9

Kaitlyn

"Thank you for finishing my rabbit socks when I couldn't. I didn't realize how tough yanking the sinew thread through the hides would be. And for inviting Vera and Artyom over yesterday—I like them. I'm excited to meet the rest of the women today, but you don't have to attend social functions for me. I know you aren't comfortable with your clan. I don't want to push you into situations where you aren't comfortable." I babble.

My anxiety is at an eleven out of ten. The tighter he weaves me into his life, the more heartbroken he will be when I leave. Vera considers Artyom as nothing more than a hairy man. It's one thing for her to enjoy adventures with her mate. It's quite another to picture myself receiving Serik's monster cock. If sex doesn't sound appealing, how can I hope to enjoy the rest of his life which oscillates between boring and terrifying?

I don't enjoy handicrafts, as demonstrated by the frigid wind and melting snow freezing my toes inside my poorly sewn socks. I hate hunting, camping, fishing—and heaven forbid, hiking through the Arctic. My idea of an outdoorsy activity is strolling through an open-air mall and eating lunch at a sidewalk cafe. The only polar treat I enjoy is a confection from the Dairy Freeze next to my apartment…with chocolate candies…and caramel syrup. How does Vera live on jerky nine months of the year? No wonder she weighs as much as a rabbit.

My treacherous stomach growls.

"With a mate, I'll gain respect in the clan. I don't enjoy my brothers' company because I'm often the butt of their jokes, picked last for hunting pairs, and tormented by Patricika. Adrik is the worst of the bunch, but he's isolated himself. Artyom will help smooth the way as you become closer friends with Vera. They will align with us at the next mating chase and show the rest we are valuable friends," he says, sprinkling chopped nuts into a bowl.

"Has it always been difficult for you? What about when you were a kid…err…kit?"

"Yes, so much my parents tried to fix it." He pauses to hand me a bowl of brown mush. "My parents adopted Adrik at the end of the Clan Wars, but he chose to take his bitterness out on me instead of becoming my friend. The older we grow, the more his hatred for me grows. He doesn't interact with our group at all—in bullying me or as an ally."

The dish isn't a looker, but the warm spices and baked nuts give off the most enticing aroma. I slosh the food around the bowl under my nose. There must be a ton of fat or real cream because it shines in the early morning sunshine. Wrinkly nubs of reconstituted berries rise and fall in the mush. Without a spoon, I have no choice but to tip the bowl at my lips. Serik's crinkled eyes smile at me as he sips from his bowl in the same manner. I guessed correctly. No utensils, ugh.

"This is delicious. Thank you," I say after I swallow the lump resembling oatmeal. It's not my usual breakfast of cold pizza, ketchup chips, or Nanaimo bars from the local bakery, but I bet it's a hundred times healthier.

"It's traditional Chuchunya—"

"Stop right there," I say, placing a hand on his chest. I shiver when he covers my fingers with his warm palm. "Don't tell me what's in my delicious breakfast. If I'm grossed out by something weird like fish eyes or rabbit ears, I can't eat."

"No fish eyes or rabbit ears, I promise," he swears with a throaty chuckle that tingles a place where I shouldn't tingle. "I have another gift for you. Don't worry. I assure you no fish or fowl were harmed in collecting this gift."

He turns around to unwrap the pile of cloth behind him. I've seen egotistical Serik, grumpy Serik, hero Serik, but shy Serik is my favorite. He blushes pink under the fur on his cheeks, chest, and shoulders. His embarrassment releases plumes of vanilla. I scoot closer to collect the heat he gives off. He's warmer than the fire when he's uncertain.

A crocus bloom lays in his palm when he whirls around. I set my bowl on the ground to receive the limp flower. Six purple petals hold on to the skinny, green stem for dear life. Serik must have crushed it, but I'm touched by the lengths he went to bring me the flower. I've never had a man bring me flowers, and they can pick up a wildflower bouquet at any gas station.

"It's precious," I say, rubbing a petal with my thumb.

"This is the first flower I've seen this niibin season. The crocus brings new beginnings and the start of the growing season, so naturally it reminds me of you—of us." He picks up his bowl and slurps a large gulp of sludge before he can say more.

