I had a chance to talk with him alone. While we both worked on our clothing, bedding, and new den, and when Komu was out fishing or foraging with others, I told Ondrog about the wolves I remembered around these mountains.

  “I’m sure there are still packs out here. You could go with them, be with your own kind again.”

  He scowled while he stitched. “I did not accompany you only to abandon you at first scent of a strange pack. While you wait uncertainly for the others to return, no less.”

  “Not abandon. I know that, Ondrog. But you are unhappy here.”

  “As are you.”

  “What?” I looked up from my own sewing.

  Ondrog sighed, shook his head. He set aside his work and came to sit with me at the den’s flap in evening sunlight.

  “No…” he said slowly. “What I meant was … you have changed. Your heart lies here with your people, your true home. You are happy here. It is … you have ch
anged between this spring and last summer. Last summer, everything was a joy to you. Unless you feared for someone else’s loneliness or being trapped, it seemed you never ceased laughing. Now, you’ve gone through many winters of hard times in one season. You have achieved what you set out to do. You found yourself and brought your new friends to a real future and chance at their own survival. Hopefully all of them, though we must still pray.” He glanced to the east and back to me.

  Ondrog reached to take my idle hand in one of his huge ones. “Four seasons ago you were but a kit, laughing at leaf shadows. When you say I am unhappy and you worry for me…” Shaking his head. “Allow us to look after you a few seasons before you decide I must find a more fulfilling life. Also, if you suppose that my meeting a fine pack would draw me away from you, especially right now, you fail to understand how I feel for you.”

  “I pushed you. You were not comfortable with us in the first place. Perhaps … someone who laughs at leaf shadows and chews hair holds little attraction for you.”

  I looked up when Ondrog did not answer and felt shocked to see him smiling. I’d hardly ever seen even a faint smile from him.

  He leaned over to kiss my temple. “I will not pretend hair-chewing isn’t a challenge for me, but … no. Someone who laughed at leaf shadows was exactly who I needed, Summit. Moon knew, I suppose. My former mate … took herself very seriously.”

  “So I remind you of her now?”

  “You have never reminded me of her. You are your own person. Full of your own charms.”

  I also set my work aside and moved closer against him, leaning into his shoulder, taking his hand in both of mine and pressing my boney little fingers through his thick ones.

  “Would you ever want to tell me about any of her charms?” I gazed up to his brown eyes watching me.

  Sometimes I ached for wanting to talk about Black Ice, to keep him alive, never forget again. Other times, I never wanted to talk, would rather die than have to talk about any of it. I wasn’t sure how Ondrog might feel. Only that he wasn’t likely to talk without prompting on any topic—so I had to try.