Page 331 of Bride of Choice

Staring down at me as I curled up on the floor, he grimaced like he’d expected as much and wasn’t happy about it.

“Something’s wrong with me,” I mumbled, curling up into a ball. I was dying from Krampus venom, that’s what.

When he went to touch me, I jerked away from him. His touch was electric. The scent of him, the feel, it made me want to curl into his lap, rub all over him and beg him to screw me brainless.

I balked at that fuckery. What was wrong with me?! I had my own village of men I loved and wanted to be with! Why would I risk fucking around and finding out with yet another one?!

“Help,” he growled out, frowning at my stubborn hide.

“I’m fine. It’ll pass,” I mumbled, hunching into a tight ball.

“No fine. No pass.” Scowling down at me, four of his hands waved at me.

“I just need a minute,” I snapped without realizing it.

“No fine,” he snarled at me, but shot up and stormed from the room.

Left to my own devices, I spent the next several hours vacillating between rocking curled up in a ball, growling at myself as I tried to relieve the pressure in my breasts to no avail, and castigating myself for pissing off my only hope in any of this bullshit.

Writhing on the cave floor beneath me, I was wracked with pain and mindless with need. It hurt doubly in two oddly excruciating, punishing ways.

Sweat rolled down my neck, my back. My skin felt hot. Too hot.

Unable to put any pressure on my leg, I limped my way out of the room. Somehow I managed to find my way towards a snow packed entrance.

Peekaboo sat huddled in a corner, the hot springs pool in this room giving off enough heat to warm it.

I barely took note of him as I began grabbing handfuls of snow to press it against my heated flesh.

The instant relief I was going for was not to be had. Instead, sharp, shooting pains shot up my hands and anywhere I placed snow on my heated flesh. Cold snow on my overheated body, bad idea.

Collapsing to the ground with a harsh cry, I curled my arms around my middle, tucking my hands under my arms. Teeth chattering, shaking uncontrollably, I moaned piteously.

It hurt. It all hurt. Everything hurt. I just wanted this to end.

“Make it stop,” I mumbled as I squeezed my eyes shut tight. “Please, just make it stop.” I felt like I was dying. I was quite certain of the fact.

The rustle of fur drawing closer had me cracking an aching eyelid open long enough to spy my cave companion dropping down to the ground, a fuzzy blur of purple and grey prowling my way. The sound of him sniffing the air, that odd clicking purr stuttering in and out, pricked my ears.

The lightest touch brushed my foot. It jerked automatically.

Forcing my eyes open past the blinding pain, I relaxed when I realized he was leaning down, bent over my calf, giving it a curious sniff.

“It’s inf-f-fected, isn’t it?” I managed to stutter out. It was getting harder and harder to talk. Lifting my hand towards my face to brush the hair plastered to my skin out of my eyes, I blanched at the blurry black spidering marks I could make out going down my arm.

Oh god. This was bad. So damn bad.

“I- I need you to do something for me,” I croaked out hoarsely. “At my village, the Lo denaii village, do you know where that is?”

Glancing up sharply from where he was sniffing my wound, he made a growl of a grumbling noise and then nodded shortly.

“Well, I need you to find my mates and-” I was going to send him in search of each and every one of them? I’d be lucky if they didn’t tear him apart trying to accomplish that feat, if they were that far gone with grief— I wasn’t a dummy and Peekaboo didn’t deserve that. Change of game plan. “Uh, just look f-f-for Celuk. He lives in the house on the hill, it’s really big, hard to miss. I need you to find him and- and tell him, I’m sorry, Fuzzsticles— he’ll know it’s from me if you say that, okay, and tell him I love them, and I’m sorry, and to please tell the others, even- even Rek, that I loved them, too? Can you do that for me?” I pleaded softly.

I had no idea how much time I had left but I wanted this promise from him before I couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Buu fix. No leave,” he grunted out, like I was being silly or something and not seeing with my own two messed up eyeballs the sludge filling my veins as we speak.

“Promise me.” Holding out my pinky, I waited for him to lift his hand curiously as if to mimic the gesture, to hook my pinky with his. “It’s a pact, a promise. You can’t go back on it,” I warned.

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