"I love it. Thank you." I don't want to share the feelings wrapped around his words…but I do. When he left his warm underground home to cook breakfast for me, he wasn't annoyed. He associates a delicate flower with me. Me? Thorny, prickly, waspish Kaitlyn is a flower to this male. After I got stuck in his front door, he still equates this tiny blossom to me.

And new beginnings… I drop the flower in my lap and press my bowl to my lips. This is the most thoughtful gift I've ever received. If he were human, or at least a city slicker Chuchunya, I'd swoon over such a gift and bang his brains out.

How can I keep it? Do I press it between pages of a book or iron it between pages of wax paper? How will I transport it home? As I stare, the frayed edges of the petals and the split stem become my focus. Poor thing barely made the journey with Serik to me. It won't survive a trip to Yellowknife—let alone back to my apartment in Edmonton, where I live most of the time. Like Serik, I can't take the crocus with me.

Why does that make me sad? Don't I want to go home?

"So, what's on the docket for today?" I change topics to switch my mindset. I can't let a saggy stem trap me in a relationship with Serik's monster stem.

"While you are with the females at Sergei and Sydney's place, we planned to survey the area for the migrating herds. If we are too early for moose, elk, or reindeer, we will be vegetarians until they migrate this way. If we find wolves tracking prey too close to our homes, we may acquire a few new furs."

"Planned? What did you want to do instead?"

"I hope to convince the males to help me widen our inner chamber door and construct a locking matrix. Thinking about pregnant Sydney made me realize I can't have you climbing the rock walls when you are heavily pregnant—not that I'm preparing for kits. A wider door just makes sense," he says, lifting his nearly empty bowl to his lips.

"You're the sweetest." My heart isn't in the lie. While I want a wider door for my hips, I never want to be pregnant. I also don't want to be around long enough to enjoy a wider door—I think. Despite my lukewarm reception for his friendship, he insists on rearranging his life to include me. How do I tell him to back off without giving away my one foot out the door? "Perhaps you should run it by them today with the expectation that you fix the door next time you get together. Some don't like their plans changed at the last minute."

"Last minute? Bah," he remarks with an open-mouthed laugh that shows off his fangs. "Artyom has no plan—ever. The young ones do what Kiril does. Gleb is too much of a keener to have plans of his own. His nose may be permanently stuck up Sergei's ass—"

My laughter drowns out his descriptions of his friends. They sound like a sitcom's sewing circle, not a clan of fierce snow monsters. There's the leader, the flighty one, the brainless followers, and the young one with hero worship for the leader. Where does Serik fit in? Oh… He would be the black sheep they include to make fun of with the canned laugh track. Oh, poor Serik. He'd hate my pity, but I always felt horrible for the people on TV whose role is to be the receiver of the pranks and insults.

"Do you enjoy hanging out with the males, or are you putting up with them so I can hang out with Vera?"

"The clan is all I have," he says with a fake smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Not true, because now I have you. My place in their circle will change with our first mating chase. I will know who to ask for help with things like the door crevice, because they will show their support for us."

Oh great…

"The sign of support while they watch us…you know…make love in the open?"

"Make love," he says with a smile so large his lips curl backward to show off the traffic jam of his sizeable front fangs. "I like your term for mating. I know you are my friend now, but I hope to win your love before the mating chase. We ‘make love' as you put it, if you give our dushevnayasvyaz a chance."

Well, shit. I walked into that one, didn't I?

"When is the mating chase?" I give him my bowl to finish the contents. He frowns at me until I push his hand toward his mouth. Let him think I'm a dainty eater instead of nauseated over people seeing me naked and split in half by Serik.

"You don't want to participate."

It's not a question. I must censor my face better. He's learning to read my body language and vocal cues. His shoulders round as his chin drops. He's done so much for me, but I can't. Not a mating chase. Not a baby factory. Not a life off-the-grid.

What would happen to my department at the university? What would my brothers think of my shaking up with a snow monster? The other human mates probably don't have families who would freak out if they disappeared. The last time I saw my coworker, Adam, I delivered sympathy flowers for his father's passing. He has no family left, so why not join a Chuchunya clan?

