Chapter 10 Coward’s Mind, Warrior’s Heart #2
Jonen came crashing through the trees, eyes wide and hand on his weapon. He looked around the small clearing, checking for threats, but when his eyes landed on a nearly naked Corric, he tripped over his own feet. Landing on his face in the grainy sand.
Corric laughed, crossing his arms. “Would you mind grabbing the soap for me?” he asked coyly, head cocked so that his wet hair slid off his shoulders and exposed the expanse of his pale neck.
Jonen’s eyes dilated at the sight, his mouth falling open. “I uh…th-the soap?”
Corric pointed to the bank where they dropped their clothes. The canvas bag with their soap was resting on top. “I forgot it.”
It really wasn’t that far from Corric. He probably wouldn’t even have to get fully out of the water to grab it. Certainly, there was no need to call the flustered alpha over.
Jonen was still staring at Corric. His eyes darted over every inch of exposed skin—slender body shiny with water. Drops of it clung to the ridges of his muscles like glittering jewels.
Still kneeling in the sand, Jonen blinked as he tried to get himself under control. The scent of interested alpha stank up the clearing, heady enough to make Ridan gag.
“It’s right there,” he mumbled, eyes unblinking.
Corric huffed, jutting a hip out as if inconvenienced. “Fine. I’ll get it myself.” He took one step forward, the water level dropping dangerously. A second step exposed the beginnings of a trail of light wiry hair, water lapping against his tight abdomen.
“NO!” Jonen shouted, leaping to his feet. He kicked up sand as he dove for the soap, flinging the bag at Corric. “I-I…there…don’t…” Jonen mumbled, red faced as he retreated through the brush with a limp hands hovering over his groin.
Clutching the soap to his chest, Corric turned back to Ridan with a sly smirk.
Chuckling, Ridan shook his head. “And they call me the mean one.”
Sweat dripped into his eyes as he held a pair of tongs over the fire. The heat was intense, billowing off the flames to sear his skin. It was no wonder Derry was red faced, soot darkening his cheeks. The small omega was slamming a hammer onto the hot piece of metal Brune was holding still for him.
Every hit made his arm ache. The Snap Jaw bite was healing well, skin stitching together fairly cleanly.
But the deep muscle still ached. Iylah told him he was lucky he didn’t lose the arm, and that he should be careful.
He respected the old healer, and was grateful for her work, but he didn’t have the time to be careful.
Not when his place amongst the Stone Blade was so tentative.
Derry was a small man, but he was surprisingly strong. More than that, he had a keen mind for metal. His works were not only strong, but beautiful. Brune had no idea what he was working on—it all just looked like burnt metal to him—but Derry could see it.
Blinking through the heat, he chatted between the clangs of hammer on metal.
Niklas was sprawled in the back, fitting arrowheads to shafts. Derry was experimenting with different types of arrowheads and asked Niklas if he would help. The beta was happy to have his expertise utilized.
His hair was pulled back, exposing most of his face for the first time since Brune had met him.
His prowess with a bow had spread through the clan and Niklas had proven himself one of the best hunters of the Stone Blade.
Through his trades and skill, they’d been able to furnish the small tent they shared with fur bed rolls and a change of clothes.
Henroen’s mate still insisted on feeding them.
The first night they tried to stray from her hearth, she found them, grabbed them by the scruff, and dragged them back.
They promised to return as long as she accepted meat and fur for her kindness.
A splash of sparks rained over Brune, and he adjusted his grip. He didn’t feel the sting of heat. Oosa made fine clothes, light to wear but sturdy, and with some of his Snap Jaw hide, he could purchase her services.
Gone were the linen pants and shirt with the flimsy leather armor of his soldiering days.
Brune now had fine leather pants that moved with him.
His shirt was loose and light, arms cut free so he could swing them without restraint.
Snap Jaw bracers clung to his forearms and a good belt wrapped around his thick waist, a hammer hanging from a loop. Derry insisted he keep the hammer.
The festival was right around the corner, and Brune was grateful he had saved some of his kill for trade. He wasn’t sure what he would need, but it felt nice not to be empty handed.
It was difficult to step back and look at his life as it was now, but when he did, he hardly recognized himself.
He had filled out, good food sticking to his ribs.
Training with Henroen and Osmond every day had his muscles and confidence growing.
