Me, putting on a similar skin, one limb at a time.
Groaning, I force the image away. It only serves to confuse me. Or does it? Now I understand what my Jaime is trying to do. Putting his damaged body back into the gray skin. I don’t know why, but at least now I know how to help him. He sputters some words when I lean over him and gently lift his upper body up.
“Adam?” Something flutters inside my stomach like that time I swallowed a flying lizard alive. “What are you doing?”
My creature sounds confused, but that confusion clears soon enough when I hold the arm part of his skin up for him to put his arm through. I prefer his normal, dark brown skin, but if the gray skin matters to my Jaime, I will help him put it on. Mindful of my strength, I help him until the gray covers most of the brown again, then pick him back up into my arms. It feels right, like he belongs there. Like there’s nothing more important in the world than holding my Jaime. Even the red fog stays in the back of my mind, instead of sending me into a mindless rage like it often does.
Indistinct memories of tearing creatures apart while the red fog ruled me make something twist inside my chest. What if I hurt Jaime? I nearly hurt him earlier when I tried to carry him. I didn’t know there’s a wrong way to carry a creature. I only ever dragged the dead ones away so I could eat them in peace, so I had no idea how to deal with a living one. Fortunately, Jaime showed me, his fear-scent lessening once I stopped hurting him. The memory of him squirming in my arms and gasping for air kills the creature fluttering in my stomach, replacing it with something cold and heavy.
I am strong. Aside from venomfangs, I’m stronger than anything in the forest. Jaime is not. Jaime couldn’t even catch a hardshell. He’s soft all over. Anything could hurt him.Icould hurt him.
No. Never hurt mate.
For once, the voice from beyond the fog doesn’t bring pain. It brings certainty. I will protect my Jaime. From the forest, from the creatures, from myself. I will die before I let anything hurt him.
“Thank you, Adam,” Jaime says, the sound of my word catching my attention. I vaguely recognize the other sounds,enough to know they are good. With his relaxed weight in my arms and the low fear-scent, I know Jaime is not angry anymore. I like that. It hurt me when he shouted when I was only trying to stop him from hurting himself with the angerleaves.
“I’m sorry for earlier. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I just didn’t think you’d understand— I didn’t realize you were just trying to help. You’re definitely no mindless beast, are you?” He lets out a long breath and settles more comfortably against my chest. Then his body rumbles, and an odd grimace twists his alien face. “Oops, sorry. I’m just a little hungry, but that’s okay. I can go without food for a while. It’s not like you understand me, anyway, and I have no idea what’s safe to eat around here.”
I don’t understand all his words, but some of them pull images from behind the fog. Odd things I have no words for, but my mind insists they tasted good. Food. Jaime wants food. Of course he does. I never caught that barkhide, and my stomach is empty too. That usually wakes the fog. It is calm now, as if Jaime’s presence keeps it back, but I am still hungry. I don’t like being hungry. I like the thought of Jaime being hungry even less.
In the forest, there is always food if one knows where to look. Jaime clearly does not. How did he survive this long?
Jaime keeps talking as I carry him over to a rock outcropping I spotted earlier. His words have no meaning but I like listening to them. Sometimes they pull a blurry image from the fog, too faint for me to grasp before it slips away. The images distract and frustrate me, but I do not make Jaime stop making words. I like the smooth sound of his voice.
When we get to the rocks, I set Jaime down on a soft patch of grass and prowl further in, searching the sandy ground for the telltale disturbances. Finding one, I dig into the sand and, moments later, I’m pulling a wiggletail out. It’s on the smaller side, only as thick as my finger and shorter than one segment ofmy arm. Not nearly enough food for me, but Jaime is smaller, and before he finishes this one, I can catch more.
I cannot stop my pride from showing in my gait as I return to present the wiggletail to Jaime. I shouldn’t be proud. The small wiggletail is a poor prize and they don’t even taste that good, nothing like the strange food from the images in my head, but it is food, and I caught it for my mate. Something inside me swells with pleasure. Until I see Jaime recoil.
“What the hell is that? Eww! Put it away!” he shrieks, squirming on the ground to get away from the wiggletail.
My spikes flatten, and a whine escapes me. He doesn’t like my offering. I failed.
“Oh, don’t do that. Not the puppy murder-chameleon eyes. I didn’t mean to offend you, but you brought me a worm! What am I supposed to do with it?”
Jaime stops trying to get away and carefully examines the wiggletail, like it is the first time he has ever seen one. How can that be? Every creature in the forest eats wiggletails. Clatterbeaks fish them from beneath the rocks. Flicktails peel off the bark to get to the tiny wiggletails squirming underneath. Even barkhides, though they mostly eat grass and leaves, won’t turn away from a nice, juicy wiggletail. Venomfangs don’t bother with the small ones, but I’ve seen them grapple with giant wiggletails, those that make tunnels big enough for me to crawl through. Everything in the world eats wiggletails. How does Jaime not know that? Do I have to show him how to eat one?
Since he’s not going to touch the wiggletail on his own, I grab it between my fingers and bring it to my mouth. Jaime stares at me. “What are you— No, don’t do that! Oh my god,” he groans as I bite off the wiggletail’s head. “Is that dinner? Is that why you brought me the worm? A freaking worm?! You’re a motherfucking predator with claws and teeth and camouflage and you eatworms?! How does that make any sense?”
I ignore his angry sounds and hold out the rest of the wiggletail to him. When he doesn’t move to take it from me, I take his hand, put the food in it, and gently force his fingers to close around it. That should be enough.
“Eww. I can’t eat worms, dude. I’d rather starve.”
I huff out a frustrated breath and guide Jaime’s hand to his mouth. He keeps it stubbornly closed. Is his mind damaged like his body is? Does he not understand he needs to eat to survive? If he doesn’t, it is my job to make him understand. He is mine, and I will not lose him to something as simple as hunger.
I know it will scare him, but I see no other option. I roll my lips back, bare my teeth, and hiss as I push the wiggletail closer to his mouth.
He doesn’t recoil this time, nor does his fear-scent grow stronger. Instead, the two patches of fur above his eyes move closer together. “Don’t hiss at me. I’m not eating that. I’m— Ugh!” When he opens his mouth to make more angry words, I stuff the wiggletail inside and clamp my hand over his mouth. I know he would try to spit it out.
He squirms in my grip, making muted sounds and glaring at me, those two fur patches so close to each other they nearly become one. Eventually, he chews and swallows. Once he does, I release him and retreat. I know he will be angry. It hurts when he’s angry at me, but it would hurt more if he died.
“Ew!” He coughs, his maw twisting into an odd shape. “That was disgusting. Like…brussel sprouts mixed with kale and-and licorice or something like that. Ew. It’s a wonder I’m not throwing up. A worm. I ate a worm!” A shudder runs through his body. “A freaking worm!”
He’s not as angry as I expected. That feels like a good sign, so I bound off to hunt more wiggletails for him. He is smaller than me, but one is not nearly enough to feed him.
Chapter 9
Jaime
