The won were there, you know, like a living wall—Ada, Kerry, Hina, Vera, Kina—such closeness of their bodies and the heat of them almost suffocating . Their eyes were bright, not with tears as one might expect, but with sothing wilder: relief so sharp it was almost violent.
Hina was the one to open the ball, certainly. Her glance pierced Ryan and Mitt, and her voice, like a knife, only just taken out of its sheath, said, "Dexter isn’t leaving this tribe again." The words were accusing, toying with her fingers like she wanted to grab soone’s throat. "This is all your fault. We lost him nearly because of your stupidity."
Then her expression crumpled. One second, she was a storm—the next, she was on , hands roaming my chest, my arms, my sides, searching for wounds. "You’re not hurt, are you? Those filthy bitches from Ravina’s tribe—they didn’t touch you, did they? Didn’t bully you?" Her voice cracked, but her grip tightened, as if she could hold together by force alone.
I caught her wrist, stilling her frantic movents. "I’m fine, Aunt Hina." She didn’t pull away. Instead, her palms flattened against my chest, claiming, mapping—like she needed to prove I was real.
Ryan stepped into the circle, his voice low, asured, but his eyes flicking between and the won—assessing, calculating. "Hina. He’s safe. I made sure of it. I brought him back in one piece from Ravina’s territory."
Hina snorted, her nails digging into my skin just enough to sting. "Oh, how noble of you." Her glare skewered Ryan. "Who let him go in the first place, huh? If we’d lost him, who would make a mot.....—" Her voice broke. A fake cough, rough and forced, to hide the tremor.
"Who—" She swallowed, forced the words out. Her fingers twitched against my arm, digging in. "Who would treat our won’s diseases—think about the pregnant ones—the bleeding—" Her voice broke again, but she shoved through it, feral. "Dexter can take care of us. We can’t lose him."
The words landed like a stone in still water. The other won nodded, their expressions feral.
Ada clutched her waist, her knuckles white. "Yes, we can’t lose our healer." Kina’s jaw locked, her voice a growl. "The tribe needs him." Kerry’s eyes burned, her voice raw.
"No more hunting. No more risks. Not him." Hina stepped closer, her hand brushing my arm—a silent claim.
Ryan’s nod was slow, deliberate, but his gaze lingered on a second too long—testing, waiting. "From now on, Dexter stays in the tribe. Protected. No more following us out—it’s safer this way."
A beat of silence. Then— Kina’s hand slid onto my shoulder, her touch possessive, her voice a purr. "Yes. Much better." Her fingers tightened, just shy of painful. "Isn’t it, Dexter?"
Fuck.
If they caged here like so tad beast, how the hell was I supposed to slip through the trees to Ravina?
No. I’d have to find a way.
Hina’s voice pierced my thoughts, in a tone that was cold and yet strangely sweet, like a poisoned honey. "Dexter... you must be hungry, right? Co, Aunt will feed you." She grabbed by the wrist, her grip tight, authoritative, and she pulled along to the firepit as if she were a wolf bringing her prey to the den.
The fire was warm underneath as she forcefully pushed down, her legs against mine, and she leaned in—too close, too intimate—and hit a piece of raw-roasted at into my hands.
The lard shone, lting on my fingers, the aroma quite rich and bloody. "Here take it... eat as much as you want," she uttered, her voice going down to sothing low and hungry.
Kerry and the rest ca nearer, their laughter too loud, their eyes too bright, like jackals around. Ada tore at her at with her teeth, juice going down her chin, giving a quick look—not only food she was hungry for. Kina slowly, purposely, licked her fingers, her tongue pink and wet, her eyes fixed on my mouth.
And then—
Hina’s breath was the first thing that hit my ear—hot, uneven, as if she had been running. Her lips grazed the surface of it, only for a mont, her tongue quickly going out to taste the sweat on my skin before her voice ca in, low and drenched:
"Dexter... " On her tongue, my na sounded like a broken note, not fractured, but rough, as if she had been restraining it for too long. Her fingers went into my wrist, her thumb tracing the blood spot—not loving, but figuring out. "I can’t—" A quivering intake of breath, her chest bumping against my arm. "I can’t wait any longer."
"Tonight." A pause. Her teeth grazed my earlobe—not a bite, a warning. "I’m talking to Ryan. About you making a mother. And you—" her grip tightened, "—are coming with . After eating. Do you understand?"
Her thumb pressed harder into my vein, like she could feel my heartbeat spike. "I almost lost you today." Her voice wavered—just once—before it hardened.
"I almost lost my last chance to carry a child because of his stupidity." A sharp exhale, her breath burning my neck. "But not tonight. Tonight, I take what’s mine."
Her hand shifted higher, her palm cupping the heavy weight of through the leaf skirt. "You’re hard already." A dark chuckle, low and knowing.
"Good. Because I won’t be gentle." Her lips pulled back from my ear, but her voice dropped even lower, a growl: "After we eat, you follow . No excuses. No delays. Or I’ll—"
She stopped. Swallowed.
Her fingers that had a tight grip on my wrist went gently down my arm, but only to go slow, possessive, and after that, she moved away with a grin that seed to be for the fire in her eyes only.
"Eat, Dexter," she announced, her voice carrying just enough to let the whole firepit hear. "You’ll need your strength."
I tore into the at, ripping flesh from bone with my teeth, the juices running down my chin.
After the last scrap of at was gone, I stood up and wiped my greasy hands on my skirt, the stains dark against my skin. I took the bones, still making a clattering noise, and threw them near the fire—
"Dexter."
Kina’s voice ca out of the ss, uncertain, as if she was gauging the heaviness of her words before casting them. I slowly swivelled, giving her my undivided attention—not because she was worthy of it, but because knowledge was power, and Kina always had so.
"What is it, sister?" I said, my voice soft and silky.
She looked at nervously, and her hands were twisting the worn-out hem of her skirt. "Did Tusk—" She took a deep breath, her throat working. "Didn’t he tell you anything yet?"
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