Chapter 22 #2
She met my eyes as she worked, her gaze steady and knowing. "We honour what you lost," she said quietly. "And we welcome what you become."
Kessa gestured to one of the younger girls hovering near the entrance. She was maybe twelve, her dark hair loose and eyes wide with excitement. "Ellie, you know Mira?"
“I do. She taught me skin rabbit. Nice see you Mira,” I said, trying to swallow down my emotion, and smiling warmly at her. Mira smiled back shyly.
"She wants you to braid her hair," Kessa said, placing a carved comb in my hand. "It is... done. The one who is blessed, she blesses another. She shares what she receives."
My hands trembled as I took the comb. Mira sat, her back straight, her shoulders tense with the gravity of the moment.
I swallowed hard and began to work through her hair.
I could not mimick the patterns I'd felt Sira weave into mine, but I added several tiny braids that fell prettily among Mira’s thick tresses.
"Not so tight," Sira coached gently. "Let it breathe. Yes, like that."
I was clumsy. My braids weren't as neat, my fingers not as sure. But Mira didn't complain. She sat perfectly still, and when I fumbled with a bead Kessa guided my hand, showing me how to secure it.
"You do well," Mira said softly when I finished, her voice shy but pleased.
When she turned and threw her arms around my neck, pressing her face against my shoulder in a fierce, wordless hug, I hugged her back, my vision blurring again.
By the time we left Kessa's hearth, the sun had climbed higher, though the early spring sky stayed pale and cold.
My breath misted in the air as we walked through the camp, children ran past, shrieking with excitement, and a few of the hunters nodded respectfully as we passed.
One older man called out something that made the women around me laugh.
"What did he say?" I asked.
"He says Daska is very lucky man," Kessa said with a grin. "And also very stupid to wait so long."
My face heated. "I... we only met—"
"We know," Sira said dryly. "But bond does not wait for man to be smart."
“Oh, but there isn’t a-”
The drums started, cutting me off. Low and steady, a heartbeat rhythm that thrummed through the ground and into my bones.
I felt it in my chest, in the base of my skull, resonant and ancient and impossibly heavy.
Kessa walked beside me, her hand light on my elbow, guiding me along and up a narrow path that wound its way up the side of the valley.
The rest of the pack followed behind us, fanning out where the land opened into a wide clearing.
On one side, the valley opened out below us, and at the far end of the clearing, a huge boulder sat, hanging at a strange angle over the edge of the cliff that fell away beneath us.
It looked as though it might topple at any moment. The Hanging Rock, I realised.
The clearing was larger than I'd expected, ringed by ancient stones half-buried in the earth, their surfaces worn smooth by time and weather. The pack had gathered in a loose circle around a central fire pit, and the flames were already roaring, sending sparks spiralling into the pale sky.
It looked like the entire pack was here to watch Daska and I be mated.
The drums grew louder as we approached, joined now by voices, low chanting, rhythmic and hypnotic that made my heart speed up, whether from fear or anticipation, I wasn’t sure.
And then I saw him.
Daska stood on the far side of the fire, his back straight, his shoulders broad and steady beneath the fur cloak draped across them.
He wore dark leather trousers decorated with simple beadwork, his arms and chest bare despite the cold, and there were red ochre marks on his skin like mine, painted in lines and spirals across his chest and upper arms.
He looked powerful. Grounded. He looked like home, and he was staring at me like I'd stolen the breath from his lungs, like he couldn't believe I was real. I saw him blink rapidly, his eyes shining.
He's holding back tears.
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
This wasn't duty. This wasn't protection.
He wanted this. Wanted me.
Kessa's hand pressed gently against my back, urging me forward, and my legs remembered how to move. I walked slowly around the fire, each step feeling monumental, the pack silent now except for the drums and the crackle of flames.
When I reached him, Daska's reached up and his fingers brushed the side of my face. His touch was feather-light, reverent, and he leaned in close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my temple.
"You honour me," he whispered, his voice rough and low. "More than I... more than I have words for."
My throat closed. I couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but nod, and Daska's hand slid down to close gently around mine.
Rivik stepped forward. Hi face was impassive, like it was carved from stone, and he barely looked at me.
I have to admit, it hurt a little, after the way he’d kissed me last night.
The way he’d… I pushed the thought a way.
