Page 136 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lorna

A fter lunch, I help Rachel pack her things up.

In her whirlwind of happiness at being mated to Vantos, she hasn’t got round to taking all of her things over to his hut yet.

I’m feeling pretty miserable about it - jealousy making my emotions ugly - but I try not to let any hint of that escape.

Rachel deserves her happiness, and I am delighted for her, even if everything else I’m feeling is more noisy.

But when an opportunity arises, I can’t resist asking.

“Do you know why it took so long?”

I will her to tell me it was her pregnancy. That she felt so sick and awful all the time, she was too ill for the dreamspace to form. Anything that would put me in the clear so I can stop avoiding Shemza, go and throw my arms around him, apologise for being a mess these last few days.

“I wouldn’t have trusted it,” Rachel says, and explains how she would have worried Vantos only cared about her because she was his mate, not because she had some value as an individual. How he proved his love for her outside of the mate bond, and that’s what allowed her to lean into it.

“Instead of doubting and mistrusting everything, I can look back at it all and see that’s what he was always doing, right from the very start.”

She says it all with such love and reverence in her tone, and my eyes start to water a little.

“That’s beautiful,” I say. “I’m happy for you.”

I manage to sound sincere, even though my heart is ripping in two.

Because when I think back about Shemza, I realise I’m an idiot for ever thinking he was only interested in me to scratch an itch.

Even on the beach, he looked down at me with such care in his eyes.

More than just from a healer to a patient.

Why did I trust him so quickly? Because he radiated a desire to keep me safe.

He’s been wrapping me in his love and affection from the very start.

And I let myself believe there was nothing more to it than curiosity because it suited me. I knew I was going to fall in love with him, but I convinced myself it didn’t matter because he would never fall in love with me.

Only he already had. The thought gives me such intense feelings of joy and pain, I’m surprised my heart can take it.

Dying of a broken heart seemed like one of those things that male storytellers liked to imagine a woman would do.

But right now, it feels awfully possible, my chest constricting with the pain.

The worst part is, he’s going to go through this, too. I’m going to have to make him go through this. I gave him hope, and now I have to take it away, because it’s better than the alternative where he manages to make the dreamspace form for us and realises who I really am.

Again, Rosa’s horrified expression flashes before my eyes. I don’t think I could take seeing that on Shemza’s face. I think that really would kill me.

I carry Rachel’s things over to Vantos’ hut, handing them to him.

It feels almost symbolic, like I’m handing over care of her to him.

It’s stupid - we were roommates for a few days - but she’s been kind to me.

I act casual with Vantos, but the whole time I’m sending him my thoughts, willing him to treat her well.

Judging by the look of absolute delight on his face when she puts her arms around him, I don’t think it’s going to be an issue.

I feel heavy as I walk toward the central fire, but I can’t put it off anymore. I have to speak to Shemza. It’s like ripping off a bandaid - I just need to do it now. Do it fast. The hurt will start to fade after a while. It has to.

There’s no fading of my hurt now though - Shemza’s smile when he sees me is like a knife straight in my chest. His eyes are so full of joy and excitement, tempered with a little caution.

Probably because I was so horrible to him yesterday.

It’s like he’s trying to be wary, but can’t quite manage it.

Too overjoyed at the thought that our chance of being mates hasn’t gone after all.

“Walk?” I say to him.

All the wariness goes, evaporating instantly at my words.

“Yes,” he says, beaming at me. “Walk.”

I keep my distance from him as we walk, which isn’t out of the ordinary.

We usually keep our distance at first, not wanting to be seen by anyone else who might have wandered away from the village.

But once we get far enough away, Shemza tries to come closer, to put an arm around me, and though it kills me to do it, I duck away from him.

I nearly change my mind at his look of devastation. Everything in me screams to go to him, to soothe away his pain. But I bite my tongue, make myself stay where I am.

Shemza’s expression softens, hurt replaced by caution.

He takes a step closer to me, hand outstretched towards me, not to put around me, but to touch my face or brush through my hair.

The thought of his fingers against my cheek has my body arching towards him, seeking the connection.

