Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The realization came to Polly somewhere between sleep and waking, in the grey uncertain hour before dawn.
I wanted him to want more.
She lay in Njkall’s arms, her cheek pressed against the slow rise and fall of his chest, listening to the deep rhythm of his breathing.
In spite of their argument, she’d still come to him in the night, and he’d still put his arm around her, tucking her against his side.
His arm was still curved around her, massive and warm, and in the darkness she could pretend she was small enough to disappear into the shelter of him entirely.
But she couldn’t disappear from her own thoughts.
Last night she’d been so certain of her anger.
She’d stood in front of him and shouted—actually shouted, at a warrior three times her size—and she’d felt powerful in that moment, righteously furious, finally saying the things she’d needed to say for weeks.
He’d been deciding for her. Treating her like glass.
Making choices about what she wanted without ever bothering to ask.
All of that was true.
But it wasn’t the whole truth.
The whole truth was messier. Uglier. Harder to look at directly.
I wasn’t just angry that he was deciding for me. I was angry about what he decided.
He’d said she could want his hands and nothing else. He’d said that would be enough. And the fragile, frightened part of her had heard that and thought, Is that all you think I am? All you think we are? Someone you protect and pleasure and hold at arm’s length forever?
She’d wanted him to push back. To say no, I want more, I want everything, I want the bond and the future and all of it. She’d wanted him to claim her the way the stories said Hothians claimed their mates—fierce and certain and undeniable.
And when he’d offered her freedom instead of need, space instead of desire, she’d felt rejected, even though that made no sense. Even though he’d been trying to do exactly what she’d always said she wanted.
That’s the problem with freedom, she thought, watching the shadows shift on the ceiling as dawn crept closer. It means you have to want things for yourself. You can’t just wait for someone else to want them for you.
Njkall stirred beneath her. His arm tightened briefly, unconsciously pulling her closer against his warmth.
In his sleep, his face was softer—the lines of responsibility smoothed away, the constant watchful alertness gentled into something younger.
She wondered what he’d looked like as a boy, before the weight of the clan had settled on his shoulders.
She wondered what had put it there.
For all the months she’d spent with him, all the nights curled against his side, and all the quiet conversations in the firelight, she realized suddenly that she knew almost nothing about his past. He knew everything about hers, or at least the traumatic parts.
The person she’d been before, the naive college student she’d been on Earth, had been buried beneath the mines.
But he’d held her through the nightmares and pieced together the shape of her trauma from all the things she couldn’t say out loud.
But what did she know about him?
That he was the clan leader. That he was patient. That he had a laugh like distant thunder and hands that could crush stone but touched her like she was made of spun glass.
That wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
I’ve been so busy being protected, she thought, that I never thought to ask who protects him.
She slipped quietly out from under his arm, washed and dressed, then went to find Cera in the small cave she used for storage.
The older female was sorting through dried herbs, her movements quick and efficient, muttering to herself about someone’s poor storage practices.
She looked up when Polly entered, and her weathered face creased into a smile.
“Early for you,” Cera observed. “Usually you sleep until the fires are hot.”
“I had things to think about.”
“Dangerous occupation, thinking. Leads to all sorts of trouble.” Cera set down her herbs and studied her with the assessing gaze that saw everything and judged nothing. “Sit. I’ll make tea.”
It wasn’t a question. She sat.
The storage cave smelled of herbs and smoke and the particular mineral scent of deep stone.
She had spent a lot of time here in her early days, when Njkall had clan business and she couldn’t bear to be alone.
Cera was calm and practical, with a competence that made you believe everything would be handled, whatever everything turned out to be.
“How’s Tess?” she asked as Cera poured hot water over dried leaves.
“Better.” Cera handed her a cup. “She slept through the night without waking for the first time. She asked for different clothes this morning, and said the ones I gave her were too scratchy. Then she complained about breakfast.”
“Is that… good?”
“Very good.” Cera settled onto the bench across from her, cradling her own cup. “Complaining means she feels safe enough to have preferences. It means she’s starting to believe she might be around long enough for preferences to matter.”
