Barbarian’s Mate(18)

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “I can help—“

“Jo-see,” I say, my voice gruff with irritation, and I watch her back stiffen. I choose my words carefully. “You are clever and you are brave, but you are still injured. I am not. Let me do this and we will take care of your wounds. The sooner we treat them, the sooner they will feel better.”

And, greatly daring, I brush the backs of my fingers over her cheek. I should not, but I cannot help myself. I can no more resist touching her than I can resist breathing.

I wait for her to shove my hands away. I wait for her to scowl up at me. But she only gazes up at me, her eyes big in her round human face, and then she nods, wincing. “They do hurt.”

“Then let me help.” Let me take care of you, my mate.

When she doesn’t protest, I throw my pack down on the ground and pull a few things out of it. My strikers, for starting a fire. My bag of collected tinder and fluff, and a few dried dung-cakes scooped up from the trail for future use. Then I close it again and gesture that she should sit on it. There are no comfortable sitting mats here, and my mate will not be forced to kneel on the cold ground.

She sits down heavily, and I realize how tired she is. I stroke her soft hair — again, unable to help myself — before I get up and begin to craft a fire pit nearby. There are no rocks to encircle it, but the floor itself is of a stone-like surface so I clear it of deadfall and start my fire. My Jo-see needs warmth, a meal in her belly, hot tea, and a poultice for her burned hands. With no wind to hamper me, the fire starts easily and soon I have it stoked to a brisk flame. I feed it all the tinder in my pouch and then grab a handful of the debris I had shoved aside to stoke it higher.

“Can…can we move my seat closer?” Jo-see asks, getting awkwardly to her feet. “I’d do it but my hands are starting to sting pretty bad now.”

“Yes,” I tell her, and move the seat close enough so she can enjoy the fire. I set up my tripod and then head to the entrance to fill the water-sack with snow to boil. I sprinkle some herbs to make tea, and then glance at the entrance. Jo-see’s things are spread out on the snow. It looks as if she scattered them in her haste to come help me, and I feel a surge of affection and lust for my mate. My clever, brave Jo-see. “Wait here and I will get your things,” I tell her.

“Not going anywhere,” she says faintly, staring down at her hands.

They are paining her more than she wants to admit. I hate that. I grab her things, gathering her furs and her supplies in my arms. Her pouch of travel rations is impossibly light, almost empty, and I feel a pang of unease. What if she had run out? I picture my mate starving as she plods endlessly on the trail and frustration wells inside my breast. Now is not the time to chastise her. I fill her satchel with armfuls of snow and return with the things to her side.

“Here,” I tell her, opening the mouth of her bag. “This is full of snow. Put your hands in here. The cool of the snow will help the pain. I must go and get more fuel for the fire and some liidi stalks for your hands.”

“Lee-dee?”

“It is a plant that grows like a vine amongst the rocks. It is good for burns. Helps them heal faster.”

She nods and sticks her hands into her bag, whimpering when the snow touches her skin. “Get me a whole bushel then.”

I will. “Do not leave the fire. If the metlaks return, they will not come close.”

She looks up at me with worried eyes. “Will you be all right?”

My khui’s song grows even louder, and I rub my chest, fighting the lust I feel. She worries for me? “I will be fine. Have no fear.”

Jo-see nods. “Hurry back.”





12





HAEDEN


Every moment away from Jo-see’s side feels like salt-water poured into a wound. Even though I know she is safe with the fire, I think of her with her hands pressed in the snow, of the pain she feels, of the metlaks returning and finding her unable to pick up a weapon. I must gather more fuel, though, or we will not be safe through the night. And more than anything, Jo-see needs the liidi stalks. I hurry, racing through the churned snow, following the trail of dvisti and scooping up their leavings. Once my bag is weighed down with dung, I race to the nearest cliff and pry apart the cracks in the stone with my knife, looking for the twisty, skinny roots that grow between the cracks. When I find enough to satisfy me, I head back toward the cave. A hopper jumps out of the bushes a short distance away and I toss down my supplies to hunt a fresh meal for Jo-see.

