Barbarian Mine (Ice Planet Barbarians #4)(51)

Instead, she gives a plaintive howl and lumbers away from it, abandoning it to us.

My heart feels as if it shatters in my breast. I think of Raahosh and his scarred face and come to a devastating realization.

My father was so broken that if I had been wounded like the sa-kohtsk kit before us, I suddenly have no doubt in my mind that my father would have left me behind like the mother beast does now. He would have abandoned me like he did Raahosh, to the ones he deemed as ‘bad’. Or worse, left me in the snow one day and turned his back on me.

I think of doing that to my own son – my Rukhar – and want to vomit.

Never.

I would never leave him or Har-loh behind. Ever. My father was wrong. He did what he thought he had to do to survive, but I realize now that it was not survival. It was mindless instinct. The man I have imagined as my father for so long in my bits of memories? The man I have revered? It is not the man I should be looking to for answers. It should be the man at my side, my brother. My brother who has tirelessly hunted at my side and gave me company even when I did not want it. Who brings his pregnant wife and has her sit with mine so she will not be lonely. Who risks his own family to help me protect mine. Who opened his home to me without question, and has never expected thanks.

These are not the bad ones.

“Move, Rukh,” Raahosh says, and gives me a shove.

I stagger off to the side, just as another one of the sa-kohtsk lumbers past, lowing in anger. I’ve been standing like a dazed fool in the midst of the hunting fields. Even as I roll away, another hunter moves between myself and the animal, driving it away. Protecting me.

These men all risk themselves for my Rukhar. For my family. I am humbled.

The rest of the hunt passes in a daze. I join the hunters as we circle loosely around the kit, bleating in pain and anger. Even though it is a young creature, it’s still twice my height, and could easily crush a man. It moves faster than the adults, limping as we surround it.

In moments, it is over. It is not a glorious hunt, but an effective one. I give silent thanks to the creature that died so that my son might live, and kneel near its chest. With my knife, I slice open the ribs and pry them apart, revealing the pulsing heart full of glowing blue slips of light.

“Is it safe to come?” Liz calls out from afar.

Raahosh waves her forward and one of the young hunters pulls Har-loh’s sled. My brother looks over at me and scowls. “You are an idiot. You nearly let one of the herd trample you.”

He’s mad at me. He’s mad like I would be at Har-loh if she did something so foolish…and it’s because he’s my family and he wants me to be safe. I’m oddly pleased by this, and I reach out and enfold him in a hug.

Raahosh is stiff, and eventually returns the hug awkwardly.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“You are my brother,” Raahosh says in a low voice. “I will always help you.”

“Oh my God,” Liz cries out. “Can you two make out? For me? That would be so hot.”

Har-loh giggles. Raahosh shoves me, and then I move to my mate’s side, smiling. Har-loh gets to her feet and then she hands me the baby. “Is it time?” She seems nervous, smoothing her hands down her loose clothing.

I hold my son close. Even though it’s cold and his tiny face is scrunched up with anger, he’s not crying. It worries me. I look to Raahosh, because I’ve no idea how I get the khui in him.

“Make a cut at the throat,” Raahosh says. “Shall I hold him?”

“I’ll do it,” Har-loh says. “He’s my child.” She steps forward, her movements slow and tired, but determined.

I reluctantly hand my son back to her and then give her a kiss. “He will not remember the pain,” I tell her, though it’s half to convince myself.

“I know.” She gives me a wry smile. “Remind me to tell you about something humans call ‘sir-come-see-shun’ sometime.”

Liz cackles behind her.

I touch my son’s cheek one last time, and his eyes open. So dull and lifeless. They don’t sing with the vibrant blue that radiates from Har-loh’s eyes and from the eyes of every other person with khui. Do not worry, my son, I quietly tell him. You will be better soon.

I move to the slain sa-kohtsk and cut the heart free. The slivers of blue wiggle madly, as if trying to break out of the dying organ. It pumps slowly once more, then stops once and for all.

“Just one is needed,” Raahosh instructs as I gaze down at the heart.

I nod and turn to my mate. Her face is resolute, and she pulls the furs away from Rukhar’s small chest, exposing his upper body.

I clutch the heart against my chest and pull my bone knife free with the other.

“A small incision at the neck,” Har-loh instructs me.

My mouth is dry. I hold the knife over my son…but I can’t do it. His big, dark eyes blink up at me and his tiny fists move. I can’t hurt him. “I am weak,” I admit to my mate, hoarse. “Raahosh—“

“I’ll do it,” Har-loh says, and I’m humbled by my mate’s strength. She takes the blade from me and sucks in a breath, then nods. “Get one of the khui ready.”

By the time I pull one of the wriggling slivers free, it is done. The child’s cry is weak, more of a hiccup than a yell, and Har-loh wipes the blood from his neck, soothing him with soft clucks. Gently, I place the khui against the baby’s neck—