Page 8 of The Naga Wanderer’s Wounded Mate

Chapter 6

Jasmine

I cradled little Dove to my chest and pretended I wasn’t all flustered to discover he was still here. What did you say to a naga stranger in the morning? Especially after I’d stripped for him and he’d left me all confused and mad. Had he watched or not? I still didn’t know, and it was disturbing to discover I was mildly disappointed at the thought that he hadn’t watched at all. He was certainly watching me now, his emerald eyes locked on my face like I held all the answers in the universe. It was intense. I’d never been looked at like that before.

“Well, uh, morning, I guess?” I said, and I slid the furs off my legs to inspect the damage now that I had more light. It was much later than I’d planned to wake; the violet Serant sun had already risen well above the trees. The fire was also still blazing, and there was only one answer to why that was: he’d fed it through the night. I knew very well he didn’t need those flames to stay warm himself; he’d done that for me.

He huffed, a deep, throaty sort of noise in response to my greeting. Then he shifted back on his coils so rapidly I thought he’d burned himself. I shifted to my knees, my hand reaching for a knife on a belt I wasn’t wearing. There was nothing around us that could have alarmed him, I concluded, as I quickly scanned the forest. His eyes were huge, his expression furious as he turned away. Had I… offended him?

I glanced back down, finally getting a look at my bare legs. There were bruises and scrapes everywhere; I was a mess, but I wasn’t indecent with the fur tunic hanging down to my knees. I was pretty sure most naga females wore less. I only had one example to base that on, however. Sazzie only wore a midriff-baring top, and sometimes a cloak when it was snowing. What was his problem? Was this what had happened last night too? Clearly, I’d completely misunderstood his intentions when he insisted I wash and undress. Now I felt bad for judging him so harshly.

“It’s okay,” I said to him, waving my hand in what I hoped was a calming manner. Those bright eyes had narrowed and were definitely locked on my legs, his serpentine body coiled tight and upraised, like he was poised to strike. My skin broke out in goosebumps as I considered that. This was the gaze of a predator, but I’d never been easy prey. Damned if I’d let him make me feel that way after all I’d been through.

I opted for the “he’s a skittish horse, not a dangerous lion about to strike” approach, shifting the fur back over my lap and placing Dove safely behind me. “It’s okay, thanks for the furs and the tunic, by the way…” I made my voice soft and gentle, and my expression non-confrontational. Eyes on his chest, not his face; his very massive, muscular green chest. He swayed on his tail, ever so slowly, as if he were torn between moving closer and moving away.

“I washed your clothes,” he snarled, and that really was a snarl, so furious and grumpy that the words flung through the air like projectiles. It was a good thing I’d grown thick skin over the years; you had to when dealing with the jerks I had. The statement made me flick my eyes down to the campfire and the supplies scattered around it. My clothes… He was right. They lay drying on the grass by the fire, from socks to coat, to panties and boots. He’d cleaned all of it. Even my self-made quiver and arrows had been freed of any mud and carefully placed next to the furs I was sitting in.

Part of me wanted to bristle with annoyance that he’d taken care of me, as if that were a slight against my own abilities. The bigger part of me was incredibly grateful. It would have been horrible to have to put muddy clothes back on today. I’d have had no choice, it was spring, but spring didn’t mean warm. I’d need pants and boots, very badly. Silent, I pulled the nearby pants toward me and fingered the dry fabric. I’d rescued the cotton leggings from my execution as an extra layer, but I’d crafted crude leggings from leather to go over them.

Leather, I knew, got very stiff when it had been wet and allowed to dry without proper care, especially when near a heat source. It also lost its shape when drying. Though it was tempting to think it was different with alien leather, I knew better. I’d already worked with the stuff for months at this point, and that had included teaching Cosima to rectify her mistakes. No, this had taken him a lot of effort.

“What did you do? How?” I asked as I stroked my hand over the smooth leather of my leggings. Soft as ever, perhaps even softer than before my mud bath yesterday, and that shouldn’t be possible. The only noticeable change was a shift in color. They’d gone from a dark grayish lavender to this beautiful deep red-tan, and I had no idea Serant leather could get that hue.

He couldn’t understand me, but he must have deduced what I’d said from the way my attention had gone to the clothes. He lowered himself on his tail and moved a little closer, the tip flicking through the air and briefly yanking my eyes toward it. Had we touched yet? I didn’t recall, but probably not. I should do that soon and exclude him as my mate, but I was oddly hesitant to do so. He seemed to hold himself so distant, like he didn’t want to risk touching me at all.

“I wiped the mud off with absorbent moss,” he said, pointing at the thick gray covering of alien plants on the side of a nearby tree. “Then I worked it to stay supple and oiled it to restore its texture. It has stained the leather, but that is better than wearing leather stiff as bark, yes?” His face held stern lines, the brows ridged and sharp over his eyes, but his expression briefly softened into something very earnest.

