Page 102 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

When the tent is done, I grab my furs and bed down in them. I think I feel Vantos’ eyes on me for a little while, then he goes and sits by the fire, and I’m asleep before he comes to bed for the night.

We carry on for several days like this. The first few are excruciating - every stopping point revisiting a place where we kissed and touched.

We reach the hot springs at midday. Vantos pauses, clearly considering the benefits of stopping, but I just walk past him, continuing in the direction of home.

Much as my feet would have appreciated a good soaking, my heart can’t bear the idea of sitting in the water, remembering the exquisite feeling of his hands gliding over my body, knowing we aren’t about to start round two.

That there never will be a round two.

We do shelter in the cave for a night. There’s still evidence of our previous stay - the figures drawn in charcoal on the floor. The suspiciously clean patch that Vantos covers with his furs, and I wonder if he’s also uncomfortable about all the memories, or if he didn’t even notice.

I almost wish it would thunder again, so he’d have to hold me. But that would be worse, I think, lying in his arms knowing he doesn’t want me there.

He wants his linasha and, no matter how much I might wish it were otherwise, that’s not me.

I wish I could say it gets easier, the closer we get to home.

It does in some ways. I’m looking forward to getting back to the healer’s hut.

Seeing Grace. Probably relearning everything I’ve forgotten while I’ve been travelling, but that’s okay.

I enjoyed learning it all the first time.

I’ll enjoy learning it all again. The thought of being back in my hut is appealing - a proper bed that actually belongs to me to sleep in every night.

But I also know it will be the final nail in the coffin of this thing Vantos and I had. Back in the village, I won’t be able to snuggle up to him on an evening by the fire. I won’t be able to kiss his strong brow, or have his tail curl around my calf.

I can’t have any of that now, but as long as we’re out here under unfamiliar trees, it feels like there’s still a chance, a possibility of things changing. As soon as we get back to the village, it’s back to a reality I really don’t want to have to accept.

It doesn’t help that my morning sickness is getting worse.

Some days, I can barely manage breakfast. I hide what I don’t eat from Vantos and sneak mouthfuls of it later in the day, when the metallic taste has lessened and my stomach has calmed.

Still, I’m not eating enough. Not to sustain my strength as we keep walking.

I’m tired - physically and emotionally. And every day that passes, it gets harder and harder to hide.

We’re maybe two days out from the village when I find I can’t manage breakfast at all.

Even the thought of putting something in my mouth has my stomach contracting, bile rising in my throat.

I wait until Vantos is preoccupied with taking down the tent, and shove the meal bar he’s given me into my bag.

There’s still half a meal bar in there from yesterday, already slightly crushed.

Bits of it are escaping, grinding into my clothes.

It doesn’t matter too much, we’re nearly home.

I’ll be able to get everything clean, hide the uneaten bars in my hut and…

And what? Keep up the pretence until my stomach starts to swell.

Maybe the baggy raskarran clothes will keep it hidden for me a little while longer, but sooner or later, I’m going to grow big enough that there won’t be any hiding it.

The thought only makes my stomach roil more, so I push it to the back of my mind.

One thing at a time, and the first thing is actually getting home.

The rest I’ll just have to deal with when I get there.

It’s hard work, walking on an empty stomach.

Some of the other girls can do a lot without very much food.

Khadija is so used to putting in a day at the warehouse on scraps, she could have kept going much further than the rest of us as we walked back to the village.

Me, I’m not that tough. Jeremy made sure I didn’t have to be.

Even before we were dating, he used to slip me little morsels.

Always in the corridors between areas, never where anyone else could see what he was doing.

He made me fall in love with him when I was fifteen years old, with just a handful of sweet treats slipped into my palm. God, I feel like such an idiot now.

When we stop for lunch, Vantos doesn’t just hand me a meal bar.

He guides me to sit down on a log, then begins to build a fire.

I wonder if he’s noticed that I’m barely eating the meal bars.

We haven’t been stopping for cooked meals at lunch lately, just working through the supplies Darran gave us and moving on as quickly as possible in our push to get back to the village.

Perhaps those supplies are starting to run a little thin, and he needs to dip into the ones that need a bit more preparation.

Or perhaps he’s noticed my lack of enthusiasm for meal bars, and is trying to make sure I keep my strength up.

He probably doesn’t want to deliver me back to the village looking like hell, calling question onto his ability to take care of me.

He always cooks something for dinner, and by then I’m usually recovered enough from the morning sickness to eat it, so he’s probably assuming that I’ll want a cooked meal more, not realising it’s the timing of the thing, rather than the method of preparation.

Right now, I feel no less like puking than I did this morning.

I watch as he works, remembering how he tried to teach me how to cook. He doesn’t make any attempt now, and maybe it’s because I was terrible at it. Maybe he realised I wasn’t a suitable girl to have as a mate. Too useless. Too stupid.

I want to slap myself. I know Vantos is keeping his distance because I am not his mate. It’s not because he doesn’t like me, or he’s gone off me.

But… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels easier to believe that I’m rubbish and did something wrong, that I’m as useless as Mama always said I was, than to think Vantos could like me, genuinely like me for me, and it still not be possible for things to work out between us.

Vantos pulls out the supplies Darran gifted us, filling his pot with dried meats and roots. I can tell they’re good ingredients, for thick smells start bubbling out of the pot almost immediately. Smells that should have been delicious.

I try to take shallow breaths through my mouth.

When that doesn’t work, I try to cover my nose with my hand - pretending like I’m just resting my head on the heel of my palm, while using my knuckles to block my nose.

My mouth fills with saliva as the metallic taste sharpens, my stomach squirming around inside me.

I scramble to my feet, rushing out between the trees, paying no attention to any of the dangers that might be out there. I can’t. I just have to get away from the camp - as far away as I can before my stomach convulses and empties out what little is left inside it.

I don’t make it very far before I double over, sinking to the floor as I heave. I grab for my hair with one hand, trying to keep it out of my way as I puke. Sweat pools on my lower back, my face, my chest, as my whole body spasms with the wave of sickness going through me.

“Rachel?”

I freeze at the sound of concern in Vantos’ voice, my mind immediately racing for ways to mime ‘food poisoning’, or ‘allergies’ to him.

But I haven’t pretended to eat anything today that I haven’t eaten before loads of times, or that Vantos hasn’t also eaten.

He’d know I was lying, even if I could think of a way of miming it.

I hear the sound of twigs and leaves rustling as he steps towards me. Feel his nearness like a physical touch.

Then his hand brushes gently against my hair, scooping it back out of my face.

I look round to him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

My mouth tastes disgusting and my teeth feel horrible.

My breath must stink, but Vantos only gets closer to me, touching the backs of his fingers to my temple, before brushing a thumb across my cheek.

And I don’t know if it’s pregnancy hormones, exhaustion, or just that gentle, gentle touch.

But I burst into tears.