Nyx (Mate's Mark Book 3), page 9
“They are birds,” I try to explain, holding my hands apart to show their size. “Big.”
“Okay… this could be interesting or terrifying depending on what kind of birds they are. What color are they?”
“White.”
“Well, that doesn’t help much,” he says with a laugh as I detour off the path and wave for him to follow. We walk for a bit before I spot the tree and lead him around the rocks that stand guard behind it. Earlier, I had been wading in the creek when I noticed a small split I hadn’t seen before. I followed it and ended up in this hidden cove.
Reyes rounds the corner and stops in his tracks. For a long moment, he stands motionless, then a loud, bewildered laugh bubbles out of him. The birds flap their wings and make their funny noises, and he stifles the rest of his laughter. They’re beautiful—solid white with large yellow mouths and webbed feet—but most of them are swimming in their private pool.
“These are ducks,” Reyes says, and it sounds like awe in his voice… like I’ve done something special. It makes me stand a little taller, just like he did on the path. “I’ve never seen one in person before, but I’ve read about them. They live near the water because they like to swim.”
“Ducks,” I repeat, and he nods, still staring as they paddle lazily across the water’s surface. “They are nice birds?”
He scratches his head, huffing another of his amused laughs through his nose. “Well, it doesn’t seem to bother them that we’re here.” He takes a few tentative steps forward, but the ducks flap their wings again, harder this time, and their honking noises get louder. Reyes backs up to my side, and they calm.
“Okay, scratch that. They obviously don’t like me, but they don’t seem to mind you. Nyx, this could be huge for the village as a food source.” My eyes must go wide because he immediately shakes his head and holds his hands up. “Not the birds themselves! I’m not saying we eat them. That’s not… no. Not what I meant. They lay eggs, and they’re full of protein, which we need. You’d probably love the way they taste.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. “This egg is also a duck?”
“Well, they technically are, sometimes…” He trails off as he glances around at the dozen or so ducks. “I don’t see one that stands out as being a male, but I can’t be sure. I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep, and I’ve only read about them. The females will lay eggs regardless, but without a male, they aren’t fertilized.” My brows pinch, and he notices my confusion. “That means the egg is just an egg, and won’t grow a baby duck inside it. Are there any nests?”
“Yes, over here,” I say as I step along the rocks. Reyes pulls in a sharp breath, but the ducks ignore me as I pass.
He snorts another laugh. “Of course they like you.”
At the far end of this alcove, the shallow water butts up against a short ledge with thick greenery on top. Under the bushes, three nests hold piles of stark white eggs. “Here.”
“How many eggs are there?”
I take a quick count, but I realize I can’t remember the names of the numbers in English. My face burns, and I fight with what to say. The silence is heavy as I struggle for the word, knowing Reyes is so excited about this place. Now I can’t answer his question, and it feels like a failure.
“Nyx?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, but he must hear me, because he makes a quiet whining sound as I stare at my feet.
“That’s my fault,” he says, and I wonder why he always wants to take the blame for my shortcomings. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” He’s watching me carefully when I glance over my shoulder, with that expression he gets sometimes when we talk. Round eyes and pinched brows that form those wrinkles on his forehead. It makes him look so worried.
“The numbers… I forget.”
“That’s alright,” he says. Soft, always so soft with me, and I fight against those flutters in my stomach again.
“I can… take them for you?” I offer, and his eyes dart around at the ducks, peacefully swimming in circles.
“Try one and see if they get upset.” He keeps a close eye on the birds as I choose an egg from the nest, but they don’t stop their paddling to pay me any attention. Reyes grins when I wave it in the air at him. “Leave a few in each of the nests, but collect the rest of them. Use your shirt to carry them.”
There’s plenty of excess material on my shirt, so I grab the ends and carefully place the eggs inside into a pile. The ducks never bother me, though I worry I look silly. My appearance has never mattered to me, but I can’t help but wonder what he thinks when he sees me. He is lovely to look at, with his handsome smile and those gorgeous curls, whereas I never smile, and my hair is uninteresting and flat.
