Page 25

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

AIDY

I fight to contain my unease as I make food all day long.

No leave. Smooth people come from skies. Stay at big water.

The thought plays in my head over and over again throughout the day as I cook.

I've noticed the amount of food is growing.

My soup pouch bubbles all day, and the coals are crammed full of roots.

The snow-people are bringing us a ton of food at least. If the roots look chewed on or some of the fish smells like it's been rotting on some rocks, I don't judge.

I just toss it into the stew pot and cook it, because the snow-people are not picky.

But feeding them is quickly turning into a full-time job.

By the time Corvak returns to the cave from a day of hunting and training, I'm exhausted and my fingers are blistered from handling hot roots. He enters the cave and puts his carrying sack and weapons down near the opening, then approaches me. "Did you miss me, Aidy?"

I tilt my face up for a kiss, because the moment he arrived, my chest started humming and the longing unfurled in my belly. "Always."

"I brought food for us," he says. "A big bird of some kind."

My heart drops. More cooking. I'd almost prefer we go hungry tonight, I'm so tired of leaning over the fire.

Birds are messy, too. The feathers have to be plucked and put aside, the organs removed, and then the flesh spitted and turned so it roasts evenly.

It's more work than I want to do, but how can I protest?

He hunted all day and I sat here in the cave, safe. "Gotcha. Let me just finish out here."

"I am going to clean up in the pool," he says, nuzzling my face and giving my ponytail a gentle tug, letting me know he's feeling amorous. "I'll be back."

I nod and move to the fire, pulling off my cooking pouch. I'm out of stew and roots, but there are still more snow-people waiting outside to eat. "No more today," I sign to the male waiting near the entrance of the cave. "I'm out."

He crouches where he's at, as if saying that he'll wait.

A second comes and sits behind him, and they both stare at me, hungry. Great. Just fucking great.

I'm completely wiped and close to crying at the realization. It doesn't matter how much food I make—it'll never be enough. I head back into the tunnel, towards the pool. "Corvak, I need you to talk to the snow-people. They're not listening to me."

No response. He probably can't hear me from this far away.

I burst into the tears I've been trying to hold back on.

I'm so tired. Is this what the rest of my life is going to be?

Making batches of stew in a cold cave for people that smell like wet dog fur and treat the females like they're shit?

And aren't I part of the problem, staying back and letting a man handle everything? But I'm terrified of hunting.

I'm trapped. The thought is overwhelming, and I can't stop the frustrated tears rolling down my face.

It's weak and I don't want to seem weak and helpless and girly in front of Corvak.

I want to be a strong partner, but god, I'm so tired.

I try to compose myself, wiping at my face and taking deep, shuddering breaths.

When I glance out at the entrance of the cave, though, I see the glowing blue eyes of the snow-people that are waiting to be fed.

And I just cry even harder.

"Aidy? What's wrong?" Corvak appears, rushing to my side and skidding on the slippery rock floor. Naked and dripping, he grips my arms gently and studies my face. "What is it? Did someone threaten you?"

I shake my head. "It's nothing?—"

"It is not nothing," he says hotly. "Tell me what's upsetting you."

I gesture at the front of the cave. "I'm out of food and they still won't leave. They just ignore me and?—"

I stop because Corvak immediately lets go of me and storms towards the entrance. He snarls, raising his hands like claws, and mock-lunges for the entrance. With a flurry of hoots, the snow-people scatter and disappear.

"We shouldn't scare them," I tell him, even though a small shameful part of me is relieved. "There's so many of them and only two of us. The last thing we need to do is aggravate them."

"They are not aggravated. They worship me, remember?" He returns to my side, tipping my face up and studying my eyes as if waiting to see the tears dry up.

Yeah, they worship him, all right…and ignore me because I'm female. Well, unless I'm feeding them, which is a female's job in their eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek, determined not to cry again, but it's tricky.

"Go on," he says gently. His thumb strokes along my jaw. "Tell me more of what bothers you."

"It's going to sound whiny."

"It will not. I promise you."

I hesitate for a moment longer and then spill it out.

"I'm just so tired . I cook for them all day.

