I hold his hand tightly to my chest, anchoring him against me. “I am afraid.” The words squeeze out of my throat, half-choked. It is so difficult to speak them, to bare myself to him and hope he will understand. That he will not abandon me a third time.

To my surprise, Hemalo nuzzles against my throat, his mouth warm as he presses it against my skin. “I am afraid, too.”

That is not what I expected him to say. “Why are you afraid?”

“The same reasons you are, I imagine. I worry you will hate me and we will struggle again. I worry about the kit we will make. I worry if anything happens to it, it will destroy what we have again.” He kisses my cheek. “But I do know that I am more afraid of not trying.”

I want to cry, because I know just what he means. “I have lost a kit and survived. But I do not think I can survive if I lose you again. Please, never leave me again. Not because you think it’s good for me or because it is what is needed—it’s not. I need you at my side. I need you with me, supporting me, no matter how dark things get.”

He nods slowly, and his fingers tighten against mine. “I was a fool to leave before. I thought I was helping, but I see now I have only made it worse.”

“You did,” I reply, trying to make my response light and teasing. “But I forgive you.”

“You forgive me?” He presses another kiss to my neck. “Then I am the luckiest of males to have such an understanding mate.”

“You are.” I slide his hand to my teat, resting over my nipple. My entire body is aching for him, and my khui is singing so loudly it feels as if it is going to echo off of the rock cliffs nearby. “If you swear you will never leave me again, I want to be yours. Now. Tonight.”

“Tonight? In this cold?”

“There are parts of you that are very, very warm,” I say encouragingly. “Your warm parts could give my warm parts a greeting.”

“While I would like nothing more,” he murmurs into my ear, his tongue flicking against my lobe, “I do not like the thought of a metlak chancing upon us while mating.”

I smile. He has a point.

“I want to wait until we return to our howse back in the vee-lage,” he continues. “I want to take you home so we can start our family again. So we can do this right.” His hand slides from my teat down to the waist of my leggings and pushes inside. He cups my cunt, his fingers stroking through my slick folds. I moan as he pushes a finger inside me and continues to nuzzle my throat. “I want you in my furs every night for the rest of our lives. Even when you are angry at me.”

I cling to him, gasping. “I want that, too.”

“I want a howse with you. I do not want to live with the hunters, and I do not want you to live with Farli. You belong with me.” His finger pumps inside me, as quick and desperate as I feel. “In my furs. Taking my cock. Bearing my kits.”

A shudder of pure pleasure rocks through me. I want all that, too. “Yes,” I breathe.

“You will not share a howse with Farli. You will come to my bed, and you will wrap your tail to mine and spread your legs for me, because you are my mate.”

“Always.”

“Tell me that you are mine, Asha,” he growls into my ear, and then nips the edge of it with his sharp teeth. I cry out, because my body is so sensitive that even that small action sends me into an avalanche of pleasure. My cunt clenches around his finger, and then I am coming hard, the air leaving my lungs as he continues to whisper in my ear about how I belong to him.

It is the most erotic thing he has ever told me, and I savor every moment of it.

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17

CLAIRE

Days Later

Ugly Gift Day

It is the last day of the holiday celebrations. The poison clumps hung in the lodge are starting to wilt, and the decorations are looking tired, but everyone in the tribe has been having a wonderful time. I cannot stop smiling at the group gathered near the fire. Lila and Maddie are leading the ‘White Elephant’ gift exchange. It’s a name that means nothing to the sa-khui, so we’ve taken to calling it the ‘Ugly Gift Day.’ Each tribesmate was instructed to bring a hideous present to give to the others, and as the game goes along, people laugh with sheer joy at the silliness of it.

Lila gestures at Rukh, who is holding a basket and looking as if it is going to bite him. His mate, Harlow, holds their baby and has a broad smile on her face. Lila indicates that Rukh should open, but he gestures back to her. They’re too far away for me to make out their hand signals, but I can guess what it is. Something like “Heck no.” He eyes the presents around the circle of tribesmates—a bag of terrible tea leaves, a stained tunic, a pair of leggings with one cuff sewn shut—and eventually trades his basket for the neatly wrapped stack of dung chips that Zolaya is holding. “Fuel,” he says, shoving his basket into Zolaya’s hands. Everyone roars with laughter, and Georgie is wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. Zolaya pulls the lid off the basket, peers inside, and immediately makes a face. “Dirty loincloths!”

People crack up, Maddie signs it to Lila, who is waiting patiently, and then the sisters laugh, too. It’s cute. I love that everyone’s having so much fun. Even my Ereven is by the fire, waiting his turn. His basket has an egg in it—a good gift for a human, a terrible one for a sa-khui. He catches my gaze and smiles at me. I wave from afar, content to stand on the sidelines and let the others lead things. It’s been a long holiday event, and while it’s been a lot of fun and taken people’s minds off of the brutal season, I’m ready for a break. I don’t mind organizing, but I don’t like being the center of attention. Maddie has no such qualms and is hamming it up as the circle moves to the next person, Harlow. Maddie does sign language and talks at the same time so everyone can hear what she has to say, and she’s playing the role of announcer beautifully.

“You are not playing?” A person comes and stands next to me at the far end of the longhouse.

I know the voice, and I turn and smile at Bek, rubbing a hand on my rounded belly. “No, I got the fun of setting everything up. I get to watch everyone else play. Plus, I don’t really feel the need for dirty loincloths or a shoe with no mate.” I smile, watching Farli hold up her shoe and offer it to Harlow.

“I have one last gift for you,” Bek says. “I know you do not want it, but it would honor me if you would choose to take it anyhow.” He extends a small, leather-wrapped package to me.

“Oh, Bek. Please don’t.” My smile becomes strained. “Truly. I don’t want any gifts.” I’m still thinking about our awkward conversation the other day, when he told me he missed me. I was hoping we’d landed at friendship, but him arriving with another gift while I’m by myself makes me worry. Has he not given up on me?

“It is for your kit. Take it.” He pushes it toward me.

My kit? Reluctantly, I take the package and untie the string. Inside the wrapping is a beautiful baby blanket, pure white and the perfect size for a half-human, half-sa-khui baby. The edges have been carefully stitched, and the entire thing is whisper-soft. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

“I am happy for you and Ereven,” Bek says quietly. “I may not always show it, but all I have ever wanted is your happiness. You are a good person and you deserve happiness.”

I smile at him, but I’m troubled by his words, even after he moves away. It seems to be a recurring theme that I’ve heard a few times as the holidays rolled onward and Asha hasn’t been around. Everyone thinks I’m a saint because I’ve befriended her. Or that being friends with my ex will suddenly make me a better person.