Page 88 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER NINE

Rachel

T he broth Vantos makes isn’t as flavourful and rich as the meals we eat back at the village, but somehow it tastes better.

Perhaps it’s because my body aches from walking so far, my stomach rumbling with hunger now it’s evening and the sickness has passed.

It’s not the kind of hunger I’m used to - the hunger of never quite having enough to eat.

It’s the hunger of having worked physically hard, needing the food to refuel.

It’s pathetic that a bit of walking can tire me out so, but I never had to go anywhere in my old life.

I lived where I worked and travelled between my flat and my position on the production line.

Walking back to the village was exhausting, and Shemza fed us a constant stream of djenti berry tonic to help us through it.

I’m not that level of exhausted now, but I wonder if I will keep up with Vantos better if I have some tonic to give my body a bit of a boost.

Once I’ve finished my meal, Vantos takes my bowl and spoon and cleans them using the canteen he refilled at the brook, being careful not to use too much of the water.

While he does that, I have a quick walk around the immediate area of the tent, looking for signs of djenti berry bush.

If there aren’t any, I’ll keep my eyes open as we travel tomorrow.

It tends to prefer to grow along the banks of rivers and streams, but sometimes you get little clusters of it growing in random places.

I know where they all are within the tribe’s territory - one of the first things Shemza showed me.

I’m almost finished in my loop of the area when I spy what looks like a djenti bush a little way out through the trees.

Too far for me to feel comfortable going alone.

It’s maybe a few metres away, but the trees overhead are forbidding.

When they’re dark and tall like that, you have no idea what might be hiding within them.

So I go back to Vantos and get his attention by tapping his shoulder, as he sometimes does to me.

He looks up, and I gesture for him to follow me.

He rises to his feet, and I’m reminded of how big he is, how much taller and broader than me.

But when I hold out my hand, he takes it without hesitation and allows me to lead him across the clearing.

I point out the djenti bush to him, and he nods, looking up into the trees, before striding out ahead of me.

I follow, trying not to let my eyes fall to his backside.

Difficult when it’s not that far off eye-level.

It’s really not fair that he’s so gorgeous.

All the raskarrans are good looking - all variations on tall and broad and muscular - but none of them match Vantos.

When we reach the bush, I drop to my knees and begin hunting for the berries.

I won’t need many. They’re soft, difficult to transport, and they rot quickly.

Whenever Shemza needs them, he always picks them fresh.

I search for the ones that look ripest, gathering up a handful.

When I’m done, I look up to Vantos and nod.

He smiles. He’s not as expressive as Maldek and Rardek, not as warm as Shemza or Anghar. But that just means when he does give you a smile, you know you’ve really earned it. I appreciate that.

He holds out a hand to help me up and I take it, carefully cradling the berries in my other hand so I don’t drop any.

Back at the fire, I pick up the canteen and crush two or three of the berries into it.

The rest I place in one of the bowls that Vantos fetches for me out of the pack.

I take a mouthful of the tonic, wincing at the bitter taste, then hold it out for Vantos.

He shakes his head and gestures for me to drink more.

I’m not all that thirsty, but I take another few gulps, knowing it will do me good.

When I hold the canteen out for Vantos this time, he takes it.

The effects of the tonic aren’t instant like the boiled down paste used to treat surface cuts.

I’ll feel the benefit most tomorrow morning, when my legs don’t ache, my feet don’t hurt, and I have the energy for another full day of walking.

But for now, I feel comfortable enough. I think I’ll sleep well in our snug little tent when we finally bed down for the night, but I’m not quite ready for that yet.

Instead, I take off my shoes, inspecting my heels for any blisters.

There are a few sore patches. Nothing compared to the state my feet were in walking in my Mercenia issue boots, but I don’t want the injuries to compound over days and slow Vantos down.

So I head for the pack and pull out the pan, setting it in the embers of the fire.

I fill it with the remaining berries and mash them with a stick.

The fire is barely burning anymore, but it’s still hot enough to get the liquid to bubble and boil, thickening it until it’s like jam.

Not that you’d want to spread it on your toast. The watered down tonic is bitter enough.

I hook the pan out of the fire with another stick, and leave it a moment to cool.

When the paste is no longer steaming, I scoop some out, massaging it into the sore spots on my feet.

It doesn’t prickle and sting like it does over open wounds, and I wonder if it’s actually going to do anything.

But when I press my thumbs into the bits I’ve treated, they no longer feel tender and bruised.

“That’s better,” I say, the first time either of us has spoken for a while. “Ready to do it all again tomorrow now.”

I look to Vantos and hold up the bowl of djenti berry paste.

He considers it a moment, probably weighing up the benefit of having treatment, versus wanting to appear strong and tough.

I roll my eyes at him, then come to his side, probing at his injuries with my fingers, looking for any sign of pain on his face.

He winces when I touch the wound on his shoulder, so I tug at his top, gesturing for him to take it off.

He grumbles a little, but does as he’s told.

He’s not bandaged up anymore, the injuries little more than scar tissue now.

The one on his shoulder is the worst, the skin still a little raw, the wound still scabbed over.

I scoop some djenti berry paste onto my fingers and smear it over the injury, wishing that the treatment wasn’t accompanied by such pain.

Vantos doesn’t complain, but I can tell by the way his jaw sets, his muscles in his arms and chest tense, that he’s feeling some discomfort.

“You’re going to have some scars,” I say, tracing my fingertips over one of the other injuries. “Don’t feel bad about that, though. They’re very sexy. Make you look dangerous and edgy. Lots of girls love that kind of thing.”

