Baring the Thorn (The Mountain Tribe #3)

Chapter 6

Thorn

T he morning is cold around our hot, close furs, and my ears freeze even as my extremities feel clammy beneath the covers.

I awake with my arm thrown over Samara’s back and my cock so hard that it is nearly painful.

I am surrounded by her sweet smell, her soft limbs, her dark lips pouted in sleep and her hair a wild mess from an uncomfortable sleep on the ground.

I have never slept so close to another, though my intentions were as I stated. The night had been dangerously cold, and I had woken twice to feed the fire more and pull the female’s sleeping form back under the furs when she threatened to move too far from the heat.

She sleeps on her stomach now, and my arm falls lower to tuck against the slope in her lower back that eventually swells into the roundness of her bottom.

I pull away.

She was very clear last night about mating or any lead up, though I’m not sure what she means by the second part.

Even with my hands to myself, my shaft strains in my leather, seeking to be buried between her plump thighs.

I recall that River said he slept parted from Grace for many days while they travelled, and it begins to make sense to me why he made that decision.

Sleeping with Samara this way has been an exercise in longing and frustration, and I half consider walking into the woods and taking myself in hand to release some of the tension in my body.

She would not notice, I think, still so deeply asleep that she barely moves at all with each deep breath.

I look down at her skin, pale though it is deep, hollowed beneath the eyes and under the cheekbones.

I had pushed her hard yesterday, wanting to put the mountains behind us. Now our walk will be more leisurely, as we are nearly to the crest of the mountains, and we can take our time on the other side.

But I wonder if this was the right thing to do.

Samara was tired before we left camp, and she has been weary since her arrival. A full day of walking could not have been easy on her.

I decide to let her sleep as long as necessary.

But I am too uncomfortable to stay pressed against her, desire like a fever that races through me, so I gingerly pull myself from the furs and set about preparing our camp for a meal, and then our departure.

I feed the fire, start our tea to boiling, and walk a short distance to set some traps.

I doubt I will catch anything, but decide it is worth the attempt anyways.

I want to catch something fat and juicy for Samara, want to feed succulent meat to her and give her cheeks back some color. I want to show her that I can provide for her, that I am happy to hunt and cook and warm her every night that she spends with me.

I want to return to the tribe with a female of my own, and eventually, I want to watch our children play in the lake in the summer, fall asleep in our arms at the fire. I want a son to hunt with, a daughter to spoil with fresh fruit.

I want Samara to be the one to share these small moments of joy with me.

She sleeps soundly until mid-morning, when she awakens with a look of confusion on her pretty face, as if she hardly remembers falling asleep in the woods.

I’m sitting at the fire when she comes to sit nearby, pouring herself some tea and sipping carefully on it while she braids her hair into two thick, short tails, weaving the rich, dark strands together as if it is second nature to her.

She is so beautiful in the morning, a thought that has occurred to me many mornings before this one. Perhaps it is because she has not yet assumed the hard, weary look that she carries, and I have not yet been given the opportunity to anger her.

Instead, she is all enticing softness and gentle warmth.

She groggily surveys the forest around us. “Did I sleep too long? You could have woken me.”

“I did not want to,” I tell her, passing her some simple broth that I made while she slept in. “You deserved a break. I pushed you very hard yesterday.”

Inexplicably, the female’s cheeks redden, and she avoids my gaze.

She purses her lips. “That’s… very thoughtful.”

I am glad she thinks so, I want to prove to her that I can be thoughtful and kind, that I am not just the stern leader of the tribe.

I tell her, “Today we will cross over the peak of the mountains. The terrain will be difficult. You must let me know when you need a break.”

Samara nods, and while her expression is still tired, some of the bruises have lifted beneath her eyes.

I am glad that she got plenty of sleep this morning. She is brave, and strong, this female. She will not complain. I will have to keep a close eye on her and ensure that she does not push herself too hard.

She is more fragile than she realizes, with how much she has fought through exhaustion the past few weeks.

She finishes her broth quickly. “No time like the present!”

We pack up the camp and are on our way.

I am pleased to find that the female grows more comfortable in the wilderness.

Gone is much of the fear that laced her expression yesterday, gone is the nervous way she’d glanced around, the worry in her widened eyes, the grim set of her mouth.