My stomach takes flight at the memory I’ve replayed dozens of times since it happened. He called me cute, and beautiful, even though I’ve never felt like either of those things. He acted like he meant it, though. His eyes always show his truth.
I wonder if he knows that about himself.
When I reach the other side, Reyes laughs as he peeks into my makeshift carrier. “This is amazing, Nyx. You did so good.”
Warmth blooms in my chest as I stare up at him, and the sunlight catches on his eyelashes and hair. “This is good?”
“This is very good,” he agrees with a soft smile. “Do you think you’d be willing to come out here every few days and collect the eggs? I’ll, uh… I’ll join you when you do... if you want.”
“I want,” I agree, and he relaxes again as we make it to the path. We walk without speaking for a few minutes, and I love how comfortable it is. Reyes never makes me talk when words aren’t needed. He doesn’t mind my silence.
The quiet is interrupted by his low laugh, and I glance over in question. “Sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “I just realized that Ronan’s going to be able to bake so many new things now that he has eggs. You’ll be Cameron’s hero.”
The thought makes my face heat.
I’ve never been anyone’s hero before.
Never been anyone’s anything.
We walk into the village, and Reyes tells everyone about the ducks. Their attention is uncomfortable, but it’s softened by the size of their excited smiles, and I don’t hide behind Reyes, even though I want to. Something big and powerful swells inside me as I realize I can give back to those who have given me so much.
Not a liability, or a responsibility, but someone with a purpose, small as it may be.
Dinner is on the fire, but Ronan makes room for another skillet. Reyes forms a protective wall beside me so the others don’t get too close, and Ronan smacks the egg against his bowl. Orange and clear liquid falls from the shell, and he tilts the bowl so I can see it.
It certainly doesn’t look like a duck.
The smell of the cooking vegetables makes my stomach growl, and it only gets better as the eggs sizzle in the skillet. They become yellow and fluffy, and there are enough here for everyone to get a serving. Reyes and I sit on some rocks further away from the group, but this time, I don’t turn my back to them. I poke the eggs with my fork and pull them closer to inspect them. Reyes focuses on his plate, but he has a wide grin as he looks down at his food.
I put the tiniest piece in my mouth, and perk up as I take a bigger bite. “Do you like them?” Reyes asks, and I nod happily. We finish dinner and return our plates, and even as he heads back into his house with a wave, that lightness remains.
Reyes
“Fuck!” I shout as my hands fly to my face. Pain rockets through my nose, and the sting draws fat tears that blur my vision. The wet drip deep in my nostril tells me a nosebleed is in my immediate future. “You fucking purple… fuck! You always aim for my fucking nose!”
“You’re distracted.” Ronan twirls his sword in a lazy, taunting circle as I force my eyes to focus. “Preoccupied with the obvious. You were so busy watching my blade you forgot that anything can be a weapon when wielded properly.”
“Yeah, yeah, your fucking hands are weapons. We’ve all heard it before,” I say with a sneer. The back of my hand wipes across my nose, and I groan when a bright red streak of blood smears my skin. “Come up with new material, why don’t you?”
He’s unbothered, tossing his hair over his shoulder and flashing his fangs in a condescending smile. The asshole isn’t even sweating. He looks like he just spent the past hour grooming himself instead of rolling with me in the ring. Not a single fucking flyaway to be found.
Me, on the other hand?
Hot mess central.
Sweat covers my body and glues my clothes to me, while my hair is sticking to my neck with an uncomfortable tickle. Dirt creates a fine, gritty layer on my skin that coats me from head to toe. I’m pretty sure there’s even dust between my teeth, and if my shadow is to be trusted, my hair looks like a bush.
Maybe I could use it as camouflage and hide from his sadistic ass, just for a second.
“Go for his weak spots!” Elas yells from the sidelines, and I shoot a glare in his direction.
“What weak spots?! If I cut his hair again, he’ll—”
“I’ll kill you,” Ronan hisses, and I nod and fling my hands at his prowling stance.
