Page 56 of Hooded

“On the contrary,Klynn.” His ugly face breaks into a snaggle-toothed smile. “I believe you belong to Proto, as all Gryn do.”

“Come and get me, if you think you can,” I respond, gripping the weapon in my hand and unsheathing my claws.

“We don’t need to. You’ll come to us. We’ll find out what you care for most and squeeze.” He grabs hold of the Varangy in front of me and pulls him as he backs away and disappears behind a wall.

“Fern!” Her name is a growl and an exclamation all in one. I beat my wings, heading up, up within the atrium until I reach the roof, slamming my head against it as I punch through in a shower of debris which tinkles over me, dropping down to the floor below.

The Varangy ship hasn’t moved, and there is no sign of the Varangy who threatened my mate. I have a creeping, unpleasant realization that the ship didn’t contain the few I have already dealt with. It’s large enough to contain significantly larger numbers of the foul species.

The species which has somehow followed me to this out of the way planet, which threatens me and my mate. All I can think is I need to get to Fern. Protecting her is the one and only job I had, not making a nest, not hunting for food (she was never very keen on my offerings anyway). It was keeping her safe and I failed.

I left her alone to come at the behest of creatures I don’t know and shouldn’t trust. Now she is in danger and I am far away.

“Gryn!” a metallic voice barks at me.

I spin in the air to find the Varangy ship is right behind me, the cargo hold a yawning maw. I can’t let them take me, and I go to dive down, away from the hovering ship with its engines screaming at the air, but below me is a psi-net.

I have nowhere to go.

I have failed my Fern.

The ship surges forward, and I’m scooped inside, down into the dark, stinking interior and away from the one and only thing in this universe I care about.

FERN

I stretch out on the bed. Melodious chirps filter into the nest from the forest outside, singing coming from the half bird, half bat creatures, some brightly colored, some a plain brown or green, which call this place their home. None of whom are bothered in the slightest by the large predator now in their midst.

Sitting up, I run my hand over my stomach. It looks like Gryn babies are big. They have to be given how much I’ve grown in a short time. Unless, of course, the Fenere were correct and I’m going to give birth in the next two nova-months. I shouldn’t shudder, but I do. It terrifies me and excites me at the same time.

There’s no sign of Klynn in the main body of the nest or in the small sanitary area he has installed, which I use with a long sigh of relief. He has talked about creating a bath extension, and I agreed readily. Not only have I discovered watching Klynn bathe is probably one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen, water splashing everywhere as he dips his wings and shakes it through his feathers, a look of extreme concentration on his face, but the thought of being up to my chin in hot water is blissful.

However, right now, the nest is empty. I pull on my jacket as I walk out through the open door into the sunlight filteringthrough the leafy forest canopy. Klynn is most likely either making tweaks to his nest or considering how he can improve it in the early spring-like seasonal weather.

I might tell him I love his nest every single day, but he’s still not happy. He still thinks it could be ‘better’ and I don’t know how to convince him it is.

I want him to be happy, and I wish I knew how to do it. Seeing his sad, brooding face as he stares up at the tremendous place he’s created for us makes my heart twist in my chest. All I want to do is soothe him until he sees what a fantastic male he is.

But there’s no huge feathered male outside either. My stomach dips as I recall the last time he went missing. What he turned up with and dumped at my feet had been alive…once. Bright blue blood smeared his chest, and his smile was more of a grimace.

Klynn had hunted. I’m not entirely sure if he understood exactly what he was doing, but the present he brought back to me wasn’t something I could receive with much good grace, especially as it turned my stomach.

He’s hunted since but has refrained from bringing me his prizes, instead returning to the nest with a sheepish look and no appetite.

He is what he is. I wouldn’t change him for all the males in the galaxy. Klynn wears all his emotions on his sleeve (if he wore sleeves) and is as open as a book. It already makes him superior to any human men, with all their repressions.

I circle the nest, enjoying the feel of the sun on my skin and the whisper of the breeze overhead. The entire place is very clearly Klynn-free. I can’t exactly shake the feeling something isn’t right.

He doesn’t leave. Klynn wouldn’t leave. Even in the midst of a nest building frenzy, he makes sure he checks in on me, takingme into his arms, inhaling over my hair, and pressing his body against mine in a way reminiscent of scent marking.

But the nest and the clearing around it are distinctly Klynn-free.

I know he can take care of himself. He’s probably one of the largest creatures on this benign planet, but even so, I worry he’s somehow got himself into trouble.

I have a suspicion trouble has probably always followed him.

Taking a seat on a low mossy shelf in the sun behind the nest, I attempt to tell my heart and stomach there is nothing to worry about.

Klynn can look after himself. I can look after myself. We’re badasses who escaped the Tormelek.

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