Page 25 of Sheltered in the Storm (The Fortusian Mates # 1)

CHAPTER 24

VOS

Days passed, and then weeks, and my Calla bloomed like the plants in Poe’s garden that opened their petals to celebrate the end of the rainy season and the arrival of sunshine. Paradise had come to our corner of Iosa.

And no matter how many times I woke at dawn to see my mate sleeping peacefully in our bed, or watched her sitting or working in the garden, or took her swimming in the sea, or felt her coming in my arms, each was more wondrous than the last.

Since the day of our first knotted coupling, the matter of love remained unspoken between us, but my Calla’s love was as real and bright and warm as the sun that drenched us from morning to night. And mine grew with her every laugh, footstep, curse, flashing blade, teardrop, and cry of my name.

Even Poe trilled throughout the day, whether tending her own garden, resting in her nest, or guarding the wall. I had not known her to sing more than a handful of times in the three years she had lived with me. Our shared happiness was a paradise of its own .

“Vos.”

Calla’s exasperated voice startled me from my reverie. She was standing in front of my chair, hands on hips, with dirt on her face and mud on her knees. She wore a summery dress today, one of the items of clothing I had purchased during last week’s trip to a nearby village for supplies. Her feet were bare because the day was sunny and warm.

“I am sorry,” I said, marveling at the way her hair shimmered in the sunlight. “What did you ask?”

“I asked what you wanted to plant on the far end of the vegetable garden.” She sighed. “Have I been talking to myself for the last ten minutes?”

I winced. “Perhaps.”

She scowled.

With a chuckle, I gathered her in my tentacles and placed her sideways on my lap. She leaned her head against my shoulder and let out a long, much more contented sigh. “Thanks. I’m worn out and my back hurts.” After a beat, she added, “I’m still mad at you, though. I was talking to you.”

“I am sorry,” I said again, my lips on her hair. She smelled of fresh-tilled earth, sunshine, and sweat. “May I make it up to you by taking you to the sea today?”

Calla scoffed. “Vos, I see right through you. We both know why you love going with me to the ocean.”

“Do you not want to go?” I asked, feigning hurt.

“I didn’t say that.” She wiggled on my lap, and my cock very predictably stirred in response. “We’ve been so busy getting the garden ready. It’s been almost a week, hasn’t it? I have been missing…you.”

“What have you been missing, my mate?” I slipped one of my tentacles under her dress to play with the edge of her underwear and she shivered. The scent of her arousal grew. “Have you missed my knot? ”

“You know I have.” She bit my shoulder just hard enough to make my cock twitch. “When can we go?”

“As soon as you have changed.” As much as I loved the sight of them, bare legs were inadvisable in the swamp. “There is more to my invitation than you give me credit for, though, my Calla. The season has changed, and the area in and around our inlet has become home to something I am very much looking forward to showing you.”

She sat up, her eyes sparkling with interest. “Really? What is it?”

Making sure at least one of my tentacles was not touching her, I kissed her. “Get dressed, put on your boots, and I will show you.”

“You know, you’re already on thin ice with me.” Calla slid her dress up to show me the dagger she kept in a thigh sheath in case something got over the wall. And of course my cock began to harden at the peek of inner thigh and the blade. “Don’t make me turn you into kaory bait.”

“With that little knife?” I made a tsk ing sound. “That would only tickle me, my Calla. You must improve your threats.”

“Improve my threats,” she muttered, rising from my lap. “I promise you wouldn’t want me to really threaten you.”

“Truly, no, my warrior Calla.” I caught her hand and kissed it. “I would not.”

She smiled and went inside to change.

While I waited, I rose to admire the garden bed. Save for the far end, which had not yet been planted, within a week, I expected to see stems and leaves emerge. In two lunar cycles, we would begin harvesting. Iosa’s rich soil supported fast, healthy growth.

Poe joined me. “Poe,” she said, her claws waving at the neat rows of planted seeds.

“She is a natural gardener,” I said, beaming with pride. “Impressive, for someone who has never gardened before. ”

“Poe,” my Anomuran companion said agreeably. She touched my hand with her claw, then swiveled her eyestalks toward the swamp. “Poe?”

“Just for a few hours,” I assured her. “I want to show Calla the shells.”