She thought about that. She remembered her own early days. She’d existed on a kind of numb autopilot because wanting things felt dangerous. If you wanted things, they could be taken away. If you didn’t want anything, no one could hurt you by withholding it.
“I remember when I started complaining,” she said quietly. “You were so pleased.”
“I was. You told me the tea was too bitter and demanded honey.” Cera’s eyes crinkled. “I nearly cried with relief. You’d been a ghost for weeks, going through motions, and then suddenly you were a person again. A person who wanted honey in her tea.”
“It seems so small.”
“The small things are the biggest things. Every choice you make is a statement: I exist. I matter. My preferences are real. My future is worth planning for.” Cera took a slow sip of her tea.
“Trauma steals that from you. The belief that you’ll have a future at all.
Recovery is building it back, one tiny choice at a time. ”
She turned her cup in her hands, watching the steam rise. “Cera. Can I ask you something?”
“You can always ask. I reserve the right not to answer.”
“What happened to Njkall’s parents?”
Cera set her cup down with exaggerated care.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve been with him for almost a year and I don’t know anything about his past. I know everything about the male he is now.
But I don’t know who he was. I don’t know what made him.
” She met Cera’s gaze. “I want to understand him. Really understand him. And I think that means knowing where he came from.”
Cera was quiet for a long moment. The fire crackled in the small hearth that warmed the storage cave. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the rhythmic clang of the smithy beginning its morning work.
“It’s not really my story to tell,” Cera said finally.
“But I can tell you the parts that everyone in the clan knows.” She shifted, settling into the telling.
“Njkall’s father was the clan leader before him.
Korval. He was a good male—strong, fair, respected.
His mother was a healer, like me. They were happy, or at least as happy as anyone can be, carrying the weight of the clan. ”
“What happened to them?”
“Ice storm. Njkall was twelve—barely more than a cub. A group of hunters were caught outside when the storm hit. Korval went out with the rescue party. Njkall’s mother went too, because there would be injuries. Neither of them came back.”
Her chest tightened. Twelve. She tried to imagine Njkall as a child, suddenly alone, suddenly without the parents who should have been there to guide him into adulthood.
“He became clan leader at twelve?”
“Not immediately. There were regents—older warriors who handled the leadership responsibilities until he came of age. But everyone knew the position was waiting for him. Everyone knew that one day he’d have to fill his father’s place.
” Cera’s expression was distant, remembering.
“I watched him grow up. I watched him take on more responsibility year after year, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the boy at all. Just the leader. Just the protector.”
“He never got to be young.”
“No.” Cera’s voice was soft. “He didn’t.
He learned to take care of others before he ever learned to take care of himself.
He learned that his job was to be strong and steady, to be the foundation everyone else built their lives on.
And he did it. He’s done it magnificently.
But I wonder sometimes…” She trailed off.
“What?”
“I wonder if he ever learned how to let someone take care of him.” Cera looked at her with something that might have been hope. “Until you.”
She thought about all the nights she’d crept into his bed seeking comfort. She’d thought she was the one who needed him, but maybe he needed it too. Maybe holding her was the closest he’d ever come to being held himself.
“He’s been alone a long time,” she said quietly.
“He has. And he’s very good at it. Too good.” Cera reached across and squeezed her hand. “You’re the first person I’ve seen him want for himself.”
“Sometimes I wonder if he knows how to want anything for himself. He always turns it into protecting me.”
“Child, the entire clan knows that he wants you. Njkall may be patient as stone, but he’s about as subtle as a rockslide when it comes to you. Everyone’s been waiting for one of you to admit it.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to be… whatever I’m trying to be. All I know is that I’m tired of being afraid of wanting things. I’m tired of—” She threw out her hands. “I’m tired of being careful. I want to be brave.”
“Then be brave.” Cera said it like it was simple. “That’s the secret, you know. Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s choosing to act anyway.”
“What if I choose wrong?”