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“Then let me tell you about her. Shalia is called Shally for short. She’s fucking beautiful. Good as gold, sweet as pie. Loved and admired by every single person she came across as an adult and spoiled as a child because she was so. Fucking. Beautiful.” He punctuates each word with a kiss to each shoulder. “But instead of growing entitled, she stayed good inside. She was the perfect complement for her best friend, and together got into more shenanigans that I can count. She trained hard, she made sure she was the best she can be—”
“—and you still rejected her.”
“Aye. I loved her with every breath I took. But when I was five seasons old, my visions showed me we would be mates. When I got older, they progressed to show you’d get stolen. Foolish male that I was, I figured I could thwart those visions if I didn’t claim you. It would keep you safe if you stayed a maiden. I didn’t realize that you lived in my heart. You were my unclaimed mate, but still irrevocably mine.”
“And everyone knows?”
“Aye. Everyone knows. The village females are convinced you’ll recall your memories. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I am saying I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”
“I wish”—the water splashes as he tosses the black lemon, then gets another from the jar— “I wish to find this life real. I wish to find my old life was not a dream to be snatched away.”
“Your wish will be granted, sweet.” The lemon strokes over my head. “And if you do decide this life is too good to be true—should you disappear in the night, know that I will always follow. I will always find you, wherever you go.”
I look back over my shoulder at him, but he just leans over to kiss it. “Never forget I trained you in tracking, love. In foraging. In camping. ‘Twas always you and me out in the woods, because your lazy best friend needed the comforts of home.” The derision in his voice makes me giggle.
“I used to dream about her,” I whisper hesitantly. “Never saw her face, just sort of felt her presence. She felt like a sister.”
“She is your sister, cara’jek,” he says. “I’m just grateful I was never considered your brother.”
The laughter gurgles out of me and echoes down the creek, blending with the sounds of the water splashing against the rocks.
“Let me take my turn in washing you,” I say, turning toward him with the soap. “I find it enjoyable too, you know.”
“Do you?” he asks, but this is a weighted question. The answer has so much more meaning than we know.
“Oh, you beautiful male. I do.” I skim the bar of soap across his shoulder, then lightly rub it along the lean cuts of his muscle. His shoulders are rounded, deep indentations showing the build of strength that curves into his biceps. “I could look at you all day. Touching you? Like a blessing I don’t deserve.”
“You deserve anything you want, sweet. You own me.”
When I finally finish washing his delectable skin, I turn to his hair. “Shall we release your braids? I would like to see how you look when it’s loose.”
“Aye.” His voice is deeper than usual, filled with emotion.
I unravel each braid, one by one, and wash his hair. “I think the elderberry grease will cover every strand of green.” His hair is mostly black.
“It does. We usually use it when the cold hits to keep our hair from drying out over the winter. Takes weeks for the green to start to show again.”
His hair is so much longer and thicker, even when wet, than I could have imagined. I want to see it dry, but it’ll take a while. For some reason, all that luscious length makes his face look even leaner than before, more masculine, accentuating the hard cheekbones, his flatter nose, his prominent brow, the strength of his jaw.
And now half the early morning is nearly gone and it’s as warm as a midsummer day. When we get out of the stream, the sun dries us off and we drape our nakedness as we hike back to our tent.
Aye, ‘tis not my imagination that the clan avoids the way I look in dark hair and Blackheart garb. I know I made a good decision and if not? I still have the grease I can slather on. Still have my leathers.
I can still leave, with or without Bakog.
Though that plan leaves a clenching inside my heart.
I can leave, with or without my clan. Mayhap it’s a good thing they’re prisoners. It’s a clean break for me.
When we get to the tent, he picks up my skirt. “Would you like me to ask the others if they’ll mend your clothing? The vest can be altered a little smaller. You may want something a bit warmer now that the weather will turn. Mayhap some leggings to go under your skirt?”
This is my chance. “Nay. I think I’d like you to help me choose from something else.”
I go to his chest and throw open the doors. “Nothing too...” I tilt my head, considering the clothing. It’s very much like the style Hisa wears. “... princessy,” I finish.
His bark of laughter makes me chuckle too, but I still try to play it off. “Don’t want too much to drag in the dirt.”
Hisa walks with her hands outstretched, lifting the fabric. Once she gets indoors, she drops the skirt and floats like a fairy princess.
