Bloodlines

Chapter 3

One morning, Three Finger was awakened from a nightmare. Images of his dead family still swam in his head like dying fish as he removed his hold on Lizard’s prone form and rose from the bed. He usually cried out or jerked awake so violently that he would awake his companion, but the sleeping figure remained calmly, albeit prominently snoring on the pillow. Lingering for a moment to gaze at the sight, he snuck out of the room to compose himself.

One-Eye died again this time in his dream. In true events past, he had been the first to go. The pig following them had been the last in a group of five which the family had been picking off, following an escape from a security truck taking them somewhere. Death? Enforced living? Who knew? Either way, One-Eye’s death by a shotgun was retaliated with a homemade firebomb, taking out three vacationers. The two pigs who survived the far earlier truck escape were finished off, but sadly Sawtooth took much of the damage done as well.

The pup needed more water, as the patriarch insisted. His wounds and thirst took him days later.

Their poor little one. Her pretty eyes still haunted her father, and her tiny gasps as she died made his chest ache as though his heart had been stabbed. Her mother had been the one who escaped and called the pigs to the clan, but the pup was Three Finger’s and no one else’s. He loved her and she was his only offspring. Thankfully Lizard was about to change that. Three Finger wondered like he had so many times before who this new pup would more closely resemble.

Undoing his trousers, he was about to relieve himself when he realized the toilet which actually worked was downstairs, and the only other way to empty his stick was to either use the bathtub or the bucket. Glancing back into Lizard’s room, he decided upon the former. Lizard had finally given in to avoiding the stairs when he nearly lost his balance on the steps halfway down and almost killed himself. Thus, the bucket remained by his side of the bed and had to be emptied at least twice a day. The number of excursions would have been less had he not the opportunity of a growing parasite hammering against his bladder all day. Nibbling on a flaking lip, Three Finger assumed a position at the bathtub.

Enjoying the relief taking a good piss gave him, he noticed the ragged ropes he had tied to the rack of the shower curtain over a week ago. Originally he had done such to hold a coyote up which he had been cleaning out and skinning. But now that the days were winding down to the coming of their offspring, Three Finger began formulating an idea.

*

Lizard stopped in the middle of his meal one afternoon and gave a grunt. Frowning, he put a hand to his stomach in response to the blow to his ribs. The little bastard had spirit; that much was certain. Trying to take another bite of the roast meat Three Finger had prepared for him, he placed a hand on his heavy middle and massaged, gently at first, then more firmly as he felt no change.

“Quit it, y’piece of shit,” he muttered. The thing inside him refused to give up. Giving a deep sigh, he placed his food aside and wished the dumb bastard who had done this to him was not out checking the mines for intruders. If he hadn’t been so goddamn lonely and such a fucking wuss, he would have done something long ago to prevent him from being in the state he was in now. Awkwardly rearranging the pillows behind him, Lizard leant back and closed his eyes, all thoughts of finishing his food gone.

The damn parasite knocked around inside too much for him to get any sleep, though his body yearned for an escape into oblivion. Scaly hands finally came to rest on the massive swell, thumbs stroking absently as Lizard tried to will the unwelcome resident inside him to give him peace. Fuck, what a pipedream that was anymore. Once he had squeezed out this pain in the ass, no one would have peace. Lizard despised the idea of being in the same house with a crying infant which was off limits to his cutlery. Then again, this was his child…

However, it was also Three Finger’s.

Most likely anyway…

Lizard’s musings were interrupted by a revelation. Looking down at his globelike belly, he sat still, his breath practically stopped. The little brat had stopped moving! Surely there was still the beating of its tiny heart, but otherwise tranquility had finally fallen within. With the caution a life as a hunter had taught him, the man gently pressed his hands into the firm but yielding curve of his middle. Something on the other side leant against the touch, but did nothing else. Such an event marked the first time in months that Lizard actually felt calm.

“Thanks,” he grunted.

Then he heard the all too familiar sound of giggling following the thumps of feet against the staircase, and he pulled his hands away. The little asshole kicked again and this time would not stop. By the time Three Finger entered the room, Lizard’s face resembled a storm cloud.

“I hate you.”

“Sil-eeee…” his mate awkwardly said, and he ambled onto the mattress, removing the backpack from his shoulders as he took a seat next to the miserable man. Mismatched hands opened the sack and removed more clothes.

Lizard groaned and sank under the bed covers. “No more long johns.”

Three Finger chuckled in response and held up one of the articles of clothing he had discovered. It was a tiny set of pajamas, abstract images of bears decorating its surface. Still sputtering his high pitched chuckle, he laid out the clothing on top of Lizard’s belly, as though he could compare the size of the pajamas to the pup already.

“Fuckin’ thrilled,” Lizard stated, still glowering.

After setting a light yellow little dress over the pajamas, Three Finger overturned the backpack and emptied the rest of its contents onto the bed. Shoes in various sizes tumbled out, as did several toys meant for infants and toddlers. A fluffy pink duck squeaked as a malformed left hand held it up and squeezed it in Lizard’s frowning face.

“I changed my mind. I hate both of you.”

Giving an annoyed grimace, Three Finger gave up and gathered his new gifts, carrying them to another room. He had thought looking in the craters where Lizard’s family dumped the possessions of their prey was a brilliant idea, but since when did his mate make any sense anyway? At least they had a place to find anything else useful for raising a child.