“Poe.” She waved her claws over her abdomen. “Poe?”

“I will bring some back,” I promised. “The best and most delicious I can find.”

Trilling happily, Poe trundled back to her garden, stopping to snack on a few enni along the way.

Not long after, Calla emerged from the house in her flight suit and boots with her small pack of provisions on her back. The suit was, we had agreed, the best clothing for her to wear during walks to the sea. The material was tougher than any for sale in the village, and her boots could withstand the bites of serpents and even small kaory. The soles were nearly impenetrable, in case she stepped on something sharp.

With my help, she had painstakingly removed the patches, insignias, name badge, and all other distinguishing characteristics. Its color and design might still be recognized as having been issued by the Alliance Defense, but we had done our best to eliminate anything that identified her. I looked forward to the day we could replace it with some other clothing and she could put away or destroy this last vestige of her service.

“Ready,” she announced, patting her Fortusian daggers in their sheaths on her thighs.

Her body, including her lovely thighs, had thickened with both muscle and pleasant softness. She appeared healthy, happy, and content, and my hearts swelled with love and satisfaction.

We latched the gate behind us, left Poe on watch, and began our walk to the sea, hand in hand until the narrowness of the trail forced us to walk single file. And for the first time, my Calla took the lead for half the walk. She had memorized the path after only a few trips, and had tried to bet me she could walk it with her eyes closed. I had refused to accept the bet only because of the danger, and ruefully submitted to her teasing that I feared I would lose.

Also unlike our first trips to the sea, my Calla did not require stops to rest along the way or complain of soreness in her legs. She walked as quickly and silently as I, her eyes bright with anticipation of reaching our inlet. I found myself smiling when her attention was elsewhere, enjoying her excitement and confidence as she fearlessly crossed a swamp so many others would not step foot in for any amount of money.

When we reached the bank and she began to take off her boots, I put my hand on her arm. “Wait here.”

“What?” She frowned. “Why?”

“Please,” I said, kissing her forehead before I pulled my tunic off over my head. “I wish to surprise you.”

She sighed. “This had better be worth it, whatever you’re up to. I’m hot and that water looks very good right now.” She eyed me and unfastened the collar of her suit. “As do you. Hurry up, Vos.”

I left my clothing on the bank near the base of a tree and descended the steep bank into the water. I heard Calla make a quiet sound and turned back to see her biting her lip.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

She slid the top of her suit down off her shoulders, baring herself to the waist. At the sight of her lovely, full breasts and her rosy nipples pebbling in the air, I nearly bolted back up the bank.

“Oh, nothing,” Calla said with a flash of a sad smile. “It’s just…that’s the first time you’ve gone into the water without carrying me.”

“I will carry you,” I promised. I would not miss doing that for the world. “I will only be gone a few minutes.”

“Okay.” She bent to remove her boots. “Go ahead.”

I dove under the water and made my way quickly to the deepest part of the inlet. Sure enough, there they were: dozens of brightly colored shells in clusters. The sea enni had arrived.

I found a half-dozen unoccupied shells abandoned by the creatures that had resided within them. They had likely left their shells to feed or mate and been eaten. Inlets like this one were safe havens during their mating season, or at least far safer than open water, but no place was truly without danger.

When I surfaced, I found my Calla waiting on the bank, undressed, sitting in the grass. “Well?” she asked as I climbed the bank with the shells hidden in my arms. “What did you bring me?”

Proudly, I held out my hands and presented her with the collection.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh, gods, Vos—these are beautiful!” Eyes wide as a child’s, she looked up at me. “Can I hold one?”

I handed her the most lovely one, a deep purple shell with green whorls. “Of course. The enni that lived inside it is no longer there.”

“These are enni shells?” She marveled at its beauty, turning it in her hands and peeking inside the curled, hidden parts. “These are way bigger than the enni in the garden. Poe would feast on these!”

“She will feast.” I laughed. “I promised to bring some home for her. She looks forward to the arrival of the sea enni each year.”

“Are they the same color as the enni in the garden?”

I shook my head. “They are the same color as their shells.”

“Oh, I’d love to see that. The ones in our garden are so plain and gray. Hey, this one looks like you.” She held up the purple shell so she could look from it to me and back again. “It’s not as beautiful, though.”

