Chapter 7
Seven
Despite her protests, Vale cleaned the mortal thoroughly before letting her leave the river.
“It is the most efficient way,” he insisted as she climbed back onto the riverbank, her legs as shaky as a root-deer sproutling.
Ivy nodded, her cheeks still flushed. “Sure! Um, thank you.”
She bent down to gather her dress, which was drying on the riverbank. The grass bent to brush her fingers as she did, and she yelped. It quickly turned into a delighted giggle as the grass wound around her little finger and squeezed.
Vale cocked his head at her. He refused to be charmed by this infuriating mortal. But he would bet that there were not many who would giggle so often in response to the wilderness void’s antics. She was coping with her new situation well, even if she kept getting into trouble.
Ivy’s dress settled into place over her damp body. She plucked at it, making a face as it settled against her wet breasts.
Vale allowed himself a moment to watch the fabric seal around her firm nipples. Then he averted his gaze and followed her onto the riverbank, scooping her easily into his arms.
Ivy shrieked. It was much quieter than he expected. He ignored it, walking back into the forest. The trees parted for him, and he tried to be grateful rather than annoyed.
“Where are we going?” Ivy asked.
“My nest.”
“What?” Ivy struggled against his grip, which was so useless he wondered why she was bothering. “Why? You said you were only doing that so I could work!”
“We will work soon,” Vale assured her. “Until then, rest. I have something to attend to.”
“You rest,” Ivy protested.
Vale looked down at her. If he was not exhausted, he thought he might be amused. This little mortal, speaking back to him like she had any power over him.
“I mean…” Ivy bit her lip. “Sorry. You said you were tired.”
“I have been weary for a long time,” he replied. “And I will only get worse now the void has been poisoned.”
The last trees parted to reveal his nest. He lowered her into it, pushing her back down when she tried to sit up.
Her skin was drier than it should be, much like his own, which was dry as soon as he stepped out of the river to retrieve his robe.
So was her dress. And her hair, which fluffed around her in a way that was almost sweet.
“But—” Ivy began.
“Rest,” he commanded. “I will be back soon.”
He walked toward the silver pool that would take him between voids. The trees did not part for him, and he sighed.
He did not look back. But he felt the mortal’s eyes on him until he vanished through the trees.
Slate’s void was lit in a strange color, all orange and red. It took Vale a moment to remember what a sunset was. His void was either night or day, with no in between.
He strode through Slate’s thin, nonresponsive trees, following his older brother’s voice.
“I cannot help you,” Slate was saying.
Another voice joined him, deep and raspy. “But… you have one.”
Slate chuckled.
Vale emerged through the trees. Slate was standing near his nest, talking to a Skullstalker that Vale had never met before.
The Skullstalker was smaller, as many younger Skullstalkers were.
He had two protruding fangs on his skull mask that were much larger than his natural fangs, and his eyes were huge, the glowing purple pupils fixed pleadingly on Slate as he stared up at him.
“Can you at least tell me how to get one?” the young Skullstalker begged. “Whenever I try, they run away. Even when I tell them I will not eat them!”
“Yes, they do that,” Slate said dryly. He noticed Vale, giving him a short nod before returning to the stranger. “I cannot help you with this. You have my sympathies, but stop trying to summon me for this.”
With that, he ran a claw down the air between them and ripped a portal into existence. It smelled like the mortal realm, all dirt.
The young Skullstalker grumbled. But he bowed his head.
“Thank you for your time, brother,” he muttered. Then he stepped through the portal, his fluffy tail dragging forlornly on the ground as he vanished through the portal.
Slate closed the portal and sighed, turning to Vale. “You are a much more welcome sight. Hello.”
Vale stepped closer, cautious. Slate had never been so enthused to see his brothers until a few centuries ago, when his wife showed up.
“What did the whelp want?” Vale asked.
Slate laughed, and the noise sounded like rocks scraping together. “A wife.”
“A wife?”
“Or a husband,” Slate said. “He is not picky.”
Vale frowned. “Are you providing them?”
“No. But I have a wife, as does our brother Wick.”
Vale nodded. He had not met Wick before, but he had heard of their brother, who managed to undo the blood frenzy that had been with him since birth. Vale was glad for him. A blood frenzy sounded like it would get in the way of his work.
“But no,” Slate continued. “I am not ‘providing’ wives or husbands. If he wants one, he can find one himself. Speaking of wives… what brings you here?”
Vale growled. He did not like what Slate was implying.
The mortal was not his wife. She was barely even an assistant.
And she was—as she said—more trouble than she was worth.
If he were not so desperate for assistance, he would have given her back to her lying mortals as soon as she got herself sprayed by that heatbloom.
If she got herself sprayed, he reminded himself. He had a sneaking suspicion that the void had gone out of its way to do so.
“Vale,” Slate repeated. “What brings you here?”
Vale gnashed his fangs. “I told you it was impossible for a mortal to connect with my void.”
“You did,” Slate said. “Have you changed your mind?”
Vale’s tail lashed. He was so used to being alone nowadays, he did not control his reactions. He would have to stop now that the mortal had arrived. Then again, he so rarely had reactions. His existence had narrowed down to one long day of work, with nothing worth reacting to.
“I think it used the pollen to open her up to it,” Vale said reluctantly. “I think it chose her.”
“You think? You are not certain?”
