Theoretically, the supplies are a good thing. Even in a short timeframe, we’ve managed to recover and remake a lot of our missing stuff. It helps to have the small things again, but when you have to carry them across the snow to a place god knows how many miles away? You start wishing you had less gear. And babies? Babies need so much gear. There’s Pacy’s favorite teething rings. His nappies. Hisextranappies. The dishes that have the rounded edges. Cups. Blankets. Booties. More nappies. Hell, half my sled is his crap, and I’m pretty sure the other half is my tent.
Pacy screeches like he’s in pain, yelling again.
“What, little man? You want into your papoose?” I start to put him in there, but he only cries louder and waves his arms, indicating I should hold him. All right. I give up on packing for now and hold my son, who decides that I’m still holding him wrong and continues to wail in my ear. Heck, give me a few minutes and I’ll probably be ready to start crying, too. We haven’t even taken step one to the new campsite and I’m already mentally and physically exhausted. I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I don’t know what other choice I have.
“Do you need help?”
My heart thuds. One beat. Two beats. The blood races through my body, drowning out sound. I turn, and there he is, tall and strong and handsome, his appearance unchanged except for the fact that one of his horns is now broken off near the brow. My Pashov. My mate.
A stranger.
Nerves curl in my belly. Pacy grabs a handful of my hair and screams louder. I stand there like a doofus, not entirely sure what to do. I want to fling myself into his arms, but I know that won’t be well-received. I’m still a stranger, and the wary, cautious look he’s giving me tells me that. It hurts to see. My Pashov would have made lighthearted jokes about my packing skills, and grabbed my ass while he did so. He was completely free and open, a bit of a rogue at times, but always knew that even when I laughed and smacked his hand away, I didn’t mind.
That’s not the person that stands before me. There’s a question in his eyes, but that’s it. No warm affection, no amusement. No teasing flirtiness with his mate.
“Hi,” I say. I sound breathless, but the truth is that I’m so tense I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do more than speak in monosyllables. Please remember me, I silently beg. Please. Remember who I am. Remember your son.
He gestures at the sled. “Do you need help packing?”
Oh. I nod, prying Pacy’s hand free of my hair. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”
Pashov kneels in the snow next to the sled, and his tail gives a little flick. He gets to work, tightening straps I didn’t do a very good job with and straightening the gear. I watch him as he works, full of longing. There are so many things I want to say tohim. That I miss him. That I’m hurting without him. That Pacy’s cutting teeth and should have his first one poking through his little gums soon. That being a single parent is hard as heck and I’m struggling. But I wouldn’t say any of that to a stranger, and I’m pretty sure I’m a stranger to him. So I just try to smile and rub Pacy’s little back even as his tail thrashes against my arm.
Pashov works quietly, silent as he fixes the sled up. That’s not like him, either. My mate’s a cheery one. It must be me that’s making him quiet, and of course, that just makes me feel lousy. Like I’m a problem. Like my baby is a problem. And okay, that’s making me get all emotional again. I turn away…
And realize that people are staring.
Okay, it’s a small tribe. We don’t have TV, don’t have books. Gossip is the order of the day, and I get that. But do they have to stare right now? Shouldn’t everyone be busy with something else?
“Is this all?”
“Hmm?” I turn back to Pashov.
He gets to his feet, all graceful motion, and my mouth goes dry at the beauty of him. I thought I’d never see that again—never see his smile, his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s amused, never look at something as simply gorgeous as his big muscular body flexing as he moves. “Your sled is small. Is this all you have with you? Or is there more?”
I’m vaguely insulted by the question, even though I know it’s asked innocently. “I lost everything in the cave-in. Just like everyone else.”
“Yes, but…” He pauses, rubbing his jaw.
“But I have less than the others?” I guess, filling in the blanks. “I don’t have anyone to hunt for me,” I point out. No one’s going to let me starve, of course. But the extras that come with living with a hunter—extra skins, bones for utensils, all the stuff that makes life here easier—haven’t been coming my way. The mated hunters bring them home for their families. I’m sure if there were extras, they’d bring some to me. But that’s the thing—right now, there are no extras. I’m not going without, I’m just…not as geared up as some of the others. And the unmated hunters haven’t approached because a gift to me in my current state might come across as a courting gesture, and no one wants to do that.
He flinches as if I’ve hit him, and I immediately feel guilty. “Of course.”
“I’m not saying it to be a jerk,” I explain quickly. “But you asked.”
“I…have not yet been cleared to hunt alone,” Pashov says, words measured and careful. His gaze flicks from my face to Pacy, then back to me. “I did not realize I was to hunt for you. I should have guessed…” He trails off.
Great, and now I feel like an even bigger asshole. Of course he wouldn’t think to hunt for us. Half the time he can’t even remember us. My bitterness threatens to overwhelm me. I don’t want to nag him, because if that’s his only memory of me, that’s terrible. But I’m hurt. So hurt. “You didn’t know. Don’t worry about it.”
“But I should be looking after you, yes…?”
Should he? I don’t even know anymore. “It’s not important. Really. And the small sled means I can drag it along behind me more easily?—”
The look on his face is aghast. “You are going to drag your own sled?”
I snap at that. “Do you see anyone else that’s going to do it for me?” I hold up Pacy. “Maybe our son?”
Pacy makes a high-pitched baby squeal and reaches out for Pashov.
