The waiting seems endless.
After what feels like forever, I head to the front of the cave, peeking out. I scan the snow-capped hills in the distance for a flash of blue skin or dark hair, but I don’t see him. That’s both good and bad. I pace at the mouth of the cave, worried.
What if they find him and he attacks them? What if something bad happens?
What if my Rukh doesn’t come back?
Hot terror clenches through me and my hands grip my belly. The baby kicks, hard, as if sensing my worry.
They won’t kill him. They’re not murderers. Vektal and his people are kind.
But Rukh is an unknown warrior, and he wants to defend me. I worry my lower lip with my teeth, my mind spiraling through all the things that can go wrong. I’m so focused on my thoughts that I’m not paying as much attention as I should be. I’m staring at the ground and when a shadow moves, it catches my attention. I look up, but the ridge nearby is empty.
Goosebumps prickle my skin. I rub my arms and head deeper into my cave, remembering Rukh’s words. I need to hide if someone comes. I stare helplessly at our comfortable cave. There’s clearly a fire pit, and a nest of furs. My hand-woven baskets made from dried sea-reeds are neatly placed along the walls. It’s going to be obvious that someone lives here.
But I don’t want to be found. I don’t want to be found and blamed for the deaths of three others.
More than anything, I don’t want to be taken from my mate. I love Rukh and I’m happy with him. I don’t care that I have to brush my teeth with a hard twig or my panties are made from leather instead of silk. I love my man and I don’t want to leave him. So I head back, deeper into the cave than I normally go. There’s a hiding spot back here that Rukh and I have commented on before, a sliver of jutting rock that’s big enough to conceal someone through optical illusion, as long as the viewer stays a few feet away. I slide in to the spot, wincing as the jagged rocks tear at my skin.
And then I sigh and give up, because my belly is sticking out a lot further than the wall can conceal. This nook would have been useful about eight months and twenty pounds ago. Grimacing, I pull myself back out, and then rub my back again. It hurts worse than usual today. Stress, likely.
“Hello?” A voice – high and female and human – calls out. It’s coming from the front of the cave. “Harlow? Are you in here?”
I straighten in surprise, my hand protectively going to my stomach. That sounds like Liz. I recognize her Oklahoma twang. How did she find me? Then I think of the shadow on the ridge. Of course. I’m so stupid. She must have seen me come in.
No sense in hiding now, is there? I cautiously move forward into the main room of the cave.
It’s Liz, all right, and she looks incredible. Beautiful. Not-Hoth obviously agrees with her. Her cheeks are ruddy and pink, her face rounded and full. Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, pulled back from her face by a few decorative braids. She wears a long dress made of ornately dyed leather that makes my own patchwork tunic look downright shameful. A furry hood is pushed off her face and frames her shoulders. She looks like a Viking princess, right down to the bow slung over her shoulder. And she’s peering around my cave with surprise.
I say nothing, waiting for her to notice me. It takes a moment, as she’s assessing my cave, and then she turns and her gaze lands on me.
Instead of the mistrust I expect, her eyes light up and she flings her arms wide, rushing forward to hug me. “Oh my God! It is you! Harlow! Holy shitballs, girl. We thought you were dead!”
I hug her back, and for some reason, I start to cry. It’s part nerves, part relief, part loneliness. I didn’t realize until now how good it is to see another human. I love and adore Rukh, but seeing another woman takes away some of the anxiety of being out here alone.
She squeals and hops up and down as she hugs me, and then pulls back when she realizes my belly’s poking into her. “Ohmigod! Look at you!” Her gaze flicks from my belly to my face with shock. “You’re fucking pregnant!”
“I am,” I say, wiping away some of my tears. “What are you doing here?”
“Me?” She sputters. “Girl, what are you doing here, you bitch? We thought you were dead!”
I laugh. Liz is so crass but she’s open and loving. I’ve missed her. I squeeze her hand. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ll say,” she agrees, and pats my distended belly. “You look ready to pop. I’m not carrying quite the same.”