Hannah's Hero - Ruby Dixon Page 0,19

urge to throttle him. He is frustrated too, I remind myself. This is not his choosing. He is sad and unhappy because of me, so I cannot be angry at him. I cross my arms over my chest and circle around the fire again. It is late morning and most of the tribe has scattered for the day’s work. The females with young remain at camp, and some of the females sit together, weaving mats out of dried fibers from the large leaves that have been washing up on shore. Off by the cluster of newly built huts, I see M’tok bringing rocks toward the edge of his hut. He has been working on it for many days now to impress his mate, but C’lie will have nothing to do with him.

I know what that is like.

In fact, many of the huts are empty. R’hosh and his mate L’z have one, and H’low and her mate another, but all the ones made by hopeful males wanting to impress their females? Empty. After B’shit fought with A’tam, none of the females wanted anything to do with the huts or their builders. (I built one for H’nah but she pays it no mind, just like she pays me no mind, and so it sits only half complete).

But seeing M’tok at work on his again despite C’lie’s hatred for him makes me wonder. N’dek yet sleeps in the same tent I do. If it takes a long time for H’nah to accept our resonance—ancestors help me—then perhaps I should help make my brother hunter as comfortable as possible. “M’tok works on his hut,” I comment to N’dek, moving to his side. “Perhaps I should build one for us in the middle of Strong Arm’s encampment.”

N’dek sits up, frowning at me, broad features pulled down in distaste. “Why?”

I shrug, determined to keep a smile on my face as I sit next to him. “Why not? It is something I can do while I sit here on the beach with you.”

“You can leave me alone.”

“But I do not want to,” I begin, but my words die in my throat as an argument arises at the far edge of the camp.

“You are not in charge of the skins,” a male voice says. “I do not have to check with you!”

That sounds like S’bren, who is not the most easygoing of hunters. None of his clan are.

N’dek straightens and looks at me. “Tall Horn?”

“We’re conserving supplies!” a female retorts. “Bring in a new one and I’ll give you one of mine.”

I jump to my feet, anger and protectiveness shooting through me. I know that female’s voice, and my instincts tell me to go to her.

“They do not belong to you, female,” S’bren bellows. “They are for all to share, are they not?”

“That was before!”

I storm through the camp, heading for H’nah’s side. Sure enough, she stands in front of the supply tent, a large, rolled-up fur clutched in her arms. S’bren has a hand on it, his claws digging into the fur and a scowl on his face.

I do not like how close he stands to my female, and a feral growl breaks from my throat. I move between them, shoving him backward. “Stay away from her,” I snarl. “She is not yours!”

“Hey!” H’nah yells at me. She tugs on one of my arms, as if trying to drag me backward, and I am pleased by her fierceness, even if it is directed at me. “Do you mind? We were talking!”

“You were yelling,” I correct. “And now I will yell at him for you.” I turn to the Shadow Cat hunter and flex all four of my arms even as he bares his teeth at me in a snarl. He may have fangs, but I will win a fight and he will regret raising his voice at my female. “You do not come near H’nah, S’bren. Never.”

He eases back to his feet, dusting the sand off of his leathers. “I am not interested in your female, brother. I just want the leather that is for all to take.” He emphasizes the words.

“And I’m telling you that we’re running low on supplies and we’re not just handing stuff out,” H’nah continues. “The supply of furs is very low and—”

“So send your mate out,” S’bren says, gesturing at me. “Let him hunt.”

“He’s not my mate!”

I stiffen, trying to ignore the insult. S’bren looks at me but says nothing. His brother knows the pain of a female that refuses resonance,