19
Gleb
“You’ve seen my northern dyla weturanya by the sea.
This is my central home.
It isn’t as grand because the clan doesn’t spend many lunar cycles on the central grounds.
We’re basically here for the hazelnuts.”
“Hazelnuts?”
“Hazelnut spread makes any food palatable and the long winter bearable,”
I reply with a smile because I can’t stop smiling.
Hannah’s back in my arms! I must set her down to unlock the levers securing my home, but I don’t want to.
She needs medical care, the bathing pool, and hot tea, but all I want to do is hold her against me.
I missed her little body beside mine when I slept alone.
Slept…right…more like rolled around on the ground waiting for the sun to rise.
Good thing we are still in the niibin season where darkness doesn’t linger.
Now that Hannah is back in my arms, I can’t wait for the nights to stretch out for months.
“You will have to teach me how to make hazelnut spread.
I want to be your partner and learn how to do things that make you happy,”
she replies with a snuggle.
“Little signs of affection like that go a long way with me.”
I set her down to brush away the mud and slush I used to bury the entrance to my home before I migrated north.
“Sergei mentored me better than any father, but I missed out on the tender support of a female figure in my life.
I’m a little…little…”
“Touch-starved? That’s what I call myself.
My parents didn’t believe in physical affection outside of the bedroom in case one of the staff got the wrong idea…you know, that we were a loving family.”
“Touch-starved,”
I repeat, rolling it around in my mouth.
Once I pull the locking mechanism from the ground, I sweep Hannah into my arms and jump down the six-foot drop.
She clings to me as I shift her in my arms to replace the locking mechanism one-handed.
The hardest part is slinging our travel bags over my shoulders without bumping her wounded arm.
When I was younger and shorter, the locking mechanism was a challenge, but now I easily perform the code of locking levers and rotating gears with one hand over my head…while cuddling my mate.
She can walk.
Her mind hasn’t registered that she’s injured.
It’s me who never wants to separate us again.
I came too close to losing her.
“So, if I annoy you with requests to snuggle, just tell me to back off,”
she says, nestling in the fur on my chest.
“I can’t see that happening, but okay.
Same to you—no scratch that.
I plan to love you more than you can stand.”
“I can’t wait,”
she says with a dreamy sigh.
“Tell me more about your home.
Where do you get the flashlights? What are the things hanging on the walls? How far down does this tunnel go?”
“Where to begin? Well, I’m not old enough to remember the times before Polina joined the clan.
She is Timor’s human dushevnayasvyaz .
When we were kits, she bargained with the First Nations tribes who pass through our territories for batteries and other treats.
She still takes Tatiana to visit her tribe, but Vera orders most of our batteries through her star-finder box.”
“And the stuff on the walls?”
“Those are tools for hunting, gathering herbs—that’s what goes in all the empty baskets.
I dry them out here to give any bugs I accidentally collect a chance to escape peacefully.
The hooks are for hanging skins between tanning baths.
Those furs are full of hazelnut burrs. Once they are dry, I will spend hours peeling the nut from inside the prickly shell—”
“I can do that!”
“Yes,”
I reply with a chuckle.
I love her enthusiasm.
Although I bet she’s never shelled a hazelnut.
It’s a boring, painful task. “I’d love some help. The burrs prick my fingers, but I know the nuts are worth it. I’ll roast them. Half will be dried for traveling meals and half will be made into paste. Thinking about it, if I have your help shelling them, I don’t know why we can’t gather a few more furs of nuts. The extra paste will help feed our two newest members.”
“Two? Do you have a second wife I need to know about?”
Her tone is joking, but the vulnerability in her eyes makes my heart skip a beat.
Does she believe I would try to collect mates? My mate needs reassurance and tender care…maybe as much as I do.
“Gustav was rolling around the last time I saw the little kit.
Sergei is taking Sydney to the northern grounds early so she can give birth in his largest home.
Sergei and Sydney don’t want to migrate with a newborn.
I offered our help in exchange for forgiveness and return to the group.”