Instead, she becomes more curious with our surroundings, and less overwhelmed. She asks questions, she points out lessons that she has learned with Ash such as edible plants and their poisonous counterparts, she references things from her time.

And, after a full night of sleep, she has energy to walk beside me, keeping stride with my own.

I cannot help but think she is my match, in every way, her energy and her attitude and her wit and her intelligence.

There is no prettier female in the tribe than my Samara, and there is no more capable person to stand at my side while I lead. I think of how she allowed me to sleep beside her and keep her warm, and know in my heart that she is coming around to the idea of mating with me, that she is welcoming my affections.

She is only hesitant.

But given enough time, I will show her that I would never do anything she did not want or desire. I would take care of her, provide for her.

For too long, I have been wearied by my responsibilities as leader, for too long I have had no one to voice my worries, my secrets, my feelings to. I have needed to maintain a firm hand on the tribe, to always carry myself as the capable leader who makes decisions with logic and not emotion.

Yet that does not spare me from weak moments in private, days when I do not eat to ensure that all the females, that little West, have enough food.

The thought that Samara might be there if I crumble beneath the pressure, with a soft hand and her glittering, dark eyes, is a comfort.

It is with this image in mind that I work all day to being amiable.

I know that she does not like it when I tell her what to do, or instruct her on matters she already knows, so I try my best to not be overbearing.

I do the same as yesterday, pointing out where we are in respect to the camp, markers that my tribe has been leaving for some time, warm springs that we could stop at if needed, and freshwater springs if our stores run too low.

At the mention of a warm spring, Samara shows some interest, so I decide to take an alternate route in our journey so that she may bathe in the cloudy water that flows forth into many pools in these mountains.

I know that Samara, like the rest of the females, enjoys being able to bathe often, so I ensure that we will reach a spring by sunset.

At the crest of the mountains, we stand beside each other and look out over the valley.

From this height, I can make out the tiniest plume of smoke from the tribe’s main fire, and I point it out to her.

Together, we take in the sea of trees, the peaks of the mountains farther north, and the river that cuts through it all.

Samara points to the north, where the tips of the mountains are still blanketed with snow. “How far have you gone in that direction?”

I give a noncommittal answer, “Some distance. It is very difficult terrain, and snows for most of the year.”

I want to avoid this topic of conversation, though Samara seems entranced by the glaciers and mountains, her gaze still caught on the glistening white.

A shiver races down my spine at the sight of them, and I’m reminded of being a child once more, of fighting for survival, of the cold bite of the wind, the scarcity of animals, and the burn of shame in my cheeks.

I am reminded of what happened the last time I entered those mountains.

I cannot speak of this, even to her.

I have lived what feels like an entire life before she and the other females were found, and there are many things that I can never tell her.

She watches me with confusion as we turn away from the tips of white in the distance, standing like sharpened spears with bone tips.

“Did you… lose someone from the tribe there?”

The female is too intelligent sometimes, I think with an internal sigh, too observant. I worry that she will see through me completely, so I put my back to her and pick up my speed.

“Come, Samara, we have much ground to cover before the sun sets.”

She catches up, and her gaze is quickly drawn to the forest around us. “It’s so beautiful now that I’m not starving and dehydrated. I could just stare down from these mountains forever.”

I look at her, at the rapt expression on her pretty face.

Beautiful female.

My female, if she will have me.

I tell her, the words slipping out before I can stop them, “Then I will take you back as much as you like.”

She sighs, and her eyes deepen with sadness. “If only…We have so much work to do back in the camp. Between my healing and your leading I don’t see how we could ever get an opportunity like this again.”

“We will have to sneak away then.” I tell her.

At that, a smirk lifts her lips. She gives me an amused look, one that steals my breath. “Wow, the noble leader shirking his duties to go look at the views in the mountains… What would your hunters say?”

“They would not be angry.” I shake my head. “I used to hunt along with them, sometimes leaving for days at a time. It is only with the arrival of your females that I feel I have to remain near the camp.”

Samara lifts a hand to my shoulder, laying it flat over my leathers. I feel the touch as if it is a fiery brand on my skin.

I feel it all over, all the way down to my cock. My lips part with a labored breath.

How can a touch move me so? How can she inspire such a dizzying ache, as if my very blood is on fire?

I barely hear her words over the pounding of my own heartbeat.