Vale thought back to the absolute lack of response he kept receiving whenever he asked his void a question. “I cannot commune with my void like I used to. I try, but it is muffled.”
Slate hummed. He did not look overly concerned, but Slate had never had as much communion with his void as Vale.
Secretly, Vale thought it was because his older brother did not care for it as much as Vale did.
The wilderness void required constant effort.
Not like the wanderer’s void, which looked almost identical whether Slate slept through the centuries or guided his wanderers out.
Until his wife appeared, at least. She brought changes that Vale did not think were possible.
“You have been too busy since the light-motes died,” Slate said. “You have lost the joy. As I lost it once. Perhaps this is your void’s way of helping you find it again.”
Vale stared at him, baffled. Surely, he could not be suggesting what Vale thought he was suggesting.
“Helping me find my joy,” Vale repeated, waiting for Slate to correct him. “Through the mortal?”
Slate did not correct him. He only focused on something behind him, his lips spreading in a deep smile that could only mean one thing.
“Brother-in-law,” cried Ruby as she came up behind Vale, tweaking his tail as she passed by him and wrapped her arm around her husband’s waist. “How’s your mortal? Have you visited Anderfel yet?”
“No,” Vale snapped, taken aback by the tail-tweaking.
Before the mortal, he had barely touched anyone in centuries.
He cleared his throat, attempting to rein himself in.
“You are sure our Anderfel brother would not know how to cure my void? If he is as adept at magic as you say, he could have some advice.”
“I do not think he knows much about voids,” said Slate thoughtfully. “Then again, he is a mystery to me. Anytime I try to ask about his past, I am rebuffed.”
“But he can help with the size problem,” Ruby added unnecessarily, as if Vale had already forgotten about their prior conversation.
Then again, Vale had not encountered the size problem during their prior conversation.
He shifted uncomfortably, his head full of memories—of how tight she had felt around him.
How he had not been able to fit even half of his cock inside.
How fervently she had begged for more, even when it was impossible.
There was a good chance the pollen had not worked free of her blood, especially if the void had a say in it.
He would probably be called upon to help her through it again.
“I will think about it,” Vale said grudgingly.
Ruby beamed, her hair glowing with god-light. “And he can extend her lifespan!”
Vale snorted. That would be a serious binding ritual, tying the two of them together for eternity. He would not do that lightly.
“If she proves to be a helpful assistant, I will consider it,” Vale said.
Weariness washed over him then, so powerful he staggered.
Slate caught him, his claws retracting as he dug his fingers into Vale’s thick skin. “Brother?”
“It is nothing.” Vale shook him off, straightening his robes. “My void weakens. I will fix it.”
“This isn’t just your void,” Ruby said, her eyes flashing white. “When was the last time you rested?”
Vale could not answer. He rubbed his skull mask, the bone smooth and comforting against his claws.
“Go home,” Slate said. “Sleep. You will feel better when you wake.”
“But—”
Slate spoke over him. “It will not cure your void. But you must keep yourself well so you can do that yourself.”
Vale held back an insolent remark. He used to think Slate was difficult to talk to when he slept the centuries away and snapped at Vale for waking him up. But somehow this relaxed, contented version of his older brother was more irritating.
“Thank you,” Vale said, not feeling thankful in the least. “You have given me much to think about. I will go now.”
He closed his eyes and focused on his void. As it pulled him back into the silver pool, he heard Ruby call after him:
“Do let us know how everything goes!”
Vale emerged from the silver pool in the wilderness void, annoyed and exhausted. They were treating this like an amusing story. His void was sick. If it got much worse, it would die, and Vale would die with it. Then where would they get the stories they found so entertaining?
Vale climbed out of the silver pool, his robes bone-dry. The crack embedded next to the pool had, predictably, gotten worse. Not much worse, only a small fracture bleeding out from the others. If he placed his clawed foot on top of it, the cracks were barely visible.
He frowned. He was too tired for such a small amount of damage. Maybe it would do him good to rest.
To his shock, a familiar, beloved voice echoed through his head.
Rest, it whispered.
Vale stilled. Part of him wanted to snarl at the voice: all these centuries of silence, and it showed up now, to tell him the very thing he couldn’t do for so long?
“There is work to do,” Vale argued, tail lashing angrily. “You are not well.”
The void washed through him again. It was tired, just like him. But also, fond. So fond he almost choked on it. He had been working thanklessly for so long.
“Fine,” Vale gritted. “But not for long. I have an assistant now; I will put her to work.”
Another pulse ran through him. This one was joyful—perhaps the same joy Ivy had described earlier. The first thing it had shown her after she was sprayed with the heatbloom pollen.
Vale started toward his nest. The trees did not bend for him, and he sighed.
He understood his void less now than he ever did. But that did not matter now. He had a new duty: rest for a very short amount of time and then finally teach his mortal how to trim the eastern rib-thickets.
He arrived at his nest and stopped, spellbound.
He had expected to find it empty. To come across his troublesome new mortal locked in some other mishap. But Ivy was curled up in his nest, her red hair fanned out over the fur. Every time she breathed, the nest fell and rose with her breath.
Like she is part of my void, Vale thought dizzily. Part of me.
Long-dead emotions swelled inside him. He ignored it and climbed into the nest, angling himself awkwardly so as not to jostle her. He fell asleep easily, her warm scent dragging him into sleep’s sweet embrace faster than ever before.