Jonen liked to wrestle with him, the two alphas going at it until their fangs were dripping and their clothes stuck to their back with sweat.
With Corric, he practiced fighting a quicker opponent.
Someone who moved with such fluidity and grace, at times it looked like he was floating. Osmond told him he was looking better.
Most days, he didn’t get to see Ridan. He was busy with his duties. But when he did, Brune couldn’t help but feel the day was made finer. Sometimes it was just a moment to chat, and others they would spar. Often it ended up with Brune on his back, neck bared to the blonde omega.
On one such occasion, it was his boots that failed him. The poorly made Kaledonea leather broke, sending Brune to the ground before Ridan could even attack. He’d snarled at them, complaining that he needed better boots. Brune could hardly argue, but boots were expensive.
The next day, Ridan showed up to spar, flinging a pair of the finest boots Brune had ever seen at his head. He stared down at them while the omega glared down at him, mumbling about how the Smithe’s’s owed him a favor.
Like Brune couldn’t see the missing bracer on Ridan’s right arm, an obvious tan line from where it used to be.
Now every time he looked at the boots, he couldn’t help but chuff, his alpha preening. He knew it didn’t mean anything. Ridan wasn’t trying to court him, but it was still a gift from a desirable omega. He’d been walking lighter since he’d pulled them on.
Derry broke through his concentration with stories from last year’s festival. Apparently, he’d met an alpha from the Jagged Coast last year he was hoping to see again.
“What will you do if you see her?” Niklas asked around a strip of leather between his teeth, fastening an arrowhead.
Derry sighed dramatically, leaning on his hammer. “I can’t ask her to court. The Iron Jaw clan is more traditional. If an omega asks an alpha to court, it might shame her.”
Brune frowned. “Are the clans so different?”
“They can be,” Derry answered. “It depends on the Chief, usually. Even here it’s not forbidden, but I don’t know any alpha who wouldn’t lose face if their omega proposed courting first.”
“How would anyone know?” Niklas asked, surprising Brune. He wasn’t usually interested in alpha/omega courting rituals.
“It’s tradition for an alpha to publicly ask to court,” Derry explained, while he waited for the metal to cool. “Usually they present a gift and ask the chief for permission first, then the omega if the chief allows it.”
That made little sense to Brune. The Stone Blade didn’t ascribe to omegas asking permission for anything, especially courting.
Derry saw his confusion. “It’s an old tradition, from back when the clans were a little rougher.
It’s to prevent an alpha forcing an omega into a courtship they don’t want.
The omega has the chief and clan for protection.
Now it’s more of a confidence thing. An alpha is so sure of their feelings, ability to provide, and position, they have nothing to hide.
” Derry shrugged. “It’s…kind of romantic, really. ”
Niklas made a face. “Sounds awful.”
Brune laughed, ignoring his shy friend to continue helping Derry. They worked as they chatted. Derry was always happy to answer Brune’s questions about life in the clan and never made him feel bad for asking. Once, he’d returned the favor and asked about life in Kaledonea. He only asked once.
When the sun was high in the sky and the three lost the battle to the heat of the forge, they shed their shirts and took a break. Chugging water from a skin, Brune was the first to notice Sehleh.
The mild-mannered beta was standing at the entrance of the forge, her hands clasped in front of her. A pleasant smile stretched across her features, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Brune nearly spat out his water. Niklas pushed himself to his feet, hands hovering in front of him like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.
Derry was the only one who didn’t seem overly concerned, throwing his arms around the shorter woman without hesitation, hugging her tightly with a cry of, “Momma Sehleh!”
While Sehleh hugged him back, Brune snatched his shirt back on, struggling to pull it over his sweaty, filthy skin.
The clan didn’t have the same expectations of modesty that he grew up with in Kaledonea, but habits were hard to break.
Pushing some of his messy hair from his eyes, he hoped he wasn’t embarrassing himself too badly.
Derry was waving off her concerns of interruption, telling her they were just about to break for lunch. Sehleh nodded once before her big eyes landed on Brune. Her face looked so much like Jonen’s it was disarming.
“I was hoping to take some of your time,” she said, holding Brune’s gaze. “Chief Restrina would like to meet with you.”
The only sound was that of the burning embers and the billow of smoke. He could feel Niklas’s gaze burning into his back and even Derry looked shocked, eyes wide as he looked between him and Sehleh.