"What happens if we don't participate? What if I want our ‘lovemaking' to be private?" I ask because questions aren't lies. Why aren't I strong enough to tell Serik the truth? I'm out in the open with warm covers on my feet. Why don't I just run now? Why is my ass stuck to this stone like I belong at Serik's fire?

Like it or not, I have feelings for him.

"Not participating is rejecting the clan. We would be shunned, which wouldn't be terrible for the niibin season…but the zima season could be the end of us."

"End of us? Would they hunt us when the food runs out?"

"No," Serik says, removing a boiling pot of water from the fire to dunk our bowls. "The northern grounds are harsh without provisions. Without the clan members, we would rely on our own supplies and tools to feed us. If you need a medicinal herb and we run out, you're stuck. There's nothing up there but wolves, polar bears, whales, and other dangers who wish to eat us—and they aren't the worst hazards. The boredom and loneliness of months of darkness can eat you from the inside out. You start to fantasize about going outside in the cold just to escape the same rock walls staring at you. Your brain knows you will freeze solid in an afternoon, but your heart doesn't care…it's a challenge for the strongest Chuchunya."

Serik's parents are dead. His adopted brother, Adrik, sounds like an asshole. Was Serik alone, battling loneliness during the winters without pleasure mates? Does he see me as the answer to a lifetime of staring at rock walls with endless silence? If I complained of boredom, I would be preaching to the choir. Visions of low-tech fun with Serik dance in my head—reading him paperback bodice rippers, playing board games, puzzles… How many times have I wanted to ditch work and spend a winter day indoors with a book and mug of sugary goodness?

"Is Chuchunya life lonely?" My question freezes his hands as if a blizzard's gale blew through. Why did I ask that? Of course, he's lonely. It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him I don't have any friends either. At work, I'm a hard ass to keep my job. One brother island-hops without calling, while the other has too many kids to babysit me. With my parents in the nursing home with dementia, am I as lonely as Serik? Now that's depressing.

"No loneliness if you are accepted," he says, lacing his fingers through mine. I wiggle my other hand between ours because he's so warm, not because of our connection. Yeah, right.

"So shunning is deadly, got it. Why shun members for not participating in the mating chase if it kills them?"

"Without you, I wouldn't be missed at a mating chase—"

"Oh, Serik—"

"Nothing personal, but males outnumber our females five to one. Each year, more of the younger Chuchunya males come of age and hunger for female mates. Patricika, Manya, and Timor's daughters had the pick of the clan until Vera showed up. She fought her way through the boreal forest to the tundra's central grounds to run for Artyom."

"Their relationship is intense," I say, but not before I choke on the wistful tone of his voice.

"Intense is the hope that human/Chuchunya pairs will save the clan from what Sydney calls ‘extinction.' Timor and Polina, our clan leaders, proved a pairing could be dushevnayasvyaz and produce kits. Adam and Patricika are the first of my generation to form a human/Chuchunya family. Just wait until you meet Gustav."

"Adam's baby is the beacon of hope for a dying species," I murmur. "No wonder he hid from me."

"Can I ask you something?" Serik goes quiet until I nod. "Did you pleasure mate with Adam? Like Patricika and me?"

I hold my sides as I laugh. His question is funny enough to roll me backward over my stone perch. Tears dot the corners of my eyes. Serik laughs too. His tone is anxious, so I calm myself down and breathe deeply until I find my voice. "I was never Adam's friend or pleasure mate. I'm his boss…err…like a lesser clan leader. Not a big leader, a lot less—"

But the damage is done. Serik sits up straighter and his eyes sparkle. If he were a peacock, his tail would fan out. Adam can't be higher ranked than Serik if Serik's mate is Adam's lesser clan leader. Not only have I borked his claim on me to ‘making love,' but I also boosted his position over a rival as my mate. What was once a way to fit in is now a way to be superior. Serik's ego rules his brain—that's better than ruled by his monster cock, right?

Why is every minute in one another's company tying us together? Why can't my mind stop visualizing a happy life with Serik when I'm a city girl? I can't love him…right?