When I return to the cave, she’s sitting by the fire, her hands in the bag, resting on the melting snow. The fire is crackling, and I watch her nudge the coals with the tip of her boot every so often. Her eyes brighten at the sight of me, laden with a fresh kill and bulging pouches. “I’m glad you’re back.”

My face cracks into a smile. She is glad to see me.

Jo-see looks startled at my smile and hers widens. “I hope you brought plenty of that lee-lee root, because my hands are killing me.”

“Killing you?” I rush to her side, dropping my burdens. “You are dying? Let me see them!”

“Wait, wait! It’s a figure of speech,” she says, and the words mean nothing to me. But she pulls her hands out of her bag and shows me the blistered skin. “It just means they hurt really bad.”

“Then we will fix it now.” I grab some soapberries out of my scattered supplies and go to the snowy ledge at the edge of the cave and wash my hands and the liidi roots clean. Then I return to her side and shove them into my mouth, grimacing at their terrible taste.

Her eyes widen. “I thought the roots were for me.”

I chew, my teeth grinding the tough roots. “They are,” I grit out. “The poultice must be chewed before it is spread.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “You’re going to spit that crap out on my hands?”

I nod. “I am going to spit this crahp on your hands, yes.”

“That sounds awful, but they hurt bad enough that I’m willing to go for it,” she admits, wrinkling her nose and watching me chew.

The roots are very fibrous and have a sharp, bitter taste to them. They also leave the lips and tongue numb, and by the time I spit the first mouthful out onto her palm, my stomach is turning at the flavor. She squeals in horror at the mushy greenish lump I left on her hand, but when I begin to gently spread it over her burns, her noises of dismay turn to a little sigh of pleasure. “Oh wow, it feels better.”

And because it pleases her, I gamely fill my mouth with more of the awful-tasting root so I can ease her pain.

By the time her hands are covered, my lips and tongue are numb, the taste of liidi feels as if it is etched into my teeth, but she isn’t making the tiny sounds of distress anymore, so it was worth every foul mouthful. I shrug off my now-tattered vest and tear it into strips.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“We are going to cover your hands so you keep the liidi on them until morning.” I take one thick strip and slowly wrap it over the poultice and around her hand. Her bones are so delicate that it worries me how easily she can be hurt. She does not have the protective bony plates on her limbs and covering her chest that the sa-khui do. She is all softness, softness that can easily be torn by a metlak claw.

“What about you?”

I tilt my head at her, pulled from my distressing thoughts. “What do you mean?”

Her cheeks are bright pink again. “You…you tore your clothes up for me. Won’t you be cold?”

Ah. I grunt. “The wind does not affect me as it does you. I am fine.”

She gives a little shiver. “I’m cold,” she admits. “Can you put my fur cloak over my shoulders?”

I finish wrapping her hands in the makeshift leather bandages and then place the cloak gently over her, bundling her warmly. It fills me with pleasure to be able to do these simple things for her. “Shall I roast your dinner for you?”

“I can eat it raw,” she says, a brave note in her voice. “But you might have to feed it to me.”

I ignore how my cock reacts to that. Of course I will have to feed it to her. Her hands are useless. I am filled with an odd sense of pleasure at the thought of her needing me. She has worked very hard to fight our mating, so she cannot be happy with this turn of events. “I will,” I say gruffly, and then pull my kill closer to the fire. I take my time cutting the choicest bits for her. The organs and some of the bones go into the pouch over the fire to make a tasty stew. We will need to make every bit of food count in case the metlaks return with more. I turn to her, a small chunk of meat in hand, and offer it up.

She opens her mouth and leans in.

I bite back a groan of need at the sight of her small, pink tongue. It is as smooth as the others have said, and my mind immediately begins to imagine it tracing lines over my skin. I shake my head to clear it and feed her the bit of meat. Her lips close over my fingertip and I feel her tongue brush against my skin.

This is…torture.

She chews, wrinkling her nose at the taste. I remember Jo-see is one of the humans that prefers her meat roasted. I bite back a smirk of my own. “Would you like me to cook it for you?”

Jo-see shakes her head and swallows hard. “I need to learn to like it.”