There's an endless stream of them constantly climbing up here and just waiting for me to hand them something to eat.

Every time I turn around, someone's bringing more food that has to be cooked.

I have roots. I have questionable fish brought to me.

I have dead rodents handed to me. And I'm trying to be a team player, but it's exhausting and my fingers are burned and I can't cook fast enough…

" I raise a hand, gesturing weakly. "And now you've brought more food that needs cooking, and I'm not mad at you for doing that, I'm just tired, and?—"

"Aidy," Corvak says, so very gentle. "May I speak?"

I hiccup. "Of course."

"You are always the one that initiates cooking. I have never asked you to. I thought you enjoyed it, so I have not volunteered to take this task from your hands. I can cook a bird. I can cook all the food if you like."

I can feel my mouth hanging open. He thought I liked cooking?

I think back to all of our interactions near the fire, and how I'm always trying to prove my worth, putting on water to melt, or food to cook.

No wonder he thought I liked it. I've never shown otherwise.

I feel silly. "Oh. I don't like it, but it's something I can do, and I want to help out. "

"There is a difference between helping out and exhausting yourself.

I would rather eat raw roots than watch you be miserable because you have to stand over the fire.

" He brushes his fingers over my temple, pushing my hair behind my ear, and searches my face.

"You have to tell me if you're unhappy. I will not know if you pretend everything is fine and it is not. "

I'm a jerk, because he's right. I let out a long, heaving sigh, and absently wipe at a bead of water trickling down his chest. "You say that, but I have to help out."

"When have I said you are not helping?"

"But that's the thing—ever since we got here, I've been useless. I can't fight. I can't track. I can't teach the snow-people how to carry a spear. I want to help out—and I want to help you . The least I can do is cook while you work hard all day training the army."

Corvak tilts his head, regarding me. "There are a great many things that can be done around camp.

If you don't want to cook, I will. And you have been a great help.

Just because you're not strong doesn't mean that you're not helping me.

You guard the cave. You work on clothes and refilling our waterskins.

" He squeezes my arm, as if I've forgotten something important.

"You speak with the snow-people and learn their language. "

Somehow I feel more pathetic when he lists out my accomplishments. "Meanwhile you're keeping us alive."

He gives me an exasperated stare. "And you are keeping me sane as this game drags on. Do not speak poorly of yourself, Aidy. I won't have it. If you were not here, I would be dead already."

I'm skeptical of that particular fact, but I know he's trying to make me feel better.

I move into the circle of his arms and lean against his chest. He's damp, but I don't care.

He's comforting and strong and I adore him.

"I'm sorry. Really. I'm just tired from cooking and leaning over the fire all damn day.

There's more snow-people every time I turn around. "

A grunt of acknowledgment. "More arrived today."

"See? And they need to be fed. I'll keep up, I promise. I just want permission to whine a bit." I press my face to his pectorals and kiss his skin. He smells good. There's a lingering hint of sweat that clings to his skin, but I like his sweat smell. "Wanna have sex? I can wash up and?—"

"Aidy," Corvak says, ever calm. "If you want to cook, you can cook for me if it makes you happy. But you do not have to cook for every single mouth that opens. The snow-people fed themselves before we arrived. They will continue to feed themselves if we do not."

He makes it sound so simple, but I know there's more to it. I shake my head and run my fingers over his chest, wrapping some of the longer pelt on his chest around one finger. "You don't get it. If we feed them, they're well-behaved. I'm scared to think of how they'll act if we stop feeding them."

Corvak is silent, and I know he's thinking of the same thing I am.

Yesterday, we had a situation. Two of the larger snow-people males had approached the cave, wanting food.

There was a cluster of them already waiting on the cliff, clinging to the rocks like mountain goats and waiting eagerly for me to come out with another bowl.

The moment I did, the two males pushed to the front and tried to snatch it from my hands.

Startled, I'd dropped the bowl at my feet, and a frenzy started.

The males attacked each other, hooting frantically and tearing with their sharp claws.

The fight was horrific and others were pulled into the fray.

A young juvenile was knocked down the cliff and another male retreated, covered in blood and clutching a broken arm.

Corvak had been nearby and stepped in, and only his anger made them calm down.