“Exactly!”
“He’s ticklish around his ribs!” Cameron offers with an enthusiastic thumbs up, and I groan.
“Yeah, okay, let me just toss my knife aside and come at him with gimme hands. That’ll do the trick.”
“It might weird me out enough to be effective,” Ronan admits, and an exhausted laugh huffs from my nose. “You should’ve picked a bigger weapon.”
“Why?” I ask, a smirk tugging at my cheeks. “Think it’s the size that matters, do you? Is that the only thing the big, scary monster knows how to work with?” His lip rips up, the humor vanishing as his fingers tighten on his sword’s leather hilt. “No skill needed if you’re big enough, huh?”
“I’ll show you skill,” he snarls, rolling his shoulders and widening his footing. His tails stiffen behind him, a telltale sign he’s gearing up to advance.
“Maybe I should ask Cameron,” I taunt, forcing myself not to look at his right side. He expects me to go after his weaker left, and I let my attention dart there as I fall into a fighting stance. “Get him to tell me you’re nothing but an overgrown lug that thinks your size is the only thing that matters. Bet he could share some stories…”
He launches himself at me with the grace of a cat, but he’s missing some of his usual poise. My muscles tense, and I force myself to wait a split second longer before dodging to his right. His eyes flare as he rushes past me, and a solid kick to his shin drops him to the ground in a cloud of dust. Before he can get his footing, I jump on his back and relish his grunt as I push my weight down and fist his hair. Yanking his head up, I press my knife against his throat.
“Damn,” Elas says with a low whistle, sounding far too excited.
“Gotcha,” I pant into Ronan’s ear, pretending I’m not gasping for air as though my life depends on it. A furious growl rumbles through his entire body, and before I realize it, he’s on his feet, while I’m left clinging to his shoulders like a backpack.
“Oh, boy, he’s mad now,” Cameron squeals, and he’s fucking giddy as I release my grip and thud to the ground.
“Fuck, this is going to hurt,” I groan, but before I can either brace myself for impact or run, Elas jumps between us, still chuckling.
“I think that’s enough for today,” he says, but Ronan’s furious eyes haven’t cast aside murder as a viable next step. He glares at me over his best friend’s shoulder, and dear gods, it is terrifying.
“Yep, yes, I agree,” I wheeze, and I don’t miss the smug satisfaction in Ronan’s fanged smirk. “That is an outstanding observation. And while I have you here as a buffer, Elas, I need to discuss something with you two.”
“And if I’m not in the mood to talk?” Ronan asks with a touch of haughtiness. He flips his hair, and I tamp down my petty pleasure at the puff of dust that flies from the onyx locks. Right now, the urge to get under his skin needs to take a backseat.
“It’s… important.”
He stares at me for a long second before the hard lines of his face relax, and he nods and gestures for me to follow as he walks towards the pitcher that sits under the closest shade tree. Elas hesitates, then follows behind us as we both fill a cup.
I take a few swigs before I pour the rest over my head and groan as the water tracks along my neck and spine. It’s not cold—the temperature is far too high for that—but it’s cooler than the muggy air and refreshes my overheated skin.
My legs buckle halfway as I try to sit, and I thud onto my ass. Deciding to give up the fight for good, I let the rest of my body thunk to the ground. I’m flat on my back, uncaring that I’m sprawled out on a blanket of dust.
A shadow falls over me, and I wrench one eye open to find Ronan standing with a hand on his hip. His eyebrow is expertly arched as he stares down at me with his glass tipped. It threatens to pour over me, but instead of fighting it, I grunt and nod in agreement. The dirt grinds against my scalp, and I grimace, waving an exhausted hand at myself.
“Do it. Water me. I’ll just return to the earth at this point.”
“You are like compost,” he says, and even if I wasn’t looking at him, I could hear the grin on his face. He hesitates when I don’t fight back, the snarkiness on his expression flickering. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
A quiet laugh huffs out of my nose. Ronan enjoys acting tough, but most of his rough exterior is just a performance. Don’t get me wrong; his patience is award-winningly low, and his tiny reservoir is reserved for Cameron, but deep down, he cares about the rest of us. Even me, though he’ll never admit it.
