20
KOJO
The axe splits the log clean down the center, and both halves fall away from the block into the snow. I reach for the next piece and set it upright, adjusting my grip on the handle before bringing it down again. The rhythm is good. Simple.
Behind me, Kendra sits on the porch. I can feel her there without turning.
Alemayehu.My Bouda’s voice cuts through the rhythm of the axe.Did you hear Zaki before she left? Our mate. She has gotten aroused for us.
I bring the axe down harder than necessary. The log explodes into three pieces instead of two.
Do not pretend you did not notice,my Bouda continues, and there is a sound in his voice I have not heard in a very long time. He is laughing.I have dreamed of this, Alemayehu. Cubs of our own. Cubs I can teach to hunt, to track, to read the wind. Do you understand what she is offering us?
I understand. I understood the moment Zaki mentioned Kendra’s arousal on her way out the door with that look on her face, half amused and half disgusted that she had to be the one tosay it. But understanding and acting are separated by a canyon I will not cross without permission.
I set another log on the block. My Bouda surges forward before I can swing, flooding my arms with his urgency, and the axe freezes mid-arc. My hands lock on the handle and a growl.
“What are you doing?” I mutter through clenched teeth.
Put the axe down, Alemayehu. Breathe in. Do you not smell it? She needs us.
The wind shifts, carrying her scent from the porch. Rain on dry earth, wild honey, and beneath it, something my body recognizes before my mind does. My ridge twitches once and I press it flat with effort.
“That may be so,” I say quietly, keeping my back to her so she cannot see my mouth moving, “but we have not been given permission.”
And it will be another century before we become a father.His voice drops, heavy with longing.We are the last. She is the only one who can give us what our kind needs to survive.
I groan and drive the axe into the block, leaving it there. He is not wrong. The math of our extinction is simple, and it haunts me. But I will not let desperation override respect. She is my queen. She will come to me when she is ready, and not one moment before.
I gather logs into my arms, enough for the night and the morning after. I turn toward the cabin and start walking, my bare feet pressing into the snow without complaint, and I stop at the bottom of the porch stairs when I see her.
She is shivering. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her breath fogs in front of her face, and she is sitting in the cold like she does not realize it could hurt her. I frown.
“My...” The word catches. I clear my throat, irritated at the stumble. She has asked me not to call her majesty. “Kendra. This weather is not suitable for you. Please come inside.”
She shrugs, unbothered. “I was born and raised in Michigan. I’m used to this kind of weather.” She tilts her head back and looks up at the sky, where the clouds have thinned enough to show patches of pale grey. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to just sit on a porch and enjoy the fresh air.”
She sighs, and I watch the fog of it leave her lips and dissolve. Something in her posture shifts, loosening.
“Being here makes me realize just how hard I’ve been working,” she says. “Like no real time to just enjoy life, you know?”
I nod because I do know. Three years running, hiding, scavenging through cities that were not mine. Not once did I sit still long enough to feel the air on my face without calculating an escape route. Wintermoon is the first place since the highlands where I have breathed without counting the seconds until the next threat.
I climb the stairs slowly, the wood groaning beneath my weight, and she watches me come. Her eyes track the logs in my arms first, then move to my chest, where the shirt is stretched thin enough to show the shape of what is beneath it. She does not look away.
Well,my Bouda observes, amused despite his earlier frustration.This mate of ours is different. She does not want to do the commanding. She wants to be commanded. You will have to push her, Alemayehu.
“I cannot do that,” I murmur.
Kendra tilts her head. “Can’t do what?”
I stop at the top of the stairs, arms full of wood, caught between my Bouda’s voice and hers. “I was speaking to my Bouda. Forgive me.”
Her lips curl at the edges. She leans forward in the chair, resting her elbows on her knees. “And what is your Bouda saying about me?”
She is playing with us, Alemayehu,my Bouda says, and his voice is urgent now, almost frantic.Play along. Say something charming. Do whatever you must so that I can have my cubs.
“Nothing but compliments,” I tell her.