Page 91 of Ruled By The Alpha

“Then I will fight it.”

He shakes his head. “It is my duty to protect you.”

“Me?” I squeak.

“Yes. We must protect the things precious to us. I cannot sleep. It is too dangerous.”

These are the most words I think I have ever heard Hensta mutter, and their meaning confuses me.

AmIprecious? Or the kill?

I shift uneasily on the hard ground. “Why am I precious? Because you hope one day to push me to the ground and lie on top of me?”

“Because one day I hope you will push me to the ground and lie with me.” He says it with none of the usual teasing or bravado of the other alphas, no taunt or smirk. His eyes are as dark as the night, but his words are not chilling. Instead, they warm my cheeks.

“It is all you alphas think about—putting a child in an omega's belly. But it is not you who must stay behind to birth and nurse the baby. Who must look after and feed the children. Teach them to gather and to hunt. To hold them when they are sick. To…”

I look away, thinking of my younger sister, so small, who we laid to rest in the earth several moons ago.

But I cannot think of that. It brings a pain to my chest. I peer back at Hensta.

Are any of the children among our people his? He is not that much older than I am, and I have never heard that Hensta has a woman, but that does not mean he hasn’t lain with one.

“I do not want to put a child in your belly.” He pauses, his body still, the flames dancing between us, and the cold breath of Mother Earth rustling the trees. “I want to run beside you when you hunt, I want to carry your kill, I want to protect you from the creatures of the night, I want to feel your fingers on my skin and in my hair, I want to press my lips to yours and steal away those heated words of yours.”

I stare at him. And for a moment, I wonder if I am dreaming. If these words are passing through my sleeping mind.

But I am not, even if my head feels light. I am very much awake. At my back, the cold nips at my skin, but my front is bathed in heat from the fire, and I can taste the smoke of the burning logs and the woody aroma of his scent.

For once, my quick retort lies lost on my tongue, and I do not know what to make of Hensta’s admission, nor what to say.

When I fail to respond, his gaze falls away and he stares into the fire instead. Has my silence pained him? Does he think it means I do not want the things that he does?

Do I?

I do not know.

I settle down on my side, as close to the flames as I dare, and close my eyes, his strange words spinning through my mind as sleep claims me once more.

*

I awake to cold air on my face, warmth at my back, and a weight at my waist. And quickly, I realise that Hensta lies tucked up behind me. His body does not touch mine—although I still feel his heat—but his hand rests gently on my hipbone. I remember the cold in the night and shivering despite the fire. Did he lie down beside me to warm me? Or did he hope for something more?

Carefully I lift his arm and slide away, climbing up onto my feet.

I stare back down at his peaceful form, his face younger and easier in sleep, bereft of the crease that so often marks his brows. I am reminded of the boy, the one I would play with as a child. The pretend hunts we would embark on around the edges of the camp, the tall trees we would scale together searching for the nectar of the bees, and the knife he whittled for me from the bone of a kill.

I think of his words again, and the softness of his skin beneath my fingers, the graze of his palm upon my waist.

I shake my head. I am not prey to be caught and caged.

I turn away, and it is only then I notice.

My kill is gone.

I stare at the empty space where the dirt has been brushed clear by some other creature that has dragged the carcass away. Anger boils in my gut. I kick at the dirt, peer into the bush for signs, and then march over to Hensta and kick at the remnants of our fire.

He jolts as flecks of ash hit his face and rolls quickly up to sit, blinking in the new dawn.

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