“Thank you,” I said to him, meaning it. He must have invested hours in the task, and he’d done a marvelous job. Even the fur on my coat was still silky and warm. It was a small miracle, and it would make my journey back down to the crashed ship so much easier today. Even if it was a little awkward to realize he’d washed my panties and sports bra, too. They were lying prominently displayed on a rock by the fire, right between the two of us.

“Sssank yousss?” he said. “This means you are pleased?” My belly twisted, warmth spreading through me. He looked immensely satisfied as he asked the question, and somehow I found that cute. Cute that he’d asked me that, and made the attempt to speak human words when his strange naga mouth and split tongue weren’t designed to do so.

I nodded, ignoring the empty rumbling of my belly, and began gathering my clean clothes so I could shimmy into them beneath the furs. Dove briefly tried to chew on the sleeve of my coat, then attacked the laces on my boots, but she was distracted the moment I tossed one of her twigs for her to fetch. It was probably my imagination, but my naga companion appeared relieved that I wasn’t stripping naked in front of him again. Noted, I’d learned my lesson not to assume it was the same here as it had been on Earth.

Once dressed, he offered me more gifts I hadn’t been expecting: warm meat he’d kept wrapped in some leaves to the side, as well as another ration bar to go with it, and some fresh dark purple leaves I didn’t recognize. He told me to eat them, so I did, and was surprised by the flavor, similar to arugula. Okay, so he’d cooked me breakfast, and that included a salad. I thought these guys were strictly carnivores? Dove certainly wasn’t interested in anything but the juicy meat, though she had to content herself with licking the grease from my fingers. No, that wasn’t true either; the naga produced a small rodent no bigger than his thumb for her. He’d thought of everyone.

I couldn’t keep calling him the naga in my head now; he was being too nice. “I’m Jasmine,” I said to him, tapping my chest, pleasantly warm and toasty in my dry clothes. “What’s your name?” I pointed at his chest, tapped my own again, and repeated my name before pointing at Dove and saying her name.

“You wish to know my name, female?” he drawled. His hands were busy, always busy, I’d begun to learn. He’d been carving something with an obsidian stone knife—arrow shafts maybe—and he lowered those agile hands to briefly pause what he was doing. His stare was unreadable, but then his shockingly lush mouth slowly began to tilt into something very close to a smile. He had called me female, and normally that definitely rubbed me the wrong way, except this was Serant and all the guys called each other male and the women female. “I am Ekkire of the Water Weavers,” he said, and he tapped his chest with his fist, the knife gleaming darkly between his fingers.

Ekkire. That name sounded vaguely familiar; maybe I’d heard it spoken by some of the hunters at Haven. He knew them; it was not strange to think they’d talked of him. I tried to recall if I knew anything else about him, but nothing came to mind. He was still a stranger—just a surprisingly kind one—even if he seemed to have only one type of expression: grumpy. Even when introducing himself, he looked angry about doing so. Yet that smile, that almost-smile… I hadn’t imagined that.

“You must hurry back to the sky wreck, Djasssmih,” he insisted, rising to point with his knife-wielding hand downhill to the wetlands below. “There have been no more quakes, and Joxra is anxiously awaiting your return.” He ducked and held up a large pouch. “I prepared your supplies.” Then he held up something else. “And a weapon.” He’d made a bow for me. It was a pale ivory, the wood bared of any bark, with a thicker handle, flattened curves, and narrow tips. Sinew made up the bowstring, twisted tightly in place.

It looked very similar to the bow I’d made for myself and lost in the earthquake. That was no coincidence, as I’d turned to the hunters here to construct my favorite weapon. They knew what wood to use and what sinew was best for the string. My mouth practically salivated as I saw the weapon, my hands eagerly reaching. Yes! A weapon, this was by far the best gift out of all the things he’d already done for me. I’d definitely make it back just fine on my own with a weapon to defend myself.

He handed it to me, then lifted my quiver with the tip of his tail and offered that too. The wood felt familiar in my hands, but also too light. Something twisted in my stomach at the discovery, but I was too giddy to pay it the attention I should have. Taking an arrow, I notched it, then drew back the string. Too easy. This was a very light bow, probably more suited to a child than to a trained archer like me. I held my breath as disappointment grew heavier, thicker.

The arrow flew true when I released it, thunking into a tree trunk across the clearing. It didn’t lodge deep and, sadly, dangled down before falling to the ground. I growled in frustration, my temper beginning to boil. No, I shouldn’t, this wasn’t a purposeful slight. I took a deep breath, and another, but it was a struggle. Why did I have to prove myself over and over? Why did everyone always underestimate me?