“Is migrating with kits dangerous?”
“Not for a Chuchunya kit, but a newly born, human baby isn’t as equipped for the cold.
They aren’t taking any chances.
Artyom says that they are smart to protect the kit with our dwindling numbers.
I suspect Sergei is more tender-hearted and doesn’t want his dushevnayasvyaz to lose a kit.”
“What a horrible thought!”
“We’re at the bottom.”
I don’t want to set her down when she’s distressed, but we’ve come to the bottom of the tunnel.
There’s another locking mechanism on the entrance crevice.
Carrying her and the travel bags, I might be too wide to fit through the opening.
Better toss them through first. I want to hear if a rodent found its way down here. The bags crash onto the stone floor and then silence—no scurrying feet.
“It’s so much warmer.
I understand why you live down here.”
“Do you want to go first?”
“You better go.
I don’t know where the lights are.
I’ll be stumbling around in the dark.
It’s cozy with the flashlights. I can imagine how scary it would be living down here without light for weeks. I guess your eyes would adjust after a while…which would ma ke emerging in the springtime horribly uncomfortable.”
Unlike Serik’s mate, Kaitlyn, who’s deathly afraid of squeezing between the rocky slabs that guard our rooms, Hannah slides through without complaint.
It could be the energy tricking her mind from the fight, but I take a victory where I can.
The lights flicker on, illuminating my small space.
Hannah wanders slowly around the room, examining everything. What I wouldn’t do to read her thoughts?!
The main room serves as my sleeping chamber with three rooms behind it.
As a single male, I never thought about sheltering a mate and kits in this home.
It takes seconds to gather clean furs, sinew thread, and a stone bowl to collect water from my bathing pool.
I need to sew those gashes closed before Hannah loses too much blood. Her favorite mug will make the foul-tasting herbs go down easier. They must seep and she must drink them before I can begin.
There’s no way I’ll hurt her if I can help it.
For the first time, I’m ashamed of my home.
As I gather herb remnants from the bottom of my dwindling supplies, embarrassment colors my face.
I want to throw Hannah over my shoulder and return to my northern home.
She was impressed with that home—even though the rest of the clan makes fun of it. But Hannah’s injuries can’t make the migration. They expect us on the southern grounds as soon as we can travel, but Hannah’s care comes first .
Maybe she won’t hate my southern home.
Her squeal snaps me out of my sour thoughts.
“Hannah!”
Her head drops to her left shoulder as she sways to the right.
Thank you, tiny home! I cross the room in two strides in time to catch her.
If she hit her head on the stone floor, she may never wake again.
Her complexion is white and ashy from loss of blood. The color drained from her lips while I moaned about my inferior home. When will I learn how to care for someone? You can’t just want to put them first. You must assess them constantly to anticipate their needs.
She doesn’t stir as I lay her on my furry nest.
I remove her fursuit to reveal the bloody bandaging across her chest.
The gash on her side bled through, but her arm’s cut sealed before bleeding too much.
Her arm is what worries me because the split in her muscle. What if she loses strength in that arm? What if she can’t fish, climb, or carry our kits with that arm because I screwed this up? What if…
What if I’m not helping her by allowing my panic to slow my hands?
Pretend I’m Sergei—No, pretend this is one of Sergei’s endless learning exercises.
Yes! The consequences aren’t real, so I can focus on the steps.
He would be yelling at me because I hadn’t retrieved hot water.
I don’t even have a fire to boil water. I need hot water to seep the herbs in her cup, wash the porcupine quill—
I never grabbed a porcupine quill from the butchery room! How am I supposed to sew a wound without a needle? What do I do first? Run to the bathing pool.
I flick on the flashlight closest to the door and sigh in relief that I cleaned my pool before I left and no critter invaded since.
I use the bowl as a scoop and pour water into her mug—careful! Don’t overfill it and lose some of the leaves.
I don’t have spares.
“Hang on, Hannah,”
I plea as I set the bowl and mug beside the bedding.
I race to the butchery room.
