Barbarian's Heart

The next novel in the Ice Planet Barbarians series, an international publishing phenomenon--now in a special print edition with a bonus novella! The unthinkable happens when a devastating accident causes Pashov to forget his mate, but Stacy will do whatever it takes to make her family whole again. . . . The first time I laid eyes on Pashov, we resonated. I was happy and in love, and we were raising a beautiful child together. All of that was torn apart when the world shook. My mate nearly died. He woke up from his coma . . . but he can’t remember me. Or our son. Every memory of the past two years is gone. And that changes everything between us. How can I love someone who doesn’t remember me? How can I not when I know he’s still my mate underneath it all?

Auteur

Ruby Dixon is an author of all things science fiction romance. She is a Sagittarius and a Reylo shipper, and loves farming sims (but not actual housework). She lives in the South with her husband and a couple of goofy cats, and can’t think of anything else to put in her biography. Truly, she is boring.

Échantillon de lecture
Chapter One

Stacy

Pashov's arms go around me and he nuzzles my neck, all affection. He's always very affectionate around breakfast. And lunch. And okay, dinner. The man's ruled by his stomach, and today is no change. He presses a kiss to my neck and then peers at my frying pan. "Are you making those for me?"

"No," I say, teasing in my voice. "This is for Josie. Are you hungry again?"

"I am always hungry, female." His hand slides to my butt and he gives it a squeeze. "Perhaps throw one of your cakes on there for your suffering mate?"

Suffering? I snort with amusement, but I get out a scoop of the mash I use for the not-potato cakes. "Sweet or meat?"

"Meat, of course."

Of course. He likes sweets about as much as the next sa-khui, which is to say not at all. I open my pouch of spices for the peppery flavoring he likes so much. "Oh, shoot. I'm out. I need more of the spicy stuff. Do you think your mother has more?"

"There is some in the storage cave," he tells me, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "I will go and get it for you."

"Leave Pacy with me," I tell him, setting my pan down. "He needs to eat, too."

He shrugs off the baby sling and sets my son down near my feet, touching his nose. "Do not eat all of the cakes. Save some for your father."

Pacy giggles and tries to catch his father's big finger with his tiny hands. My heart squeezes with affection at the sight. "Hurry up," I warn Pashov. "I need those spices if you want to eat." I'm not trying to nudge him too much, but my mate can get distracted at times, and if I leave my pan on for too long, it'll get too hot and scorch the cakes.

"I am going," he says, uncurling his big body and getting to his feet. He tugs on my braid, grabs my ass again as he leaves, and then jogs away into one of the back tunnels.

The ground shifts.

I drop my pan into the fire, ignoring the crash of sparks it makes, and grab Pacy instead. I don't understand what's happening. I look around, wondering if I'm imagining things, but then the ground shakes again.

"Out of the cave!" someone bellows, and then hands grab me and pull me blindly after them. I think it's Haeden, and he's got Josie in one arm and drags me with the other.

"Wait!" I cry out. "Pashov!" He's in the storage cave.

I look over . . . and then the ceiling collapses.

"PASHOV!"

I wake up in a cold sweat. Every inch of me is slick with it, and I rub my arms briskly to get rid of the dampness before it can crystallize to frost. Next to me in the nest of furs is Pacy. He's got one fist in his mouth, and as I watch, his little mouth works as if he's nursing in his sleep. Normally the sight of my son in sleep brings me immense joy, but today . . .

All I can see is the velvety pale blue skin, the dark lashes that frame his eyes, and the nose with the bump right in the middle of the bridge, just like his father's. He's the spitting image of him, and it hurts me.

I've lost my mate.

Even though Pacy's asleep, I pick him up and pull open my tunic, settling him to my breast. He latches on sleepily and then begins to nurse, pushing a small hand against my skin. The nursing's to comfort me more than him, I think. I need to hold him close. I need to feel the calm that motherhood brings with it.

I need to feel the touch of someone who loves me and whom I love.

Because right now, I'm losing control.

I glance across the small tent. Georgie's sleeping curled against her mate, Talie in a basket of furs nearby. They've been nice enough to let me stay with them for the last week and a half, but I know it can't be easy on them. It's not easy on me, either. Every time Vektal pulls Georgie close, I think of Pashov. Every time they exchange a look, I think of Pashov. Every time he steals a kiss from her, I think of Pashov.

And I hurt all over again.

Tears threaten, but I close my eyes and force myself to be calm. It does no good thinking about my mate right now. Right now, he is not my mate. He doesn't remember me. Doesn't remember the last two years we've spent together, or the baby we made together. Doesn't remember resonating to me.

Doesn't remember me at all.

To him, I'm just another faceless, puzzling human. He doesn't remember our crash here. He doesn't remember Vektal mating to Georgie, or me resonating to him the first day we met. He doesn't remember the birth of our son. He remembers his sister and his brothers. He remembers his family and the rest of the tribe.

Me? I'm just a big fucking blur.

No matter how many times I tell myself that it doesn't matter, that he's alive, that all I ever wanted was for him to be alive and whole, I'm lying to myself. He is alive. He is whole. I am grateful. I'm just . . . miserable. I feel like I lost him.

The moment those rocks came down, I lost everything. I didn't think I could feel worse than I did during those endless days wondering whether or not he would live, but back then, I had hope. I don't even have that now.

I stroke Pacy's brow as he nurses. It's been eleven long days. Eleven long days since Pashov woke up, and fifteen days since the cave fell to pieces. For the first few days, I had hope that Pashov's memory would come back. That he'd look at me and recognition would dawn. That he'd grab my ass the way he always used to, and he'd be himself again. I kept that hope up for well over a week.

And then as each day passed and he grew a little more distant, a little more uncomfortable each time I looked at him, I realized that I was hoping for too much. My mate is alive. My mate is healthy.

He's just not my mate anymore, and I have to figure out how to go on without him. I won't push him into a relationship-hell, a mating-when he doesn't feel a thing for me. How can he? All of our memories are gone. Me crying over him just makes it worse.

So I'm avoiding him. I'm doing my best not to make him uncomfortable. Maybe it's not the best way to handle it, but it's the only way I can. I'll break if he looks at me in that empty, polite way again.

”You lost your frying pan?” Josie asks me, aghast. “I thought you weren’t cooking because of . . . well, never mind.” The look on her face gets awkward.

I shrug and spread the leaves I'm trying to dry on a hot stone, then cover them with a second stone to flatten them. I don't have a closed-in, windless spot to dry more spices, so I'm hoping that squishing them between two hot rocks will do some of the trick. Mostly I'm just guessing and trying to stay busy. "When the cave shook, I think I threw it into the fire by accident. And then after that . . ."

The knot forms in my throat again and I can't speak. After that, my world was destroyed.

"Shit. I'm so so…