“Such flattery, my mate.” I crouched and arranged the collection of shells on the grass in front of her. “Which do you like best? ”

“Hmm.” She picked up each one and looked it over. “Purple, blue, green…I think I love the purple one best because it reminds me of you. Such a pretty purple. The enni who lived in it must be pretty too—well, for an enni.”

To be compared to a sea enni or its shell would not be a compliment from anyone but my lovely Calla. “And second best?” I asked.

She bit her lip again. “I don’t suppose you saw any red ones down there?”

I tilted my head and thought. “I did not. They are much more rare. Should I look?”

“Could you?” Her eyes sparkled as she twirled her hair around her finger. “I would love a red one to go with the purple.”

Now I understood. I smiled and cupped my Calla’s face. “I will find a red one for you, my mate. I may be gone longer this time.”

“That’s all right. I’m comfortable. But don’t take too long.” She kissed my palm. “I still want you to carry me into the water properly, and then we can visit our grotto.”

Our hidden place under the trees was not truly a grotto, as its walls were curtains of moss rather than a cave of stone, but she had dubbed it as such and I liked the name. The Fortusian word gar’uto meant sea home , and our grotto was very much that to me.

I returned to the water in search of red shells. I found a few, but rejected them as unworthy of my Calla. I wanted at least one or two in pristine condition, and as lustrously red as her hair.

At long last I found one, hidden behind rocks in a small cluster of shells on the far side of the inlet where it opened to the sea. This one was perfect in every way: the right color, without scratches or broken edges, and freshly abandoned because the inside was gleaming white. My Calla would beam at its beauty. My tentacles danced in anticipation and glee .

With my prize in hand, I made my way back across the inlet along the sandy bottom, seeking other shells that caught my eye with their color or shape. I found another purple and green one that rivaled my earlier offering for beauty and brought that too.

If my Calla wanted a collection of the most perfect sea enni shells, I would gather as many as she desired, or help her find them. I had brought a net bag to transport Poe’s meal and a second in case Calla wanted to gather her own. Perhaps she would want to use them as decorations in our home or garden. I would love that as well.

I reached our shore and broke the surface of the water, holding up the shells in triumph.

My Calla was not there.

For a moment, I stood frozen, staring at the empty bank, as if she might appear from the grass or from behind a tree, laughing at my expression. But my Calla would not play this kind of trick on me.

In a heartsbeat I was out of the water and at the top of the bank with no memory of having traveled there. Calla’s uniform, boots, backpack, and daggers remained in a neat pile next to my own clothes beside the tree, but the shells I had lovingly gathered were scattered across the grass, not in the neat row in which I had left them.

Then a scent reached me that sent me crashing to my knees: Calla’s blood. A spray of crimson across the shells I had gathered for her.

My world went silent and cold, as if the sun had been blotted from the sky.

Darkness closed in until all I saw or smelled was that blood, spilled while I was only meters away, searching for shells when I should have been here guarding her .

The thought was a roar in my mind.

Deep in my soul, a great crashing black wave of rage rose. This was the monster I had held at bay for so very long, who had slept peacefully once my Calla came. But now someone had taken my Calla, and the monster had awakened.

I opened my mouth and bellowed, the sound rolling through the swamp like boulders down the slope of a mountain. Everything went silent, as if the predators of the water and land knew something much deadlier than they had emerged.

My vision sharpened, turned silvery and crystal clear. My tentacles lashed the air, quivering in rage, the claws on their tips flaring from the sheaths that kept them hidden.

Like a beast, on my hands, feet, and tentacles, I searched the bank. In moments I found the track: the lingering scent of Calla’s blood and strange prints that led away into the marsh in the opposite direction of our home. A half-dozen or more sets of prints, none of them humanoid. Raiders? Perhaps. Or perhaps an enemy from my past had come looking for me and taken my Calla instead.

Whoever had done this, I would not stop until I found my mate. And then I would leave nothing of her attackers but their blood on my hands.

Growling, I stuffed our clothing and Calla’s daggers into the pack, adjusted its straps so it fit on my back, and took off following the tracks and the scent of my mate’s blood.