He put the tiny clothes down next to an ancient looking crib, made so by weather and use. Three Finger had thought to put a blanket in it for the moment when he would finally hold the little one in his arms, keeping it warm during those frigid desert nights. Grinning gleefully, he placed the stuffed duck inside, a welcome sleeping companion for the pup.

“Oh, fer shit’s sakes…” Lizard grumbled as he watched his fellow hunter carrying the crib into his bedroom. “If that thing wakes up and screams its head off when I’m tryin’ to sleep, yew got five seconds to shut it up before you regret pluggin’ me in the first place.”

Three Finger ignored him, squeaking the duck and imitating it.

Later that evening, Lizard had decided to get up and take a seat next to the window at the other end of the house, even if the view was barely anything to admire. Resuming the lunch he had forgotten hours before, he watched as the sun set on the horizon, setting pink and violet fire to the sky. It was nothing different from sunsets of the past, but it was better than staring at the ceiling all day.

His companion was sitting beside him, leaning a deformed head against one of Lizard’s thighs and practically purring in contentment. His ear was against the taut curve of the desert native’s swollen middle, his hums directed to the squirming pup inside. The damn thing had not stopped moving since its brief yet welcome mercy hours ago and if the activity going on inside him was any sort of sign, Lizard hoped this meant he did not have long to go before he spat the little bastard out.

“Bearn…” Three Finger mumbled against the tight skin.

“It’s not a bear, dumbass.”

A harsh knock protruded from Lizard’s stomach, and since the movement was not against his ribs, he assumed what had twitched was not a foot but a hand. Either way, that fucking kid was really beginning to hurt. Three Finger only made it worse by tickling the spot where the flesh had risen like a gopher tunnel, giggling as though Lizard’s discomfort meant nothing. Another knock came and the scrawny asshole continued his game.

Anger gave Lizard just enough strength and agility to turn the rocking chair around and give Three Finger a violent kick strong enough to send him rolling off. The surprised man righted himself and growled, his feelings the one thing truly hurt. Then again, he should not have been surprised. Lizard was already glum enough as it was. Even so… the crotchety nag could have given him fair warning.

Lizard had looked smug at first at his companion’s reaction and his physical effort despite the lack of ability in his current form, but seconds later, his lopsided smirk became an upset grimace. Holding back a groan of pain, he doubled over, one hand over his belly, the other gripping the chair’s armrest until his craggy red knuckles were nearly white. His anger forgotten nearly as quickly as Lizard’s, Three Finger jumped to his feet and was instantly at his mate’s side, chattering his language in deep concern. Lizard’s breath eased out heavily as he slowly sat up straight, but the wince he gave as he did so was uncomfortably obvious.

“Bed, just… get me… bed…”

Lizard’s legs had ceased to work, and he shook as his fellow hunter helped him to stand. Mumbling little incomprehensible words as they went, Three Finger gingerly lowered him into the mattress. Could this be it, he wondered. Was Lizard finally ready? Listening to the man’s breaths lessening in depth, he brushed Lizard’s course hair out of his eyes, giving another worried, questioning grunt.

“Stay here… please…” His eyes squeezed shut, the hurt man kept a steely hold around his lover’s shoulders, every muscle in his body tense. “Here… what’s this… baby…” he placed one of Three Finger’s hands on the swell. “What’s that y’call it? Baby…”

“Lýtling,” Three Finger answered, his expression in that rare form of solemnity. Lizard repeated the word in between calmer breaths, as though trying to memorize it and then patted his stomach, just under a very protuberant navel.

“What’s this… where’s the… lýtling…?” he asked, and Three Finger appeared puzzled at first until he heard the familiar word.

“Hrif.”

“Hrif… okay… good. Good.” Lizard realized the ache was fully gone, but he did not want to take any chances by standing back up. “How about these? They used t’be flat.” He opened his shirt, exposing the fleshy nubs.

Three Finger grinned widely and gently prodded one of them. “Feorhloca.”

After a few attempts to pronounce the word, Lizard gave up and his body seemed to finally release all which had been wound and stiff like a sidewinder ready to strike. Giving a shaky sigh, he noticed how serious the other man looked while gazing upon him now.

“Is’at whut needs to happen?” he asked, catching himself smiling. “I gotta git hurt fer yew to sober up?”

The noise Three Finger made was like that of a starving puppy, and his hand left his companion’s chest to drift carefully against the ragged red flesh of a sweating neck.

“I’m okay,” Lizard muttered, sleep beginning to intrude on his senses. He rubbed his face as though washing it without water and gave a long blink. “I ain’t plannin’ on gettin’ up anytime soon, but I’m okay.”

“Uh’kay,” the forest-dwelling hunter echoed, leaning his head on his mate’s shoulder as he knelt against the bed frame. He absently licked away some flakes of loose skin from Lizard’s chapped flesh and once again began purring. He did not seem intent on leaving his spot on the floor anytime soon and gave a nudge with his brow as though he were a cat. Lizard gave a joyless chuckle and took the hand against his neck in his own fingers, squeezing appreciatively.

Thankfully, nothing else came of the pains Lizard felt for the remainder of the night, but he had a feeling as he drifted into heavenly slumber that he did not have much time left in this ordeal. He could only wish that he would not regret the remainder of his time with the little one safely within him.

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To be continued...