Barbarian's Heart

Chapter One

Stacy

Pashov's arms go around me and he nuzzles my neck, all affection. He's always very affectionate around breakfast. And lunch. And okay, dinner. The man's ruled by his stomach, and today is no change. He presses a kiss to my neck and then peers at my frying pan. "Are you making those for me?"

"No," I say, teasing in my voice. "This is for Josie. Are you hungry again?"

"I am always hungry, female." His hand slides to my butt and he gives it a squeeze. "Perhaps throw one of your cakes on there for your suffering mate?"

Suffering? I snort with amusement, but I get out a scoop of the mash I use for the not-potato cakes. "Sweet or meat?"

"Meat, of course."

Of course. He likes sweets about as much as the next sa-khui, which is to say not at all. I open my pouch of spices for the peppery flavoring he likes so much. "Oh, shoot. I'm out. I need more of the spicy stuff. Do you think your mother has more?"

"There is some in the storage cave," he tells me, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "I will go and get it for you."

"Leave Pacy with me," I tell him, setting my pan down. "He needs to eat, too."

He shrugs off the baby sling and sets my son down near my feet, touching his nose. "Do not eat all of the cakes. Save some for your father."

Pacy giggles and tries to catch his father's big finger with his tiny hands. My heart squeezes with affection at the sight. "Hurry up," I warn Pashov. "I need those spices if you want to eat." I'm not trying to nudge him too much, but my mate can get distracted at times, and if I leave my pan on for too long, it'll get too hot and scorch the cakes.

"I am going," he says, uncurling his big body and getting to his feet. He tugs on my braid, grabs my ass again as he leaves, and then jogs away into one of the back tunnels.

The ground shifts.

I drop my pan into the fire, ignoring the crash of sparks it makes, and grab Pacy instead. I don't understand what's happening. I look around, wondering if I'm imagining things, but then the ground shakes again.

"Out of the cave!" someone bellows, and then hands grab me and pull me blindly after them. I think it's Haeden, and he's got Josie in one arm and drags me with the other.

"Wait!" I cry out. "Pashov!" He's in the storage cave.

I look over . . . and then the ceiling collapses.

"PASHOV!"

I wake up in a cold sweat. Every inch of me is slick with it, and I rub my arms briskly to get rid of the dampness before it can crystallize to frost. Next to me in the nest of furs is Pacy. He's got one fist in his mouth, and as I watch, his little mouth works as if he's nursing in his sleep. Normally the sight of my son in sleep brings me immense joy, but today . . .

All I can see is the velvety pale blue skin, the dark lashes that frame his eyes, and the nose with the bump right in the middle of the bridge, just like his father's. He's the spitting image of him, and it hurts me.

I've lost my mate.

Even though Pacy's asleep, I pick him up and pull open my tunic, settling him to my breast. He latches on sleepily and then begins to nurse, pushing a small hand against my skin. The nursing's to comfort me more than him, I think. I need to hold him close. I need to feel the calm that motherhood brings with it.

I need to feel the touch of someone who loves me and whom I love.

Because right now, I'm losing control.

I glance across the small tent. Georgie's sleeping curled against her mate, Talie in a basket of furs nearby. They've been nice enough to let me stay with them for the last week and a half, but I know it can't be easy on them. It's not easy on me, either. Every time Vektal pulls Georgie close, I think of Pashov. Every time they exchange a look, I think of Pashov. Every time he steals a kiss from her, I think of Pashov.

And I hurt all over again.

Tears threaten, but I close my eyes and force myself to be calm. It does no good thinking about my mate right now. Right now, he is not my mate. He doesn't remember me. Doesn't remember the last two years we've spent together, or the baby we made together. Doesn't remember resonating to me.

Doesn't remember me at all.

To him, I'm just another faceless, puzzling human. He doesn't remember our crash here. He doesn't remember Vektal mating to Georgie, or me resonating to him the first day we met. He doesn't remember the birth of our son. He remembers his sister and his brothers. He remembers his family and the rest of the tribe.

Me? I'm just a big fucking blur.

No matter how many times I tell myself that it doesn't matter, that he's alive, that all I ever wanted was for him to be alive and whole, I'm lying to myself. He is alive. He is whole. I am grateful. I'm just . . . miserable. I feel like I lost him.

The moment those rocks came down, I lost everything. I didn't think I could feel worse than I did during those endless days wondering whether or not he would live, but back then, I had hope. I don't even have that now.

I stroke Pacy's brow as he nurses. It's been eleven long days. Eleven long days since Pashov woke up, and fifteen days since the cave fell to pieces. For the first few days, I had hope that Pashov's memory would come back. That he'd look at me and recognition would dawn. That he'd grab my ass the way he always used to, and he'd be himself again. I kept that hope up for well over a week.

And then as each day passed and he grew a little more distant, a little more uncomfortable each time I looked at him, I realized that I was hoping for too much. My mate is alive. My mate is healthy.

He's just not my mate anymore, and I have to figure out how to go on without him. I won't push him into a relationship-hell, a mating-when he doesn't feel a thing for me. How can he? All of our memories are gone. Me crying over him just makes it worse.

So I'm avoiding him. I'm doing my best not to make him uncomfortable. Maybe it's not the best way to handle it, but it's the only way I can. I'll break if he looks at me in that empty, polite way again.


”You lost your frying pan?” Josie asks me, aghast. “I thought you weren’t cooking because of . . . well, never mind.” The look on her face gets awkward.