“Exhausted, but I’ll survive.” My voice comes out as if someone has stepped on my gut and forced the oxygen out of my lungs. I cough, just so my pitiful levels can reach their peak.
Ronan drops onto the dirt a few feet away, and his descent is much more graceful than mine. My heart rate finally slows as he takes a long drink, and after we’re both calmer, he speaks. “You’re getting better out there.”
Another wheezing laugh leaves me, but I don’t have the willpower to peel myself off the ground yet. “Look at me, man. One foot in the fucking grave, where you might’ve shed a single drop of sweat.”
“That wasn’t sweat. It was a tear for your terrible performance.”
“You just said I was getting better!”
He shrugs, his lips pulling back in a grin. “I lied.”
“Fuck,” I groan, thunking my head against the ground.
“In all seriousness, your stamina has improved since we started, and your agility as well. You pick up techniques much faster than I expected.”
“I can only beat you by cheating,” I mutter, but for once, he just clicks his tongue disapprovingly.
“There is no cheating when it comes down to you versus them, only the victor. I’m beating you because I am an expert swordsman with a century of training behind me.”
“That’s… surprisingly nice.”
He ignores me, then kicks back in with the snarky dialogue I expect from him. “You are basically a toddler, and the size of one, too. Is it any surprise fighting is hard for you with those stubby arms?” I glare as I prop up on my elbows, sending particles of dust into the air. It makes me look like I’m smoldering… which, granted, is pretty accurate. His love of tormenting me causes his smile to spread, but it’s a genuine one instead of the forced smirk he uses so often in my presence. His entire face lights up with it.
The stupid monster has to be stunningly gorgeous, on top of everything else.
“Are you done?” I ask, and he heaves a long-suffering sigh.
“I suppose.”
Painstakingly slowly, I work myself off the ground, hyper-aware of the dirt that covers my clothes and skin. My muscles ache, and my attempt not to make a pitiful sound as I sit is a complete failure. Ronan grins at my misery, but doesn’t comment. Once I’m settled, I reach for my glass and find it’s too far away, so I give up. Ronan takes pity on me and grabs it.
“You said we needed to talk?” He passes me the glass after refilling it, and I take it with a nod of thanks.
There’s no point in skirting the topic, so I just give it to him directly. “We need to make a trip to my old camp.”
“For what?” Ronan’s tone tells me I’ve caught him off guard with the comment, which… fair.
“The garden is producing well, and we’ve been able to store a lot of food, but I’m worried about how fast we’ll go through it during the colder months. There are, uh…” I shoot an apologetic glance to Elas, who’s been sitting silently as we bicker. “There are several, um, large appetites here, and I don’t think the stores will last.”
“You have plants that will grow during the winter, yes?”
“I do, but we can’t survive on cabbage and lettuce.”
“And eggs,” Elas adds, but I shake my head.
“Production will slow down when it’s colder outside, at least according to what I remember reading. We don’t know if they’ll even stay here through winter. They might migrate.”
“So we hunt,” Ronan says with a shrug.
“Not everyone eats meat.”
Understanding lights up his dark eyes as they meet mine. “Ah,” he says, and my irritation flares at the sound.
“Would you stop making that noise?” I snap, and his expression turns smug. “The point is, we need to prepare now before the winter catches us off guard. You know it’s never consistent, and if we wait until the temperature drops, we might as well not bother doing anything.”
“What do you suggest we do, then?” he snaps back.
Elas huffs a laugh that straddles the line between amused and annoyed before saying, “What Ronan means is you obviously had an idea. How do you propose we prepare, and what is back at your camp that could help?”
“Well, for starters, there’s more dry food storage in my old apartment. You saw it, Elas. Beans, rice, oats, and flour, and maybe even some more of that powdered milk. We didn’t have room for everything.”
