Chapter 11
Asterion
Ithought she would have given up in her attempt to learn how to use the flint stones a lot sooner than she did.
But given her stubbornness in every other aspect, I should not have been surprised that she did not.
When I thought I could not take the sound of the stones smacking against each other one more time, she finally gave up.
I must admit that I was impressed by her willingness to learn and took pity on her inability to get it to work, having kept my mouth shut when she held one of the flints the wrong way around.
I knew it was never going to light from the beginning of her efforts.
Perhaps it was cruel to let her continue to try, knowing it would not light, because despite my keen dislike of the little viper, I cannot bear the disheartened look on her face as she stares at the stones she discarded.
I did not intend to help her, but my body moves before I realize what I am doing.
Knowing that my stew bubbles away happily on my own fire, I settle in behind her, picking the stones back up and placing them in her hands the right way around before showing her the correct way to smack them together.
The proximity of her body, her warmth, the smell of strawberries mixed with something decadent is not lost on me.
So distracted am I by the intensity of the mate bond flaring to life in my chest that I hit the stones at the wrong angle.
Disgruntled at the effect her scent has on me, I try again.
I lean further into her, as if my body has a mind of its own, sensing the nearness of my mate and demanding we be closer.
Her rich strawberry smell almost makes me dizzy as it fills my nose, her contentment from the warmth increasing the intensity of it tenfold.
I attempt to stifle my breathing, taking short, shallow breaths to avoid inhaling so much of her.
The last thing I want is to be so overcome with the mate bond that I do something I regret. Concentrate.
I strike the flints against one another, and this time a spark ignites, settling itself amongst her small pile of debris.
She follows my instructions, leaning forward to gently blow on the ember, and without thinking, my hands brush her violet strands of hair away from the flame, pulling them over her shoulder into a little twist around my fist.
I cannot take my eyes away from those strands of hair twirling between my fingers.
The mate bond angrily stirs low in my gut, and I can already feel my cock hardening between us.
How sweet this hair would look twisted in the grip of my hand while I filled my mate with my knot and my seed until it ran down the backs of her legs.
But she cannot be my mate. She is too small, too weak. The consequence of a poorly enacted trick by the Drakons.
She turns to me, her face alight and triumphant that we got it to work.
I force myself to relax my grip on her hair, and silken strands slide through my fingers.
Fingers that are now a hairsbreadth away from the flushed skin of her cheek.
I could reach out and touch her, caress her face in the palm of my hand.
I could lean in and swipe the perspiration beading on her skin with a flick of my tongue.
My eyes are transfixed on a bead that trails down her neck and into her shirt.
I wonder if she tastes like strawberries, too.
My cock is painfully hard, and if she notices, she does not mention it.
I try to think of anything else to get it to go down—rotten oysters, that one time the latrine blocked, rodents in my vegetable garden.
At last, it softens, and I quickly move away from her, back to my own fire, where my stew smells as if it is ready.
I remove it from the flames and allow it to cool down while I grab another clay bowl and divvy up a portion for her before handing it over.
“Oh, thanks.” Her gaze has not left me once, her proud smile twisting into pursed lips.
The silence between us feels loud. She brings the bowl to her mouth, still eyeing me quizzically as if I am a puzzle she is yet to solve, and slurps at the stew.
My right eye twitches at the obnoxious sound, but it is soon forgotten as she lets out a moan, closing her eyes, and taking another mouthful.
“Fates,” I curse, my cock instantly springing back to attention. I am going to have to take matters into my own hands once she is asleep to satisfy this driving need the mate bond is forcing upon us. Perhaps if I tend to my own needs, my body will not be so quick to respond so willingly.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
” She smiles at me, wiping her mouth on her arm.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had a home-cooked meal—well, mountain-cooked, I suppose.
” She chuckles to herself. I preen at her compliment.
It is my duty to care for my mate, feed them, and ensure they are well cared for.
Her compliment of the meal I have cooked for her makes that primal beast inside me glow with pride.
Perhaps, I shall give her something for her efforts after all.
“Asterion.”
“What?” That infuriating eyebrow cocks at me as she takes another mouthful of stew.
“My name. It is Asterion.”
“Oh.” I am almost certain I hear her mutter ‘more like Ass-terion’ into her bowl. I huff, already regretting my decision to tell her.
The silence between us is only broken by the spitting of the twin fires, the branches popping and hissing as the flames devour them. We eat side by side, looking out across the island as the sun finally disappears and is replaced with a thousand twinkling stars.
“Katie,” she says, handing me her empty bowl. “Thanks for the food.”
I nod, setting it aside as she curls up on her side by the fire with her back to me and drifts off to sleep. I sit there a little longer, watching the rise and fall of her ribs with every steady breath she takes. Katie. That is the name of my mate.
I clean up our bowls and put them away, the anticipation of finally having some alone time making me rush.
I quickly lay out the fur I am to sleep upon and feel a pit of guilt at seeing her lying on the hard ground with nothing to soften it.
A good mate would offer his fur up, but all the guilt in the world would not see me do that.
I think back to this morning, waking up with her pressed against me.
She was all hard angles, albeit warm. Her hand had mistakenly grabbed my cock, the traitorous thing instantly standing to attention with her against me.
The longer we ignore the mate bond, the more pressing the need to bed my mate becomes.
If I do not take matters into my own hands soon, I will come merely from looking at her.
It is already bad enough that her scent drives me mad whenever she is close, transforming me into nothing more than a wild beast eager to rut into anything to relieve the pressure.
The fact that she is a vicious creature does nothing to deter my body, despite my mind being made up.
I glance toward her again, ensuring she is asleep before sneaking as far away as the rope will let me.
I am not foolish enough to untie it lest it is all a ruse, but I will have to be quiet, and quick, though I fear the latter will not be a problem.
My balls ache for release, my loincloth already tented.
I give the knot at the base of my cock a firm squeeze, letting out a small groan.
I turn my back toward our makeshift camp and spit into my hand, gripping my cock tight as I begin to stroke myself.
I try not to think of the little violet-haired viper that sleeps curled up mere feet away.
I try not to think about the cloying scent of strawberries seeping from her pores that has tortured me thus far, nor how she grabbed my hand when I inspected her wounds and how soft they felt against my skin.
I stroke faster, harder, biting down on my other arm to keep from making too much noise and waking her.
I do not think about the way she smiled at me when we got the flint to light her fire; the first look of proper happiness she had shown, and I definitely do not think about her looking at me like that again, or what it would be like to elicit the same response as when she tasted the stew I made.
Of how those plump lips would look parted around other things.
I stifle a groan as I paint the rocks with my seed, my knot inflating to almost painful levels with nothing to lock itself into. I grip it tight, hips stuttering slightly into my hand a couple more times, ensuring I am completely empty.
I let out a sigh, looking at my spend, wasted on the mountain rocks and not where it should be.
Inside my mate. I shake my head, trying to clear it of the sleepy haze that comes after I have spent myself.
Not her, though. It cannot be her. I grimace and turn back to our camp.
Color drains from my face when I realize that Katie is no longer sleeping, the spot where she was resting now empty.
Embarrassment flares hot on my face, knowing I must have woken her up.
Perhaps I was too loud. I do not know what she heard or saw, nor how much.
I approach the fur and clear my throat. “Katie?” I call.
Perhaps she needed to relieve her bladder, though she could not have gone far with the rope binding us together.
I give it a little tug, hopeful that a snarky remark will bite back from around the bend in the path.
I am met with no resistance. Pulling again, the end of the rope comes into view, frayed and not attached to a little violet-haired viper.