But I squash those feelings down. Force myself to take a step back.

“This has to stop, Shemza. We have to stop.”

He frowns at me, brows knitting together with confusion, the hurt creeping back in for a moment before he schools his face blank again. He’s trying to control his emotions, and he’s just as bad at it as me. Again, he reaches out to me, and again I step back away from him, shaking my head.

“We can’t,” I say. “It’s not fair. To you.”

“Nhi Lorna,” he says, and his voice is full of heat and want and sadness and confusion.

I blink tears out of my eyes, backing away from him further. Not because he’s trying to reach me, but because I need the distance or I’m in danger of throwing myself into his arms and kissing him until that sadness vanishes.

I hate this. I hate that I always end up hurting everyone around me.

“I’m a bad person, Shemza. A horrible person. Lorna bad.” I do the thumbs down and point at myself.

Shemza frowns. “Aanesh. Good. Lorna good.”

I shake my head, tears flowing freely now.

“That’s not even my real name. That’s how little you really know about me.

I’ve lied. Lied to everyone. Lied to you.

I’m not who you think I am. I wish I was.

I want to be her. I want to be someone you could love.

I’d give anything to change the past so we could have this, but I can’t. ”

“Nhi Lorna,” he says, imploring in his tone as he takes another step closer to me.

A shout rings out through the trees, and suddenly heavy footsteps rush towards us.

My heart seizes with fear, images of the Cliff Top tribe running through my mind, but Shemza doesn’t sweep me behind him, or do anything defensive.

Instead, he runs toward the noise. I follow him, instinct driving me toward him, when I should be taking the chance to run away.

My little legs take three strides for every one of his, and I’m puffing and gasping by the time I reach him.

And see three of the hunters covered in blood. Jaskry and Anghar and Callif. So much blood I can’t tell who it’s coming from until Anghar and Jaskry lower Callif to the floor, Shemza dropping to his knees beside him.

There’s a jagged puncture wound in his stomach, blood pouring out of it. His skin looks grey. How long have the others carried him to get here? The ensouka herd was far from the village. He must have been injured ages ago, bleeding out on Anghar and Jaskry all the way back here.

Shemza says something, and his voice is calm, firm.

Jaskry nods, then hurtles off toward the village.

Gone to fetch supplies, or perhaps Rachel and Grace to help.

Shemza says something else, and Anghar nods, running after Jaskry.

Shemza pulls his top over his head, balling it up and pressing it to the wound in Callif’s side.

“Lorna,” he says, calling me over, and there’s no room for argument in his tone.

I rush to his side, and he grabs my hand, pressing it to the balled up top.

Already, blood is soaking through it, and I feel it against my skin, warm and sticky and so horribly familiar.

A whimper escapes my lips, and in a blink the forest and Callif and Shemza are gone.

I’m in my bedroom, and the blood coats me, soaking into my nightdress and covering my hands.

“Lorna.” Shemza’s voice cuts through the memory, dragging me back into the present. He holds my gaze, and his unwavering calm roots me in the moment. I nod, press down harder against the wound.

Shemza grabs flints from Callif’s belt, using them to spark a fire.

The ground is wet, the sticks and leaves soggy, but after a few spluttering miss starts, he gets it going, feeding it twigs until it burns well.

Jaskry comes crashing back into the clearing, carrying a bowl full of djenti berries.

Shemza shoves it straight on the fire, mashing the berries with another stick, encouraging them to boil up and thicken.

Shemza says something, and Jaskry nods, rummaging around on the forest floor until he finds a thicker branch.

He kneels beside Callif’s head, bracing either side of it with his legs as he sets the stick between Callif’s teeth.

“Lorna,” Shemza says, guiding me away from the wadded up top and sitting me on one of Callif’s legs. Jaskry presses down on his shoulders, and Shemza sits on the other leg as he peels back the top, fresh blood oozing from the wound. So much blood. How is there any left inside him?

Shemza glances to Jaskry, who leans more of his weight down on Callif’s shoulders, before grabbing the pot of djenti berries from the fire and pouring them straight over the wound.