I shrug and spread the leaves I'm trying to dry on a hot stone, then cover them with a second stone to flatten them. I don't have a closed-in, windless spot to dry more spices, so I'm hoping that squishing them between two hot rocks will do some of the trick. Mostly I'm just guessing and trying to stay busy. "When the cave shook, I think I threw it into the fire by accident. And then after that . . ."

The knot forms in my throat again and I can't speak. After that, my world was destroyed.

"Shit. I'm so sorry for bringing it up." Josie grabs my hand and rubs it. The expression on her face is concerned. "What are you going to do?"

"There's nothing to do." One of the leaves is sticking out from between the rocks and I absently tuck it in-and then jerk my hand, my fingers burning. Ouch. Hot already.

"This is bullshit!" she whispers at me. "I can't believe he's acting like nothing happened! He should be here with you, Stacy! I can't imagine what it'd feel like if I didn't have Haeden right now! Aren't you scared? We don't have a home and food to eat for the winter!"

I know Josie's trying to help. It's the only reason I don't take my hands and wrap them around her neck. She means well. She does. Her mouth just runs away with her. "I'm scared," I admit. "I think we all are."

"And you don't even have your mate to lean on!" She's outraged on my behalf. "Even right now, he's over there hanging with Bek and the other hunters like you're not here by the fire with his baby! What the ever-loving fuck already!"

"Shh," I tell her, because she's getting louder with her indignation. "Really, Josie, it's all right." I just feel defeated. Tired. I have for days. It feels like I haven't relaxed or slept in weeks, though I know that isn't true. And I just don't have the energy for Josie's outrage. "I chose to stay away from him, not the other way around."

"You what? Why?"

Why? How can she sit here and ask me that? Because my heart is breaking every time I look at him? Because he should be relaxing and recovering, and me shoving myself and my baby under his nose and demanding that he remember us will be stressful? Not just to him but to me? "I just can't right now, okay?"

From the look Josie gives me, it's clear she doesn't understand. How can she? Has anyone ever had to deal with their mate just not remembering them at all?

Pashov

On the outskirts of the encampment, I tie sinew to a new spearhead and try to keep my head down. I can feel eyes on me, watching me, waiting to see how I react. To see if I fall over, clutching my head.

It is all very strange. I do not feel like a hunter who has nearly died. I do not feel like a male who survived a cave-in. I feel . . . normal. I just do not remember anything that has happened. When they first told me, I thought it a joke. A cave-in? At the tribal caves? Everything lost? Old, peaceful Eklan dead?

Surely I would remember that.

But I search my mind and search my mind, and there is nothing there.

Yet the fact that there was a cave-in cannot be denied. My people are here in the snow before the elders' cave, homeless. I have seen many tears and much frustration since I awoke. I have seen people carefully doling out soup to make meat last. And I have seen the elders' cave, flung onto its side, resting in a gorge that was not in my memory, either.

It feels as if I closed my eyes and have woken to a strange new world, and it unsettles me.

Most unsettling of all?

The human females.

I can remember the first dvisti I killed, and the first time my father took me hunting. I remember my sister's birth and what a squalling, strange thing she was. I remember how my first taste of sah-sah burned the tongue. But I do not remember the humans.

I am told that they came to our world on a strange black cave, not unlike the elders' cave. That Vektal mated with the curly-haired one, and she brought him to the others. Now, everyone else in the tribe has mated with one. Several have young, and at all times, there is the sound of a kit wailing in distress.

And I am one of the ones that is mated.

The strangeness of it gnaws in my belly and makes me sick. Not that I am mated to a human, but that I cannot remember it at all. The humans have been here for three seasons-two bitter, one brutal. Long enough for the human that is "mine" to bear my kit. They are a welcome, happy part of the tribe.

How can I not know of this? How can my mind betray me so?

I scan the smaller forms huddled near the fire and see two humans talking. The one they say is my mate has a flat face with no bumps, a very tiny nose, and no horns. Her mane is a strange furry brown. Other than that, I remember nothing about her. Normally I recognize her amongst the tribe because she carries her kit-our kit-on her back in a strange pack. I do not see a human wearing that today, so I squint at the females by the fire. Not the small one-the other. It is Stay-see. The one that is my mate.

Was my mate.

She is pressing something between rocks and talking to the tiny one, who waves her hands and speaks angrily. They seem strange to me, with their pasty pale coloring, lack of horns, and small build. If I were to stand next to Stay-see, she would not come to my shoulder. She bends over to pick something up, and there is no tail, a sight I find unnerving.

The other female says something, and then they both look over at me.

I busy myself with my spear again, not wanting to be caught staring. I have tried talking to Stay-see a few times since I awoke in the healer's tent, but each time it goes badly. It always ends with her weeping and running away, and I do not wish that today. Perhaps her tears should upset me more than they do. They bother me, but only because when she cries, I feel confusion. I do not like to cause distress in another. I want to comfort her, but I have no words of comfort to give.

"Are you sure they will let you out of the camp with that, brother?" Salukh drops to the ground next to me, crossing his legs. He pulls out his favorite sharpening stone and his knife, and begins to scrape it. "If Mother sees it, I am sure she will come running."

I snort. My mother has been coddling me as if I were a fussy kit and not a grown hunter. "It is a spear. Surely they cannot stop me from making weapons if I am not allowed on the hunt."

"I suspect you will be allowed soon," my brother says. "All hands are needed to gather food." He scrapes his stone along his knife, unruffled. Salukh is always calm. Always possessed. He does not look as if worries over mates and the brutal season ever cross his mind, though I know he has a human mate now, too, and her belly is big with kit.