Page 64 of Enslak

I carried her anyway.

Not because she needed it. Because I needed it.

I loved the weight of her in my arms. How she fit against my chest like the space had always been there waiting. How she trusted me not to drop her, not to hurt her, even with these claws and this body that had been made into a weapon.

And I wasn't proud of this, but I also loved how carrying her meant feeling every curve of her against me. Her warmth so close it made my skin burn.

Sweet torture. The kind I chose willingly.

She never complained. Just settled into my arms with that small, easy smile and let me carry her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Speech got easier too.

Those first words after the kiss, "Don't cry" and "You safe with me," had felt like dragging boulders uphill. Each word a battle fought in fog.

But it improved. "Good morning" became routine. "Thank you" when she did something kind. "Careful" when she got too close to the edge of something.

Short sentences. Two or three words at a time. But they were mine, chosen and meant.

And when her face lit up because I'd communicated something clearly? That made every struggle worth the effort.

Though sometimes I wished I had better words. Words to explain this need, this hunger, this ache that worsened every single day.

We were by the river. A different spot from where the attack happened. I'd made sure of that.

I was cleaning a fowl with iridescent feathers that Niki said tasted like something called chicken, a comparison that meant nothing to me but that she made with great enthusiasm every time. She sat nearby washing tubers, the ones she'd taken to calling carrots, her hands moving easily through the cool water.

I tried to focus on the fowl. On the work.

My eyes kept drifting.

The sunlight in her hair. Her hands in the water. The curve of her back. The glimpse of skin at her wrist where her sleeve had ridden up.

This was getting worse.

"You're such a good hunter," she said, glancing at me with that smile that tightened my chest every time. "Seriously, Enslak. You always find exactly what we need. We haven't had to eat even one of those nasty nutrition bars."

Pride swelled in my chest. And something else, something that made me want to beat my chest and roar at the sky like something uncivilized.

Her scent hit me then, carried on the breeze, mixing with river water and green growing things. My nostrils flared. Heat flooded through me. My hands tightened on the fowl, claws piercing deeper than I intended.

Breathe. Focus.

Then a flash came, sudden and unbidden. My father's hand on my shoulder, heavy and warm. A forest I couldn't quite place, somewhere with trees taller than I could see the tops of. His voice saying something about hunters, about providing, about what it meant to care for your people. The memory was slippery, like trying to hold water in a cupped palm. I could feel the weight of his hand but couldn't see his face clearly. My brothers were there too. Charick. Kavak. Their names came solid and real in a way most things hadn't been for so long.

A good hunter provides. That was what he'd said. Or maybe I was remembering it wrong, shaping it into what I needed to hear. The memory fragmented even as I held it, dissolving back into fog. But the feeling remained, that desperate need to be worthy. To be strong enough. To protect what mattered.

To provide for her.

"Enslak?" Niki's voice pulled me back. "Are you okay?"

I looked at her. Still gripping the half-cleaned fowl. She'd moved closer without my noticing, right beside me now, her hand on my arm. Concern in her eyes and her scent shifting with it, something warmer and sharper underneath the flowers.

So close I could feel her warmth radiating against my skin. So close her scent surrounded me entirely.

My body reacted instantly. Every muscle tensed with the effort of keeping still.

"Father," I managed. My voice came out rougher than usual. "Taught me. Hunt."