Epilogue
STACY
Two months later
“Da da da da!” Pacy bounces on his hands and knees, tail flicking. Across the room, my mate sits on the floor, cross-legged. He waves his fingers at his son, indicating he should come forward.
“You can do it, Pacy,” Pashov calls out. “Come to Da Da.” He uses the English word—or a bastardized version of it—since Pacy seems to be able to say that easier than the sa-khui ‘father,’ which has a lot of swallowed syllables.
The baby plants one foot on the ground, then the other, his bottom wiggling in the air.
Then he stands upright. I stir my egg while it slow roasts on the fire.
After endless experimenting, I’ve figured out the best way to cook the frozen dirtbeak eggs: crack open the top and let it scramble in its own shell, occasionally stirring it.
It makes a mountain of perfect, delicious scrambled eggs that go amazingly well with a bit of not-potato and is my favorite go-to meal when I’m tired of dried meat.
Pashov has taken to eating the eggs, too, but he prefers his as more of an omelet peppered with chunks of meat and roots.
They’ve helped save my sanity so far in the brutal season, when there’s plenty to eat, but most of it is dried, smoked meat.
The hunters filled our storage coffers as much as possible before the weather got bad, and the women harvested a lot of not-potato, and now we’re just riding out the blizzards above, snug in our little nook in the ground below.
I have an entire storage area full of frozen eggs, and we’re all being extremely careful to make them last. We should be good through the brutal season after all, and the men only go out to hunt on the days that it’s not pouring snow.
Since most days are so cold that it hurts to breathe and the skies are so dark they look like a bruise, the hunters stay home with us a lot of the time.
And while the food’s a bit monotonous, I don’t mind it because I enjoy having Pashov around all day. He gets to spend quality time with his son—like right now.
Pacy stretches out his little arms and wobbles forward on one foot, then the other.
I hold my breath. “Is he—”
“He has it,” Pashov says proudly, and gestures for Pacy to come forward. “You can do it, little one.”
“Da da!” Pacy says, staggering forward. He only makes it a few steps before he falls into Pashov’s arms, but my mate laughs and catches him, then tosses him into the air as if my son has made the greatest accomplishment ever.
“Did you see that?” Pashov asks me between Pacy’s peals of laughter. “Three steps this time.”
“He’ll be running up and down the streets soon,” I say with pride in my voice.
My little son is so smart. I don’t know a lot about babies, but it seems to me he’s always just a little ahead of the other kits in the tribe.
Or maybe that’s just my mommy-side speaking.
Whatever it is, I’m proud of my clever little Pacy.
Pashov grins over at me and gently sets Pacy back down. The baby immediately tries to get on his feet again, reaching for his father.
“You’d better hurry up and eat,” I admonish him as I use a pair of bone tongs to take the egg off the fire. “Josie will be here soon and she’s been having pregnancy cravings for eggs.”
“You can cook her up another,” my mate says lazily, scooping up my son and shooting me a heated look that tells me breakfast isn’t the only thing on his mind right now.
He carries Pacy over to the playpen Hemalo recently made for him—a series of privacy screens interlocked together to make a safe area for him to play—and comes to my side.
He nuzzles at my neck and his hands slide over my ass.
“Frisky this morning,” I tease, breathless. I’m feeling it, too.
“I am just imagining how my mate will react when she sees the gift I have for her,” he teases, nipping at my ear and sending skitters of pleasure through my body.
“Gift? But the holiday’s not until next month.” We’ve already talked a bit about it as a tribe, and last year it broke up the brutal season so delightfully well that Claire’s already planning out days and days of activities to keep things exciting through the long snowy weeks.
“I know. But I cannot wait any longer for you to have it.”
“But your food—”
“It can wait.”
My eyes go wide at that. It’s not like my walking, talking stomach of a mate to push aside food. “This must be good, then.”
“Oh, it is.” He gives my butt one last caress and heads over to the far side of our little house, where the rolled up furs are waiting for curing.
Curious, I watch as he digs through the bundles and pulls out something flat and wrapped in leather.
He turns around and holds it out to me, a smile on his face.
I’m touched that he’s so thoughtful, and I can’t stop grinning.
A present feels like such a treat, especially since we’re all being so careful with goods after losing almost everything to the cave-in.
Even months later, ‘making do’ has become the new normal.
But we’ll survive it, because we always do, and we’ll eventually replenish everything we lost. “Are you sure?” I ask shyly, taking the leather-wrapped object from him.
“I don’t have anything to give you.” I’m making him a soft, fur-lined tunic on the sly, but it won’t be ready until the holiday.
“Just having you as my mate is gift enough,” he says, and cups my face to give me a kiss.
“Aww, that is sweet. You’re totally getting laid later,” I tease, and my thrumming khui seems to agree. I pull the leather off of it, and I gasp in surprise.