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” Her expression is concerned, black brows drawn together and eyes pressing, searching, into mine. “My ‘females’ don’t need a leader - or a babysitter. We might seem overwhelmed, but it’s because we’re not used to living this way. You don’t have to constantly hover over us. You’re allowed breaks, and you’re allowed to step back.”

“It is not what a leader does.”

I want her to understand my burden, to see that if I turn my back and go hunting and return to find something has happened, it will be my fault.

I know that she, more than anyone, could understand what that is like.

Samara scoffs, and her thumb presses into the dip where my shoulder meets my collarbone.

I feel the touch as though she has put her fingers to my bare throat.

“I’m saying you don’t have to always be the leader. In my time, people elected more than one leader for multiple purposes, and they wouldn’t stay in the position their whole lives. We would have whole teams of people deciding really important decisions. It’s too much for one person to carry.”

“Well, I have not heard many good things about your time,” the words come out before I can stop them.

I worry for a second that I have insulted her.

Instead, a laugh bursts out of Samara, and she lets go of my shoulder in surprise. “Yeah, you’re right. I mean, our leader led us straight into nuclear war so he might not be the best example.”

We begin to walk again, and Samara prompts, “What else have you heard about my time?”

I make a list for her, off the top of my head, “That you ate meat that is not real. Your people lived in cities which were made of stone-like structures and did not have any trees. You had many tools more advanced than ours which would sometimes stop working. And your time was full of unworthy men.”

Her eyes dance with amusement. “Unworthy?”

“Yes, unworthy.” I tell her. “I have heard the females discussing it sometimes. They say that your men did not take care of them, that they did not provide for their families, but instead could be a burden on them. Raven says that Leah was bound to one man who did nothing for her, whom she had to care for as if he was a child. I have heard that they could be cruel, too, hurting females or treating them unfairly.”

Samara appears thoughtful. “True. My time was very different. Nobody was expected to look after anyone the way your tribe does.”

A question burns at the forefront of my mind. “Were you… bound to one like Leah was?”

She raises a brow. “You mean… engaged?”

“If that is the right word.” Raven had mentioned a ceremony that tied two people together for their lives, and that Leah and her useless male had made the commitment but not yet had the ceremony when she had been put into stasis. I had wondered - or worried, rather - if Samara was bound to a male too. “Do you… long for someone from your time?”

She knows my meaning, though I try for an even voice and a calm expression.

It is as if Samara can see right down to my deepest worries, fears, and desires, as if she can discern my thoughts from just looking into my eyes. There is a trade between us, an exchange that is happening on our journey.

With each conversation shared, I know more about the female, yet she becomes better able to understand me.

It is dangerous, this game we play.

“No, I don’t.” She finally responds, releasing me from my dread. I try not to let my breath of relief be too obvious, and Samara turns away, with a confusing expression. “Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone seriously. I was much too busy with my job. And before I worked, I just felt…overwhelmed, like boys and crushes were some language that I never really understood.”

“Ah, I know this word ‘crush’,” I tell her. “I think there might be many feelings of crush with my hunters.”

Samara laughs again, and the sound rings through the forest, happy and light like the sound of fresh water rushing through a stream or the cheerful calls of spring birds.

I want to bask in the sound like sunlight.

“No kidding. I’m worried I’ll have to find some birth control herbs.”

These words, in this order, are confusing. “Birth control? For pregnant females?”

“The opposite, actually,” Samara sighs, and her expression becomes tired very quickly.

I know that she is thinking about the tribe again, that she is worrying about all her duties, her chores, her responsibility to the females.

Her gaze is distant as she mumbles, “So much to do… It’s like an endless list that just gets longer every day.”

“We are working towards one important thing on the list,” I remind her. “We will bring back the medicine.”

“You’re right.” She frowns. “I can’t get distracted by views anymore. The sooner we find the cache and head back, the better.”

She quickens her pace, and her face is dark with grim determination.

I feel that we have lost some footing and stifle my disappointment.

I want Samara to slow down, to enjoy this time together, to enjoy her time with me. I want to use these days to prove to her my care for her, my devotion.

I do not want her to set her stubborn chin as if she is completing a difficult task, I want her to rest in the evenings and sleep long into the days and bask in the silence now that we are far from the others.

But she is intent, my female, and I will have to keep working to help her release the weight on her shoulders.

We have only begun our journey, and I have many more days to distract her.