It was Jeremy’s friends who talked about stuff like that.

No bottom tier girl ever talked about dangerous, edgy guys.

We knew too many who were dangerous to ever crave the thrill of someone who just looked that way.

But the middle tier girls Jeremy knew didn’t have to work their fingers to the bone every day.

They didn’t have to worry that their supervisors would attack them if they did something wrong.

They weren’t the super wealthy upper tiers, but they had comforts.

Spare time. The energy to use their imaginations and crush on guys.

And when I was with them, I used to giggle and laugh along with what they said, always agreeing with them.

Never wanting to reveal that I wasn’t one of their number.

Thinking about it now, they must have known. I wasn’t the only girl Jeremy was bringing back to his house. All those times I thought I was getting along with those girls, they were probably secretly mocking me.

Stupid little bottom tier girl thinks she’s on to a good thing. Doesn’t realise that Jeremy will ditch her the moment he gets bored.

Did they even see me as a person? We had the same shape, the same hearts and minds, but to them I was probably less than nothing. A body to warm Jeremy’s bed. An object.

Vantos must sense the dip in my mood, for he cups my face in one of his big hands, drawing me up to look at him.

There’s a question in his gaze, his lips turned down at the edges as if my sadness displeases him.

I imagine him trying to solve it the way he seems to want to solve most things - with his muscles - and the thought makes me laugh.

“I’m alright, big guy,” I say. “Just remembering some people I’d rather forget.”

He strokes his thumb over my cheek, his fingers brushing the back of my neck.

The touch sends a shiver through me, the beginnings of need stirring between my thighs, and I’m suddenly conscious that his bare chest is right in front of me, all enticing abs and pecs, his skin smooth and warm.

I’ve seen him in less clothing many, many times, but outside of the healer’s hut, without the heavy scent of drying herbs in the air, it feels different.

More intimate. I busy myself checking the djenti berry paste has done its job, trying to put that layer of professional distance between us again, but it’s not easy.

The ache in my core never quite goes away.

“Anywhere else?” I ask, gesturing to his body and holding the bowl with the remaining paste up.

Vantos shakes his head and I’m relieved and disappointed in equal measure. I like taking care of him. I like having the excuse to touch him. But I like it a little too much.

We sit for a while as the darkness slowly deepens, the sun descending below the horizon somewhere out there, hidden by the trees all around us. We don’t speak. There isn’t anything to say. Not that we could understand each other, anyway.

I don’t mind the silence, though. I like it, in fact.

The less I have to say, the less chance there is of me saying the wrong thing.

And if I did say the wrong thing, well, Vantos wouldn’t be able to tell, anyway.

It’s so relaxing, not having to think carefully about every word I speak - and not having to feel self-conscious about not saying anything at all.

Vantos might be snarly and grumpy sometimes, but I find him very restful company.

It gets surprisingly cool now as the night rolls in.

Back on the beach, the evenings were warm, except for the occasional gust of sea breeze.

It would always find the thin bits of our clothes and send a shiver through us.

Now, I’m feeling pretty shivery all the time, but I wrap Vantos’ furs around my shoulders again, and they keep me nice and snug.

Vantos doesn’t seem bothered at all. He’s pulled his top back on, but it’s only thin, his arms exposed.

He watches the forest around us, as if he’s expecting something to come bursting out of the trees.

I’d be worried, but Vantos always looks like he’s taking whatever he’s doing extremely seriously.

When I asked him to walk round the healer hut to test his legs, he looked like I’d tasked him with traversing an inhospitable land to save a child or something.

I don’t think his expression is an accurate measure of the danger we’re in.

When it gets so dark that the dying fire is the only source of light, Vantos turns to me and gestures toward the tent.

I nod, gathering up his furs in my arms and taking them inside, laying them back out for him.

I open up my own bag and take out the nightgown I packed so I wouldn’t have to sleep in my dirty travelling clothes.

I actually haven’t got that dirty today, but I take off my boots, setting them in the very corner of the tent, away from my bedding, then start removing my clothing.

I keep my body facing the wall of the tent, my back turned to Vantos, so I don’t accidentally flash him some boob.

Judging by his attitude to nudity by the bathing pools, I don’t think he would be too bothered, but I feel the need to be modest all the same.

With my nightgown on, I wriggle out of my trousers and fold them next to my shoes.

I have a few spare tops, but I fold the one I’ve been wearing ready to wear again.

I don’t have enough clothes to change every day, and I’d like to have at least one clean item spare for when we arrive at the other tribe.

I’m supposed to be there to prove that us girls are worth protecting.

I figure that’s probably better done not wearing something rancid.

Although Vantos and the rest of Gregar’s tribe weren’t put off by us in our disgusting boiler suits, so maybe I need to stop expecting raskarrans to think the same as humans.

I turn slowly back to the centre of the tent, ready to duck my eyes if Vantos is naked again.

He isn’t. He’s sitting on his furs, fussing with the edges of them, getting them in the perfect arrangement.

Because of course he would need them to be exactly right.

Why would he take bedtime less seriously than he does everything else?

It makes me smile, affection for him swelling in my chest. I don’t think any of the other girls have seen past his slightly surly countenance to the adorable guy he is underneath. It makes me feel kind of lucky that I get to experience that side of him.

“I’m going to sleep now,” I say. “Goodnight, Vantos.”

I’m snuggled under the furs, my eyes already growing heavy when I hear him reply.

“Goodnight, Rachel.”