Ekkire eyed the fallen arrow, then looked at me. His eyes trailed over my arms, but they were obscured by the thick fur sleeves of my coat. His mouth twisted into a grimace, and then he shook his head. “That’s no good,” he told me, and held out his hand for the bow. I wanted to snap at him, warn him that I was a fantastic archer and that it was the bow, not me, that caused that sad result. His tail flicked the bow from my fingers without ever touching my skin, before I could say anything.

“You get angry easily, female,” he remarked, turning away and undoing the string on the bow with a very casual move of his hand. He pinned the wood of the bow to a rock and went to work cutting about three inches off each end, his hands quick and confident as he moved. I was lost for words as I stared, shocked that he’d call me out on being mad like that. I was not mad all the time, though my temper did flare easily. He was the grumpy, snarly one, not me, but that would be petulant to point out.

I crossed my arms over my chest, gave him a glare that probably only confirmed his statement, and waited. He was shortening the bow, which was a quick way to make it a bit heavier, even if it wasn’t ideal. It would help a little, but I’d still have to make a new bow to my own specifications. He offered the shortened bow to me moments later, restrung into a shorter, and thus tighter, curve. I tested it with little faith, but the arrow still flew true, and this time it lodged with a satisfying thump in the trunk of the tree and stayed there.

There was only one way to respond to that: “Thank you.” I swallowed the last remnants of my temper. I shouldn’t feel so self-conscious, so quickly, like I was being thought of as incompetent. He had never met a human before, how was he supposed to know my strength? He might be frowning all the time, and he might clearly have a thing about coming close and touching me, but his acts were all kind. He might be the only single male I’d met on this planet who didn’t try to hit on me.

“Good,” he said. “That will scare off wildlife until you can reach the sky wreck.” He made a muffled growling noise when he discovered that Dove had fetched my first arrow and chewed partially through the shaft with her sharp little teeth. His always-busy hands flicked through the pile of arrows he’d been creating. It was only when he handed me the pouch and offered me my quiver again that I realized he wanted me to get going.

He began putting out the fire, gathering his furs and packing all his supplies, the camp vanishing without a trace in a matter of minutes. Dove protested when he tried sweeping her pile of sticks away along with the grass and branches I’d used to sleep on. She growled, posturing with her tiny, silvery wings, and he dropped his tail with a silent glare.

“It is that way. You must walk fast to reach them before sunset.” He pointed, then crossed his arms over his massive green chest. He had a trident lying across his backpack and wore only a leather belt, braces around his wrists, and a piece of armor across one shoulder. There was no sign of a bow or arrows, but there was no doubting he’d known exactly how to make them. He’d packed far faster than I’d managed to strap my new arrows and quiver to my belt. His body shivered with repressed energy, and his eyes constantly flicked to the mountains behind me.

I was in his way; he had places to be, and he definitely didn’t fancy spending more time with me. Fine, I was going to consider this a vote of confidence in my skills. He thought I’d be okay making my way back to the crashed ship on my own, and he’d be right. This worked for both of us.

Putting on a cheerful smile, I waved at him. “Well, thanks for the help! And the bow.” I lifted the weapon and waved it in the air. “I’ll be on my way then, and you can be on yours. Have a good one!” He stared at me as if I’d just sprouted a second head, not understanding a single word I’d said. He made no move to follow me as I walked past him. He remained frozen in place, his hands tightening around the long staff of his trident. Sharp brow ridges lowered deep over his eyes, and his mouth tilted into what felt like disapproval.

A shiver shot down my spine, and I hurried to pick Dove up from the ground, her now-splintered arrow dangling from her mouth. I collected her sticks too, because who cared anyway, right? He already thought I was weird; that expression said he didn’t like me, and I’d never see him again anyway. Might as well make my new little friend happy by keeping her collection together.

With sticks, sleara, and several more supplies than I’d started with gathered, I set off. I did not look over my shoulder as I passed him, and I pretended it didn’t hurt either when he yanked a coil aside as if afraid I’d touch him. “Bye!” I said again, waving once and injecting more false cheer into my tone. He was not going to call me out on being easily angered again.

The sun had risen higher while I’d eaten and tested that bow, but it was still early enough that I should have plenty of time to reach the crashed ship. I couldn’t quite see it from here, but I was certain it couldn’t be more than a brisk four- or five-hour walk. Easy peasy, even with bruised ribs and more bruising on my backside than I’d ever had before. The stiffness would disappear the more I moved.

The terrain was a ravaged mess after the earthquake had ripped gullies and furrows through the land. Toppled trees lay in my path, but I climbed over them or went around them. While Dove fluttered around my head or scouted ahead, I whistled under my breath as I walked. The skin on the back of my neck prickled, warning me that I was being watched. As quickly as the forest had swallowed me and obscured him from sight, I did not think I’d fully shaken Ekkire.

Fine, that didn’t bother me. I’d just pick up the pace so he’d leave me alone sooner rather than later. Dove was all the company I’d need for as long as she wanted to stay with me.