Dammit, this is where I was lazy! There’s always one room that isn’t to Sergei’s standards.
Tools and bins, caked in blood, lay everywhere.
If we had a kit, they would be in danger in a heartbeat. No door. Sharp blades on the floor—tainted with blood—are in the path of any toddling kit. Where is my basket of porcupine quills? My basket isn’t on the shelf. Nope, not on the table. Well, there’s the basket. Why is it lying—empty—in a tanning vat? Am I out?
Oh hell, they lie in a pile at the back of the room.
I threw the basket against the wall in a fit when my stitches popped.
No more temper tantrums if I am to focus on Hannah’s care.
Hannah? How long has she laid there while I puttered around my butchery room ?
“Hannah! Hannah!”
I yell as I race back to her bedside with a fist full of porcupine quills.
They poke into my palm, but it’s a fitting punishment for poor organization.
“Gleb? Gleb? It hurts,”
she whispers.
“Sip this,”
I command, as I push her mug against her chapped lips.
My arm loops under her head to elevate her.
The tea hasn’t seeped long enough, but if she swallows the leaves, she will get the dose…just slower.
“Good girl.”
She sips and slurps the putrid liquid as if she tastes the freshest spring water.
Her eyes open when the cup is half empty.
“Drink it all for me.
It has herbs to make the pain go away.”
“For you,”
she croaks as I lower the empty cup.
My heart melts.
If I want this feeling again, I must save her.
“Sleep, my love,”
I pray.
There’s enough Valerian in the tea to knock me out and she’s one-fourth my size.
With any luck, she will be deep enough not to register the pain I’m about to inflict on her…but not so much that she’s poisoned.
“Dream of our new life.”
Her eyelashes flutter as she drifts away.
Please let me have her back.
I know I don’t deserve her or any of life’s pleasures, but please have mercy on her.
Arm first.
I cut her shirt from the wound, but the fabric fused to the cut.
It takes longer than anticipated to tease out the fibers with a pair of porcupine quills.
Stupid svoloch , I broke the seal and it’s bleeding again. Might as well stitch it shut while I’m stitching her side. She doesn’t stir when I push the first stitch of reindeer sinew through her skin. Should she have at least flinched? I’ve only sewn stitches on Artyom, who never shows emotion—other than possessive jealousy if anyone gets close to Vera. As stony as Artyom’s heart is, Hannah’s heart is tender. I must be hurting her, right? Oh no, I’m staring at the wound too long.
Just get it done before she wakes.
The wound isn’t as deep, but drools blood in a steady trickle.
If this is the tea, I hope the herbs aren’t leaving her body with the blood.
If she’s losing the medicine and no longer numb, why hasn’t she reacted to any of my jostling of her wounds? I wish I understood more about the body.
Her heart beats beneath my ear when I lay my head on her chest. She rustles my arm hairs when I hold it before her open mouth to collect her breath.
Don’t fear, Gleb.
She’s not dead.
Focus on her wounds.
Blood crusts over the lop-sided stitches under her tiny ribs.
She will have a scar to remind her of the worst day of her life—thanks to me.
It will serve as a constant reminder that I killed Jack when her rescue went sideways.
He just missed her liver. If he had stabbed deeper, would she have died instantly or slowly bled out? Could she still bleed out? Her life is in my hands, and I’m not equipped for this. Why did the universe give me a mate? I’m obviously not fierce, smart, capable, or worthy of one. I add my tears to the body fluids marring her porcelain skin.
We haven’t slept comfortably in days.
She would ask me to cuddle her as she fell asleep if she were awake…but I can’t lie beside her as her spirit slips away.
I’m not strong enough to hold my mate as she dies in my arms.
Another failing. Instead, I wash the suture equipment and myself in the bathing pool. After checking her breathing, I clean my butchery room. The travel bags are emptied and restocked while she continues to sleep without movement. Finally, I sob myself to sleep at her side.
I always thought meeting my mate would be a gift…maybe this is my punishment…
Take life and death into your own hands…an d the Universe will teach you who is really in control…