I was mating Daska, I needed to focus on that, and if Rivik didn’t give a shit, that was his business.
His voice was low and resonant as he began to speak, carrying across the space with the weight of ritual.
I understood most of it; the invocations to the spirits of earth and sky, to the ancestors who watched over the pack, to the bonds that held them together against the long dark of winter.
Lastly, and with honour and reverence, he called on the Great Mother and her Lover, to witness our mating.
He gestured to the sky, to the earth, to the fire, the river far below in the valley. He spoke Daska's name, then mine, and the way he said them, linked together, made my chest tighten.
"Daska, hearth son of Rokan and Jalar, healer of the Hanging Rock, who spirit is shared by the Cave Bear," Rivik intoned.
"Ellie, woman of the—" He used a phrase I didn't quite catch, something that meant far place or beyond the edge.
"You come together before the pack. Before the spirits.
Before the Great Mother and her own Lover. "
I swallowed hard. Daska's fingers tightened around mine.
Rivik lifted our joined hands high so the pack could see. "The bond pulls them. The spirits have chosen. Do any speak against this joining?"
Silence. I held my breath, half-expecting someone to object, to call out that I didn't belong, that this was wrong—
But no one spoke.
Rivik lowered our hands and fixed his gaze on Daska. "You take this woman as mate? You swear to protect her, provide for her, honour her as equal?"
"I swear," Daska said, his voice strong and clear.
Rivik turned to me. "You take this man as mate? You swear to stand with him, walk beside him, build hearth and home together?"
My heart hammered. My mouth was dry.
This is it. This is the moment. Say yes or walk away.
"I swear," I whispered.
The words felt enormous. Final.
Rivik nodded gravely, then gestured to a young woman standing nearby. She came forward carrying a small leather pouch and a piece of flint, her movements careful and deliberate.
The drums intensified.
Daska turned to face me fully, his expression solemn, and held out his hand palm-up. The young woman placed the flint in his fingers, then stepped back.
He looked at me, his gaze steady and questioning, and I understood.
Blood.
I nodded, my throat dry, and offered my hand.
Daska's jaw tightened. He drew the flint across his thumb in one swift motion, not flinching, and blood welled dark and bright against his skin. Then he took my hand gently, cradling it in his, and pressed the edge of the flint to my thumb.
"This will hurt," he said quietly. "But only for moment."
The pain was sharp but brief, a quick sting that made me suck in a breath. Blood pooled on my thumb, warm and wet, and Daska lifted our hands so they were level, so our blood touched and mingled.
The pack was silent. Watching.
Rivik spoke again, his voice carrying over the drums. "Blood to blood. Life to life. What the spirits have bound, no one can break."
Daska lifted his bloodied thumb and pressed it to my brow, dragging a slow line down my temple, across my cheekbone. The touch was deliberate, claiming, and his eyes never left mine.
Then he took my hand and guided my thumb to his face, tilting his head slightly in permission.
I hesitated, my hand shaking, and then pressed my thumb to his brow. His skin was warm beneath the blood, and I traced the same path he'd marked on my temple to cheekbone feeling the shape of his face beneath my touch.
“Now what?” I whispered.
“Now I mark you as mine. I’m sorry, this will hurt.”
He slid his arm around me, pulling me close against him, and brushed my braids off one shoulder. I felt his warm breath as his lips danced over my skin, sending shivers through my body.
“Daska, what are you…” Surely he wasn’t going to mark me in public, that was crazy. That was-
I felt the sharp sting as his teeth bit down hard, breaking my skin.
There was a burst of pain, and then heat that rushed through my body like a tidal wave, pooling between my legs.
I was burning, I was… shit! An orgasm more powerful than I’d ever experienced exploded inside me.
I grabbed his arms, holding on and he took my weight immediately as my knees gave way.
I gasped for breath, my face on fire as I realised the whole pack had witnessed my climax.
Daska’s tongue smoothed over my skin, licking away the blood, and then he was pulling back, pressing a small pad of soft leather against my throat.
I just stared up at him in shock, but then the bond flared and this time it wasn’t heat that engulfed me, but Daska.
I could feel him, his earthy, brown essence, like deep roots in soil and pebbles in a stream.
I could feel every emotion that he was feeling right now, and I opened my eyes with a cry.