I woke to an empty space where Soryn had been. The stone floor was cold, untouched, no indentation from his coils to mark where he had lain. I sat up, looking around the den, but there was no sign of him, no indication of where he had gone.
I frowned, a flicker of irritation cutting through my morning haze. Where had he disappeared to? I did not think he had left the village for good, abandoned the bond he had fought so hard to claim, but a small part of me wondered why he had not woken me, had not left some word of his plans. True, I had not been acting much like a mate to him, keeping my distance both physically and emotionally, but he was my mate now. Was it not expected that mates informed each other of their whereabouts?
I pushed the thought aside with a sigh. He was a grown male, capable of taking care of himself. And I had other duties to attend to.
I was trying. I was doing my best. But every time I looked at him, I saw the snake. The predator. The creature from my nightmares. He had seen my fear, smelled it on my skin, heard it in my stuttering heartbeat. And he had left, perhaps to spare me the discomfort of his presence, perhaps because he could no longer bear my rejection.
The guilt was a stone in my gut, heavy and cold. I had to try harder. He had saved me, bonded himself to me when he was at my mercy, when I could have rejected him, destroyed him. It was foolish of him, so foolish. What if I was like Rina? What if I broke our bond? Would he not be putting his life in cruel jeopardy, risking death or madness, all for a female who could not even look at him without flinching?
The weight of it crushed me. I owed him better than this. I owed him everything.
Leon and Ravin had already departed, off to help with the construction of our new home. The dwelling was rising slowly on the eastern edge of the settlement, larger than our current den, with space enough for four mates and the cubs to come. The design gave each mate their own room, which meant they would share me by taking turns every night determining whose bed I occupied. Ravin had come up with that idea. I did not like it very much; it simply meant I would not have a room to myself, a personal space that was mine alone.
Leon, sensing my displeasure, had suggested I place my belongings in all the rooms. That way, no matter which room I occupied, it would technically be my room too. Reluctantly, I had agreed.
I should have been there with them now, hammering posts or weaving walls, but my heart was too heavy for labor.
I needed to see Layla.
The walk to her home felt longer than it should have, each step weighted with dread. When I arrived, I found her sitting in the doorway of her den, one hand rubbing slow circles over her rounded belly, her eyes fixed on nothing. Around her, her remaining mates moved with quiet purpose; the bear beast trying to coax a smile from her with offerings of her favorite berries, the wolf grooming her hair with gentle strokes, the others tending to the cubs who played nearby with subdued energy.
But the space where the leopard beast should have been gaped like an open wound.
"Layla," I called out softly, hovering at the edge of her space.
She turned. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, found mine, and I saw the moment recognition shifted to something else. Something sharp and cutting.
"I do not want to see you," she said, her voice flat and terrible. "It is because of you... wanting to go to the stream that day. It is because of you my mate died."
My heart sank into my stomach, a stone pulling me under. I could not hate her for the words. I could not even summon anger, because she was right. It was because of me. If I had not been restless, if I had not begged for air and movement and female companionship, we would not have been at the river. The cheetahs would not have found us. Her mate would still be alive, his laughter filling their home, his hands on her belly feeling their cubs kick.
"It really was because of me," I whispered, the truth tasting like ash.
Layla’s composure shattered. She threw herself into her bear mate’s chest, her sobs echoing through the clearing, raw and anguished and endless. "He is gone," she wailed. "He is gone and I cannot even look at her without seeing him dead in the water."
With a heavy heart that felt ready to crack, I turned and left. Her grief was a wall I could not scale, a door I had no right to open. I had taken enough from her. My presence was salt in a wound that would never fully heal.
For a brief moment, I considered going home. Crawling into my furs, hiding from the world, letting the guilt consume me until there was nothing left. But I thought of Rhonda, of the spear that had pierced her mate’s shoulder, of the fear she must have felt watching him fall. I needed to be strong. I needed to know she was faring okay, even if I was not.
I found her outside her den, playing with her cub Lark in the sunlight. She looked up as I approached, and I hesitated, frozen by uncertainty. Was I welcome here? Or would she too blame me, see me as the bringer of death and sorrow?
"Come in," she said, her voice gentle as summer rain.
The kindness broke me. Tears escaped my eyes, hot and humiliating, tears I had not even known were gathering.
I walked to her, and she embraced me without hesitation, her arms warm and solid around my shaking shoulders. "You went to see Layla, did you not?" she asked softly, guiding me to sit beside her.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
"Layla is grieving now," Rhonda said, her hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. "She knows, deep down, that it was not truly your fault. The cheetahs attacked the village too. Who is to say her mate would not have died either way, defending the walls, patrolling the borders?" She pulled back to look at me, her eyes wise and kind. "You should not stress so, Krys. You are having your first litter. The cub needs you calm and healthy."
I sniffled, wiping at my face. "H—how is your mate?"
"Fern?" Rhonda huffed, but there was affection in the sound. "He is as good as new. That beast, I swear by the beast gods. He does not understand danger. He is already helping with the patrol instead of resting, the fool."
