Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Do you need help?”
My heart thuds. One beat. Two beats. The blood races through my body, drowning out sound. I turn, and there he is, tall and strong and handsome, his appearance unchanged except for the fact that one of his horns is now broken off near the brow. My Pashov. My mate.
A stranger.
Nerves curl in my belly. Pacy grabs a handful of my hair and screams louder. I stand there like a doofus, not entirely sure what to do. I want to fling myself into his arms, but I know that won’t be well-received. I’m still a stranger, and the wary, cautious look he’s giving me tells me that. It hurts to see. My Pashov would have made lighthearted jokes about my packing skills, and grabbed my ass while he did so. He was completely free and open, a bit of a rogue at times, but always knew that even when I laughed and smacked his hand away, I didn’t mind.
That’s not the person that stands before me. There’s a question in his eyes, but that’s it. No warm affection, no amusement. No teasing flirtiness with his mate.
“Hi,” I say. I sound breathless, but the truth is that I’m so tense I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do more than speak in monosyllables. Please remember me, I silently beg. Please. Remember who I am. Remember your son.
He gestures at the sled. “Do you need help packing?”
Oh. I nod, prying Pacy’s hand free of my hair. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”
Pashov kneels in the snow next to the sled, and his tail gives a little flick. He gets to work, tightening straps I didn’t do a very good job with and straightening the gear. I watch him as he works, full of longing. There are so many things I want to say to him. That I miss him. That I’m hurting without him. That Pacy’s cutting teeth and should have his first one poking through his little gums soon. That being a single parent is hard as heck and I’m struggling. But I wouldn’t say any of that to a stranger, and I’m pretty sure I’m a stranger to him. So I just try to smile and rub Pacy’s little back even as his tail thrashes against my arm.
Pashov works quietly, silent as he fixes the sled up. That’s not like him, either. My mate’s a cheery one. It must be me that’s making him quiet, and of course, that just makes me feel lousy. Like I’m a problem. Like my baby is a problem. And okay, that’s making me get all emotional again. I turn away…
And realize that people are staring.
Okay, it’s a small tribe. We don’t have TV, don’t have books. Gossip is the order of the day, and I get that. But do they have to stare right now? Shouldn’t everyone be busy with something else?
“Is this all?”
“Hmm?” I turn back to Pashov.
He gets to his feet, all graceful motion, and my mouth goes dry at the beauty of him. I thought I’d never see that again—never see his smile, his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s amused, never look at something as simply gorgeous as his big muscular body flexing as he moves. “Your sled is small. Is this all you have with you? Or is there more?”
I’m vaguely insulted by the question, even though I know it’s asked innocently. “I lost everything in the cave-in. Just like everyone else.”
“Yes, but…” He pauses, rubbing his jaw.
“But I have less than the others?” I guess, filling in the blanks. “I don’t have anyone to hunt for me,” I point out. No one’s going to let me starve, of course. But the extras that come with living with a hunter—extra skins, bones for utensils, all the stuff that makes life here easier—haven’t been coming my way. The mated hunters bring them home for their families. I’m sure if there were extras, they’d bring some to me. But that’s the thing—right now, there are no extras. I’m not going without, I’m just…not as geared up as some of the others. And the unmated hunters haven’t approached because a gift to me in my current state might come across as a courting gesture, and no one wants to do that.
He flinches as if I’ve hit him, and I immediately feel guilty. “Of course.”
“I’m not saying it to be a jerk,” I explain quickly. “But you asked.”
“I…have not yet been cleared to hunt alone,” Pashov says, words measured and careful. His gaze flicks from my face to Pacy, then back to me. “I did not realize I was to hunt for you. I should have guessed…” He trails off.
Great, and now I feel like an even bigger asshole. Of course he wouldn’t think to hunt for us. Half the time he can’t even remember us. My bitterness threatens to overwhelm me. I don’t want to nag him, because if that’s his only memory of me, that’s terrible. But I’m hurt. So hurt. “You didn’t know. Don’t worry about it.”