To me, he is a kit. A small, hungry, needy kit.

Shasak wakes up just before dawn, and I have to clean his bedding and wipe him down. His fur gets filthy easily, and I see why metlaks smell so foul all the time. This one will not be as bad as his brethren, I decide, and when he is clean, I hug him close to my teats and rock him until he falls asleep again. The cave is quiet except for the crackling of fire, and it gives me much time to think. I think of the astounded look on Hemalo’s face when I revealed Shasak to him. He did not know what to make of the tiny metlak. I chuckle quietly to myself, thinking of his reaction. It was not the instant love I felt. More…befuddlement. I imagine he thinks it is like Farli’s pet, except worse. But this is different. The dvisti is an animal.

Shasak is…not sa-khui, not human, but a people all the same.

My khui begins to sing as Hemalo rolls over in the furs. His eyes are still tightly closed, but I can hear the gentle resonance coming from his chest. It ignites an ache in my body, and I have to fight the urge to crawl under the blankets with him and seek out his cock with my hand. Wake him up with a stroke of my fingers along the length of it, watch his eyes open sleepily to gaze at me with such hunger and lust that it steals the breath from my lungs. It is the resonance that makes me crave him, I tell myself. My heart is still wounded at the fact that he has abandoned me. He has not apologized for leaving me behind. He has not even seemed apologetic.

I cannot let my relief over his safety cloud my judgment. I followed him out into the snows because I wanted answers, and now he is here before me. I can get the answers I need. All I need to do is wake him up. I could lean over, kick him as he sleeps, and try to make him as angry and as hurt as I am. To let him know how it feels.

I do not, though. Instead, I watch him sleep, my heart aching and sad. I gaze at the bandages over his high brow, let my attention wander over the proud sweep of his horns, the pleasing length of his dark mane. The strong line of his jaw. His broad shoulders are hidden by the furs, but under them I know his stomach is hard with muscle, just like any hunter, and his cock is as large and pleasing as any. Even more pleasing to me, I decide, because he has very prominent ridges on his cock, and they slide into my cunt in the most perfect of ways…

I feel my cunt grow wet with arousal, and I sigh, pressing my thighs tight together. I want Hemalo, but I also want to know why he left me. I do not know if I can mate with him until I know the answer. Does he…not want me? I touch my mane and the ridges of my own jaw. Does he find the humans more attractive than a female of his own kind now that all of his tribesmates are mating them? Does my sa-khui nose bother him because it is not ridiculously small like a human one? Are my teats too flat compared to the puffy, fleshy ones of the humans? I glance down at my chest. It is a good chest, I think. My teats are large enough to feed a kit, but not so bouncy that they jiggle when I move, like Claire or Shorshie. I do not think I would like that very much.

But…perhaps Hemalo likes that? I hate that I am filled with so many questions. I should wake him and demand answers.

And yet…I am worried what those answers will be. What if he tells me things that wound my spirit and devastate me? I am terrified of what I might hear. What if it means we are to never be mated ever again? That we will only fulfill the call of resonance and then he will abandon me once more? What will happen to the kit we make between us? The worry gnaws at me until my belly aches with it, and I pick up Shasak and cradle him close to my chest, seeking comfort. Him, I do not mind waking up. Shasak is simple—he wants nothing more than to eat and sleep. I stroke his strange, furry face and fight down my scared feelings.

The fire flickers and begins to smoke, a sign that more fuel needs to be added. I pluck a dung chip out of a basket and add it to the base of the fire so it will smolder. I hold Shasak as I lean in over the fire, and as I do, I glance up at the entrance to the cave. I am not sure why I do, but when I look over, I see eyes shining in the slit between the cave wall and the privacy screen.

Something is watching me.

I get to my feet slowly, uneasy, and hold Shasak close. I know what is out there. I know whose eyes watch me from outside the cave but will not come in. The two metlaks that raided this cave and attacked my mate have come back. I feel a protective surge for Shasak—and a greater one for Hemalo. They will not hurt my mate again. I will not let them.

I keep my movements slow and creep over to the edge of the cave, where my belt hangs on a rock ledge. I pull my knife out of its sheath and clench it tight in my free hand. Let them come in.

Shasak chirps suddenly, and the sound is loud in the small cave. Hemalo stirs in his bed, and outside, I hear an answering chirp.

Hemalo’s eyes open, and he looks at me.

“I know,” I murmur softly, holding my knife high. “They have come for the kit.” I am angry at the thought. They left him here alone, filthy and unguarded. They do not deserve to have a kit. I can take much better care of him than they ever can. He is mine now.

Hemalo sits up slowly. He gets to his feet and then puts a hand toward me. “Give me the knife. You have the kit. Protect him, and I will protect you.”

I nod. In this, we will be a team. I hand him the knife and hold Shasak closer to me, stepping back to the rear of the cave. Hemalo stands before us, tall and strong despite the bandages on his brow, and for a moment I feel a stab of fear. If many metlaks wait on the other side of the privacy screen, he will need more than my small bone knife. “Be careful,” I whisper.

“I will protect you,” he tells me. “Do not worry.” He grips the knife tightly and steps forward, then pushes aside the privacy screen.

I suck in a breath.

The screen clatters to the side, bouncing against the cave wall. The two metlaks out in the snow cringe back and hiss at us, one scurrying behind the other. The larger one, I can see, only has one eye. “These are the same metlaks as before,” I tell Hemalo.

“Stay behind the fire,” he warns me, and brandishes the knife at them. “Back!”

They drop back a few steps but then wait, hovering patiently in the snow. The smaller one lifts its head and chirps, and the kit in my arms answers. The smaller one chirps again and takes a step toward Hemalo. She crouches low to the ground, her body language that of groveling and submission. But her gaze is locked on me and the kit in my arms.

She wants him back. I clench Shasak tightly to me. She does not deserve him back. Not if she left him.

“They are so thin,” Hemalo murmurs, shocked. “Is that why they came to the cave? Are they starving?”

“Does it matter?” I feel a sense of panic in my belly. Shasak is mine now. They do not deserve him.

Hemalo cocks his head to the side, studying the metlaks cringing at the entrance to the cave. “They are not leaving. They are terrified, but they do not want to leave. Odd.”

“Chase them away. Make them go.”

He glances back at me. “I do not think they are a threat. Remember what the human Li-lah said? They helped Rokan when he was injured. Do we have more roots left?”

I gasp. “I am saving them for Shasak. You cannot give them away.”

“Be sensible, Asha,” Hemalo says. He lowers the knife—but still keeps it out—and extends his hand to me. “Give me one of the roots, please.”

“No!”

“Either they are people or they are not.” He glances back at me, and there is reproach in his gaze. “Would you let Shasak’s mother and father die? Right here? Right now? When they are clearly risking their lives to get him back?”

But I do not want to give him back. I fight down the helpless fear and frustration I am feeling. Hemalo is right, though; I cannot say that Shasak is a person and then let his kin starve like animals in the snow. I move to the back and dig through my pack, pulling out one of the few roots I have. I do not have many and will need to go hunting for more, and am feeling protective of my small store. I hand it over to Hemalo anyhow, though, because I know it is the right thing to do. I hate that it is, but I cannot be cruel.