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Would it make a damn difference?
Irritation surges in me again, and I grab my trousers, pulling the little knife out of my pocket. It’s not the best tool, but it’s sharp enough. I look down in the water, trying to see my reflection. The ripples on the surface of the stream distort my face, making it difficult to see what I’m doing. But what I do see only makes me more determined. I don’t look like myself, and I don’t like it.
I raise the blade to the side of my head, pulling my hair tight with my other hand, and scrape it along my scalp.
A handful comes away, leaving uneven tufts behind. I rinse my fingers in the stream, then return to the same spot, trying to cut it close without going all the way down to skin. It takes a couple of goes, but eventually, I get the desired effect.
I repeat the process in different places, but as I get further back, it gets harder, my arms not bending the right way. Frustration builds in my chest and I have to hold in the urge to snarl.
I hear a rustle and turn to see Maldek dropping down to sit beside me. I didn’t hear him approaching, his footsteps so quiet against the forest floor, despite his size. Heat of a different kind rises in me, embarrassment making my cheeks burn bright red as I think about what a state I must look - my hair already far from lovely before, but now uneven and tufted.
Ugly.
Maldek cants his head to the side, but he doesn’t smirk. No cruelty comes into his gaze or the shape of his mouth.
He just looks down at me. Holds out his hand for the knife.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Maldek
My Brooks watches me for a long moment, eyes narrowed in suspicion. I almost hold my breath as I wait for her to make her judgement, her decision.
I thought she trusted me after our training session in the dreamspace, that she would be grateful now for my offer of help rather than worrying over it. But I recall what Calran said about Grace feeling safer in the dreamspace because of being able to communicate better there. Perhaps it is the same for my Brooks.
I wait for the little voice to say something sharp and biting to make me doubt this, but it does not come. My headspace is mercifully empty.
Well, it is not. It is full of the memory of my Brooks’ body against mine in the dreamspace as she learned to wield a spear. The soft warmth of her pressed against me. So difficult to resist touching her in ways not beneficial to her lessons. And now she sits before me, only her human undergarments covering the most intimate parts of her - the urge to reach out, draw her close, is overwhelming.
But humans are strange about their bodies. It is the memory of my sisters’ shyness that has kept me from joining my Brooks in the stream to bathe, kept my back turned to grant her the privacy I think she desires. I would not do anything that might make her uncomfortable, especially after she has done so much to soothe my heartspace.
You believe that about me, but you can’t believe it about yourself?
I think my heartspace will come close to bursting with joy every time I think on these words.
I could not simply watch her struggling to cut her hair, though, so I have ventured close, offering out my hand to take her blade and help her. Soon I will know if this was a wise decision or not.
After another long moment, my Brooks reaches out. Hands the knife to me.
I smile, trying not to look too giddy in my joy at this trust she is placing in me, and gesture for her to turn. She does so, but slowly, being sure to give me a lingering warning look. I resist the urge to chuckle. My warrior mate is fighting me, but it will not last long. Her softness to me in the dreamspace persuades me of this. And the voice in my headspace is not nipping at me, trying to convince me otherwise - I am full of renewed faith in my goddess and the choice she has made for me.
Blessed beyond measure, I think, as I shift so my legs are either side of my Brooks, my bare feet dipping into the stream.
It is a good job the water is so very cold, for I am not sure I would be able to control my desire without it constantly dousing the flame. Sitting at my Brooks’ back as I cut away her hair for her is a delicious feeling. My headspace goes back to the dreamspace we shared last night. I feel intimately familiar with her body now, and it only makes me want to touch her more. To lavish her strong form with the kind of pleasure such a fine female deserves. To feel those thick thighs wrapped around me as I taste her.
In spite of the cold, my cock twitches, and I almost groan. My linasha does not want the amorous attentions of her mate right now, and I must respect that. Must give her space or lose this precious piece of trust she has gifted me forever.
It is so very hard to resist running my fingers over her neck, tracing the shape of her shoulders, though. She is perfection, and I remind myself again and again that it will be all the sweeter to have her affections once I have fully earned them. The promise of that sweetness will have to be enough to sustain me for now.
I cut away her hair until it is evenly short all over, wondering as I do so why she chooses to keep it this way. The other females wear their hair long, except for Sam and Ellie, who were forced by their tribe chiefs to keep theirs shorter even than my Brooks wants hers. They both delight in letting it grow now, though, Sam refusing to even allow her sisters to attempt to tame hers a little.
It is yet another way my female is very different to the others, I think. I wonder if it is like the Deep Forest tribes and the Great River tribes and the Wandering tribes. How we all have similarities, but different customs. Perhaps my Brooks comes from a tribe that wears their hair short as a matter of pride, and her longer hair was a discomfort to her. I like the thought that I am helping her to regain some part of herself in this small way. She has lost so much with her memories, and there is little I can do to help her with those.
When I am done, I set the knife down, checking with my fingers that the length of her hair is close to even all over. Then I tap her on the shoulder to let her know I am finished, and lean back, granting her a little more space in case she desires it.
My Brooks runs her own hands over her head, inspecting my efforts, then looks at me, some cloud of something in her eyes, even as she nods at me and gives me her thanks in the human way.
“You are most welcome,” I tell her, smiling.
