Mated to the Warrior Beast

190 Gathering Clouds

If you like music while you read, try “A Grave Mistake” by Ice Nine Kills. It’s what I listened to while writing this chapter!

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~ ZEV ~

Zev hated that as he approached the cave that afternoon looking for Sasha his stomach twisted with nerves. Things hadn’t ended well that morning and he knew it was his fault. He could feel Sasha’s weariness and fear and it twisted his guts. So as he stalked towards the cave—insisting that the others left him alone with his mate—he tamped down the simmering anger and frustration of the day and rolled his shoulders, trying desperately to relax.

He needed to remind her that she and Zan were the primary reasons he did this. That nothing else was as important to him as them.

Nothing.

Her scent strengthened as he approached the cave and he was relieved. She’d been busy all morning, carting Zan with her as she handled more than she should have to, but he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her for hours. And now the sun was high and they were rolling relentlessly towards these talks with the Anima, and Zev found he needed to see her as much as he felt she needed to see him.

“Sash?” he said gently as he stepped into the cave. “I’m sorry this morning was—”

‘Quiet!’ Sasha hissed in his head with such force that he physically froze.

.....

He blinked, looking through the cave to find her.

Sasha sat curled on the furs at the back of the cave in the light of only a low fire. But when she looked up at him, her face was haggard and pale. Her hair hung limply around her face, and her eyes were red like she’d been crying.

‘He only settled a few minutes ago. It’s getting worse, Zev. The herbs help him for a little while, but then he wakes up crying, and his tummy is sticking out and… I don’t know what to do and the healers don’t either!’

She sounded so afraid, so tense, so exhausted, Zev mentally smacked himself for not paying better attention.

Hurrying through the cave—silently—he lowered himself to the furs and put an arm around her to look down on their son who was asleep in her arms.

At first he wondered what the problem was. But then Zan’s face screwed up and he let out a little cry, squirming in Sasha’s arms.

He felt her tense, smelled the fear and stress that washed through her—so strong. But then Zan’s face relaxed and he went back to sleep.

Was it Zev’s imagination, or did his son breathe too quickly? He knew young breathed faster than adults… but was this normal?

‘What’s going on?’ he asked as calmly as he could.

‘I think the milk is hurting his stomach, or something,’ she wailed in his head. ‘Or he’s sick. I don’t know, Zev. And neither do the healers. Nhell went to find one of the males who used to work at the sanctuary to see if he knows more about human physiology but… Zev, I’m scared. He’s not sleeping right, he’s not feeding right, he’s crying all the time—even when we were in the prison it wasn’t like this!’

Zev shushed her and pulled her into his side, kissing her hair. She trembled, holding herself in check tightly, but he could smell her fear.

This was only the second day. Perhaps it wasn’t the milk at all? Maybe—

‘They’re all saying they can tell his stomach is dis… distended and he’s in pain. He’s in pain, Zev, and he can’t talk about it and he can’t tell us, and I don’t know what to do!’

He wrapped his arms around both of them and held them to him, but resting his chin on the top of her head and holding her while she fought not to cry only broke through the control he’d been so carefully building as he sought her. The anger, the frustration, the fear, all of it bubbled into his throat.

He gritted his teeth and prayed for wisdom and… something.

They just needed something to go right.

Anything.

The hunters were scattered. The young wolves were goading each other towards the fight. The older wolves kept counseling caution. And even though Skhal hadn’t said a word, his eyes followed Zev every time they passed, shadowed with accusation and… something Zev didn’t want to see.

A shiver rocked through him, a wave of anger and injustice and… he needed to fight something. He needed something to bite! He needed—

‘Please, Zev… please…’

‘What babe? Anything.’

‘We need the wet nurse. If he takes that milk and this is still happening then we know he’s sick. And if he isn’t then… then that’s what he needs and we don’t have anyone—’

Zev went very still, swallowing back the snarl that wanted to rise in his throat.

‘Sasha…’

‘Please, Zev. Please. I’m terrified. The healers said a baby can dehydrate and die in like three days and he’s taking less and less every time I try to feed him and—’

She broke down, crying—desperately trying to keep herself quiet so their son could sleep, but he was disturbed by the shaking and began to stir.

Zev held her, too tightly, he was sure. But Sasha didn’t seem to notice. And neither did Zan.

He’d never felt so useless, so helpless in his entire life.

What good was beating the Anima if his son died?

But what if it was only a short bug—they’d been through so much in the past few days, their son removed from a sterile environment for the first time. It was entirely possible he’d gotten a cold, or a stomach bug, or… something. Something that was unaffected by—

Sasha lifted her head and pulled back far enough to meet his eyes with her own, shining and welling with tears. There were lines down her pale, gaunt cheeks, and dark smudges under her eyes. She lifted one hand to Zev’s cheek and held his eyes, hers flashing and fading and…

She was hurting. So much.

Zev had barely looked at her, but he looked at her now and it broke his heart.

‘Please, Zev. We can’t… we can’t do this the way we’re doing it. We have to soften. Our son needs us to soften. Our people need us to soften. I don’t want to fight with you, Zev. I don’t have the energy. I don’t want to undermine you. Please… please. I need help.’

“I’ll… I’ll handle it,” he murmured, then staggered to his feet, stroking her hair with a trembling hand, his mind spinning, twisting, his anger boiling, his fear a screaming demand in the back of his head.

No matter which way he turned, it was wrong. Everything was wrong and he didn’t know how to fix it.

For a moment, as he stormed out of the cave and back towards the encampment, he shook with an overwhelming sense of failure. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t know.

He couldn’t fight—not yet.

He’d never felt so trapped in his entire life.

‘Skhal,’ he sent, searching for his advisor and friend and brother and betrayer and…

‘I’m here. What’s wrong?’

When he’d been meeting with the hunters and Alphas, he’d ordered Skhal to monitor the Anima emissaries, to make sure they weren’t interfering or close enough to overhear his planning.

‘Something’s wrong with Zan,’ he sent, unable to narrow the link enough to hide his fear.

Skhal was very quiet and very calm. ‘What is it?’

Zev hesitated, then hated himself for the hesitation. Because no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t choose the future—couldn’t make things happen the way he wished them. Only prepare for the many and varied possibilities. But this… getting help for Zan. This he could do.

‘We need your mate,’ he said stiffly through the link and felt Skhal’s immediate relief—and anger. Relief because Skhal needed his mate too. Anger because Zev hadn’t felt that was enough to justify her being there. ‘We need her expertise and… Sasha trusts her. But I don’t, Skhal,’ he growled. ‘If she comes, she is under guard, and she sticks to Sasha—or you—and we watch her. Always.’

‘You believe I’d allow my mate to—’

‘I’ll argue the details with you later, man. I’m telling you please… go get her. Now.’

Skhal didn’t even hesitate. Zev felt him shift and begin to run.

He wished he could do the same. Just run. And run. And run. Away. Take Sasha and Zan and disappear and forget any of this had happened.

‘This was supposed to be safety,’ he prayed bitterly, striding into the encampment to find a healer to speak to himself. ‘This was supposed to be the place we came to stop fighting. And you’d take my son from me?!’

The Chimera that he passed among the tents shied away from the fire in his eyes and the growl that puttered in his throat.

Good. Good.

It was better that they know.

It was better that they all fucking know what a knife-edge he was walking. There was no more room for error.

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