I could not help but laugh, the sound watery but real. "Well, that is good."
"I heard you took another mate," Rhonda said, her tone shifting to something more careful. "People are saying he is a snake beast man."
"Yes," I admitted. "He saved me that day. It was only right to take him as a mate." I did not elaborate on the venom, on the forced bond, or on the complicated truth of our joining. Those details were ours alone.
"They say he is very intimidating," Rhonda observed.
"Soryn is really not—" I stopped. What was I going to say? Did I even really know Soryn like that? I had spent one night with him, had treated him like an obligation, had watched him curl alone on cold stone while I slept warm between my lions. I did not know his favorite food, his fears, his dreams. I did not know what made him laugh, or if he ever did.
"He does not seem too bad," I finished weakly, the words hollow even to my own ears.
If Rhonda noticed she didn’t say anything.
---
The walk back to our home was quiet, my mind churning with thoughts of Layla’s grief, Rhonda’s grace, and my own failings. I was so lost in my head that I nearly walked past him.
Soryn stood outside our den, his arms full of something wrapped in leaves. He looked up as I approached, and I saw the hesitation in his posture, the uncertainty in his emerald eyes.
"Where did you go?" I asked, stopping before him. "I did not see you this morning."
"I went to collect some things," he said, his voice carefully neutral. He stepped closer, extending the bundle toward me. "This is my first shedding. I was instructed to give this to my mate when I bonded..." He hesitated, his tongue flickering nervously. "You may wear it, as I do. Or use it to your heart’s content. It is... it is yours."
I took the bundle, unfolding the leaves to reveal the material within. It was exquisite—translucent and shimmering, soft as spider silk and strong as leather. The pattern was intricate, scales upon scales in swirling shades of emerald and obsidian, catching the light like opals. I ran my fingers over it, marveling at the texture. Nothing like the dry, brittle skins I had seen in documentaries back in my world. This was alive with magic, with life, with him.
"It is beautiful," I breathed, looking up at him.
Soryn’s eyes brightened, something vulnerable and hopeful breaking through the careful mask he wore. He did not smile; his expression remained carefully controlled, but his ears reddened, and he averted his gaze, suddenly fascinated by a spot over my shoulder.
He was happy. And shy. And trying so hard not to hope for too much.
My heart cracked open a little further, and I clutched his shedding to my chest, wondering how I could have ever thought him a monster.
"I’m really glad you like it," he said, the words awkward and hesitant, as though he were not accustomed to giving gifts or receiving gratitude. His tongue flickered out, tasting the air between us, perhaps searching for my true feelings since his eyes could not meet mine.
We walked into our den together, the space feeling smaller now with the knowledge of what awaited us outside these walls. I moved to the center of the room, turning to face him, and decided this was the moment to explain what Ravin had planned. He deserved to know where he would fit in our new life.
"So," I began, clutching his shedding to my chest like a shield, "our new home... you will have a room of your own—"
"No!" The word burst from him like a wounded thing. His eyes went wide, panicked, the emerald depths flooding with something desperate and lost. He stepped toward me, his hands raised as though to ward off a blow. "Why? I promise I will not be a nuisance. I will be quiet, I will stay out of the way, I will sleep on the floor, just... please, do not send me away. Let me stay with you too."
My heart clenched. He thought I was banishing him. Exiling him from the warmth of our shared space, condemning him to solitude again. The fear in his voice, the panic in his posture; it spoke of a male who really had nothing left, who expected abandonment as surely as others expected sunrise.
"No," I said quickly, reaching out to touch his arm, feeling the coolness of his skin beneath my palm. "That is not what I meant. Everyone will have their own room. Including me... or rather, not including me." I took a breath, organizing my thoughts. "I will not have a dedicated room. Every night, the three of you will come to an agreement about who will get to sleep with me. And in what order. So there is no confusion, no arguments later about the arrangements. Do you understand?"
Soryn went very still. His tongue flickered once, twice, tasting my words as though searching for deception. Then understanding dawned in his eyes, slow and tentative as morning light.
"So," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "that means I have the same equal rights as your other mates? I am not... secondary? Not an afterthought?"
The question broke my heart. Did I really come off as evil and cold hearted like that?
"Yes," I said firmly, meeting his gaze with all the conviction I could muster. "We all will follow the arrangement. No one will stand above anyone in importance. Not Ravin, not Leon, not you. That way it will be a comfortable home. A fair home. Do you agree with this?"
He stared at me for a long moment, his unblinking eyes searching my face for any sign of falsehood. Then, slowly, he reached out and took my hand. His grip was gentle, careful, as though I were made of glass and he feared breaking me.
"Just you giving me a place in this arrangement," he said, his voice thick with emotion he tried to hide, "I am more than happy. Thank you, Krys."
"Mm," I nodded, unable to trust my voice, watching as something fragile and hopeful bloomed behind the walls of his guarded heart.