It’s a skillet. It’s not quite the same as the one I had before, but it’s made similarly.
It has a bone handle attached to a square piece of metal salvaged from the ship, with the sides bent upward to form a lip.
The handle on my old skillet had been soldered, but this one is interlocking, with a bit of leather tied around to keep it in place.
“Do you like it?” Pashov asks. “Har-loh says we will have to change out the handle and the leather thong every few turns of the moon, but I thought it a small price to pay to get it for you again.”
“It’s wonderful,” I say dreamily, running my hand over the surface. “And it’s going to make cooking so much easier again.” I give him a happy look. “You remembered?”
He nods, the expression on his face shy. “It is another memory that came back. Once I had it, I wanted to ask Har-loh about getting you another. I was lucky she had a few pieces of metal left.”
“You’re wonderful,” I tell him. I’m truly touched—not just because it’s the most thoughtful, perfect gift ever, but because more of his memories are creeping back.
He’s sensitive about them, because I know that he’s frustrated it’s taking more time than he wanted, but we’re together and happy, and his nightmares have stopped now that we sleep in the furs together every night.
I don’t mind waiting a little longer for the last of his memories.
And if he never gets them back, I don’t even care anymore.
I have my Pashov. That’s all that matters.
“I wanted to make my mate happy,” he says simply.
“You do. Every day, you do.” I set it down on my stool and move forward to put my arms around his neck.
My khui’s purring furiously and I’m feeling more than a little turned on—and it’s not just because of the gift.
It’s because he’s so thoughtful and wonderful and utterly sexy and I love the way he looks at me.
He pulls me against him, and I can feel my breasts bounce when my body hits his.
His khui is loud, too, and I reach between us to caress his cock.
It’s hard as a rock already, even through the leather of his breechcloth.
“I see someone’s been thinking long and hard about his reward for making his mate so happy,” I say playfully, my voice a throaty purr.
“I cannot help it. You are irresistible to me.” He leans down and grazes his mouth over mine in a gentle kiss. “Shall I see if Asha can watch our son for a time and give us some privacy?”
“So I can show you how much I like your skillet?”
His eyes gleam. “Yes.”
“By…making you eggs?”
His mouth curves into a wicked smile. “Only if you allow me to eat them off of your stomach.”
“You strange, kinky man,” I say with a laugh. “It’s open for negotiation.”
He leans in to kiss me again, and suddenly…I feel it.
Resonance.
The loud, pleasant hum of my khui changes tone, becomes louder, more insistent. His sings loudly to mine, the joined song so loud it feels as if it’s filling our small little house and shaking my body.
I gasp, clinging to him. “Resonance! Again?”
“Again,” he says happily, and claims my mouth in a ravenous kiss.
And oh god, it feels as if my face is going to melt off from the fury of that kiss.
It’s wicked and delicious and so deep and wet that I can feel my entire body turning into an inferno.
I know what to expect from resonance now that it’s the second time around, but time hasn’t dampened the feeling.
The ache between my legs is insistent and intense, and my nipples feel like tight, aching little buds that are just begging to be licked for a few hours.
Pashov groans as he kisses me. “You. Are. Incredible.” Each word is punctuated with another heated kiss. “We will have another kit,” he marvels. “A daughter this time. One that looks like you.”
I laugh, rubbing his cock through his breeches, because I can’t help myself. “Or another son. I’m fine with either as long as it’s healthy.”
“Or both, like Nor-ah.”
“Okay, slow it down there, big guy,” I warn. “Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch.”
“Mmm, I do not know what you just said, but it is arousing.” He leans down and traces his tongue along my earlobe. “Shall I take our son to Asha, then, so we can get to work making our next son?”
I cling to him, because his tongue is doing magical things to my ear, and I might just collapse into a puddle of overheated goo if he continues. Not that I ever want him to stop. “Ask her to keep him overnight. If she can’t, then your mother.”
His eyes gleam as our gazes meet. “You think it will take all night?”
“Well, we just want to be sure,” I say coyly, and give his cock another stroke. He’s rigid under my grip, but he can throw on his winter leathers and no one will notice the stiffness under the layers. “Hurry, though.”
I have never seen a man move so fast as he scoops up our son and the small pack we keep full of his loincloth changes and toys, and flings his leather wraps on before hurrying out the door. I giggle, watching him head down the cobbled, icy street, and then I touch my belly.
Another baby.
Another kit.
My perfect little family is growing, and I’m excited. No, ecstatic. I think of the pleased look on my Pashov’s face and pull the tie free from my braid, humming happily to myself.
Memories aren’t a problem, I’ve been realizing over time. We can always make new ones. And as long as we’re together, every day is a new opportunity to love and be happy.
Sometimes, that’s all you need.