-Red-

04

The cool forest breeze danced across her skin and tugged playfully at the soft ends of her hair. It was a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from where Vegeta's hand held hers, pulling her behind him.

Bulma barely paid attention to where she put her feet. She was floating, a dandelion dancing on the breeze of memories that their tangled fingers invoked: strong hands on her waist, a hot mouth on her throat, and a growl ripping through her that left her in shivering shreds of need.

She didn't see the tree root and tripped right into him. His grip on her hand kept her from falling.

"Are you okay?" He steadied her and looked her over, his ears flicking in what she guessed was concern. "Am I going too fast?"

Stupid. Clumsy. She shook her head, ducking her face in embarrassment. "No, sorry. I'm just a little tired."

It was meant to be reassuring but had the opposite effect. He was careful of his claws as he took her chin between his fingers and gently raised her gaze to meet his. Deep black eyes searched hers and he frowned at what he saw. He pressed a hand to her brow. Little butterflies burst inside her.

"You should be resting," he sighed, mouth turning down. He glanced off into the distance, his ears still flicking as he considered their options. "…My den isn't far. We can head there across the river."

"Your den?" So he did have a home, and she was going to see it. Ooh, how fun! Bulma couldn't help bursting with curiosity. What kind of place did a Úlfhéðnar prince live in? "What's it like?"

Vegeta grimaced at her enthusiasm, letting her go. "You'll see soon enough. Don't get too excited. It's not much."

Like that was going to deter her, a million questions and possibilities already filling her mind, fueled by stories of princes she had read about as a child. Did Vegeta live in the wild, or did he have some kind of structure? Were there others of his kind there? He claimed to be a prince, did that mean there was a king? Would she need to curtsy or bow before someone? For that matter, was it okay for her to show up in her dirty outdoor garments? The last thing she wanted to do was to embarrass him or herself. Grabbing his hand in both of hers, Bulma looked up at him, bouncing on her toes. "I'm honored you'd invite me. Should I bring something? Am I dressed appropriately for such a visit?"

"Dressed approp—?" He spluttered, and despite himself his eyes wandered over her outfit before he remembered himself and guiltily jerked his head away. She couldn't see his face, but the back of his neck started turning red. "You're fine," he grumbled, tugging on her hand to lead them in a different direction. Bulma bit her lip to stop her laughter. Now he wanted to be shy after nearly devouring her on the forest floor not too long ago? She decided not to press the matter, lest he changed his mind about taking her to his den. She tried to pay more attention to where she put her feet this time.

Soon enough the roar of a river could be heard. They breached the tree line and came across a vast channel. If it was the same river from before, it had grown much wider and the current much stronger. Bulma let Vegeta's hand go to run over to the river's edge and collapse on the bank, grateful to rest her feet and have a drink. But when she put her hand in the water, the freezing current smacked it out. "Ouch!" she clutched her stinging fingers to her chest.

A soft chuckle erupted at her side. "Here, idiot girl." Vegeta crouched next to her and angled his hands in a way that the water could pool into them, then offered his cupped hands to her. "Drink."

It was such a little gesture, but Bulma struggled not to blush from it. She supported his hands in her own and bowed her head to drink. The water quickly washed away her reservations, parching her dry throat and sending ripples of relief through her. With a wet gasp she looked up at him expectantly. "More!"

The corner of his mouth turned up, and he obliged. She gratefully gulped down a second handful.

"Thank you."

He hummed his acknowledgement, looking down at their hands. His expression turned somber. "…I wish there was more I could do."

He couldn't be serious. "You've already done more than enough," she tried to reassure, her eyes flicking helplessly to his wounded shoulder. Guilt twisted in her belly, churning the river water—

Gaaaaaooooowwr!

—hungrily?

Bulma's eyes widened and she turned bright red, pressing her arms tightly against her traitorous stomach. She didn't have to ask if Vegeta heard. Half the damn forest had.

"You are hungry."

Ugh, thank you for that redundant statement. Thoroughly humiliated, Bulma had to concede that she wasn't just hungry, she was starving. When had she last eaten? There had been the mushroom, and before that a light breakfast. That had been hours ago. No wonder her stomach rumbled.

"Once we're at my den, I'll hunt for you. I am an excellent hunter," Vegeta announced, his eyes dancing with pride. It lessened her embarrassment somewhat. He didn't care that her stomach growled in an unladylike fashion, only that he could easily remedy the situation.

"What do you hunt?"

"There is much game here: duck, hare, badger. Some deer and elk. The occasional bear."

"Bear?" Bulma looked about the river in alarm as if expecting to see one. She scooted closer to Vegeta until their knees bumped together.

He gave her a wry half-smile. "Most will be hibernating by now."

"But you hunt them? Fight them?"

"Sometimes."

Bulma looked at him with a mix of fear and awe. "Aren't you scared?"

His smile wilted, taking on a sadder quality. "You only fear what you can lose. I don't fear much these days."

His eyes were impossible to read, like trying to find meaning in the stars at night. Bulma lowered her gaze, and it fell to her basket.

Her basket… Oh! How could she forget? She pulled it into her lap and dug about the bottom. "I just remembered, I was saving these for the boys but I think we've earned them."

Vegeta cocked his head, watching her search. "What is it?"

Aha! She pulled out a little parcel wrapped in a handkerchief and offered it to him. "It's a pasty. They're like little pies with meat and vegetables inside." Bulma demonstrated by unwrapping it and breaking it in half. "See?"

Vegeta narrowed his eyes at the foreign food. But, much like a stray dog, he was tempted in for closer sniff. His tail gave a cautious wag. "The meat… it smells strange."

"It's spiced," Bulma explained. "It makes it tastier, I promise. They're really quite delicious." She brought half to her mouth and took a bite, humming in pleasure as the flavor melted over her tongue.

Vegeta watched her, ears perking. Encouraged by her reaction, he took the other half and gave it one more sniff before popping the whole thing into his mouth. His tail wagged happily as he chewed, and soon his eyes fell onto her basket in the hopes of more.

Bulma laughed. "See? I told you they were good. The boys are crazy about them too." She pulled out another pasty for him which he eagerly tore into. "If you like them so much, I can make you more."

He looked at her with surprise. "You made these?"

She smiled and nodded, pulling out another for herself to eat. "Yes. My mother has been teaching me, and I've been writing her recipes in a book."

"What's a book?"

Bulma nearly dropped her pasty in horrified shock. "…What do you mean, what's a book?"

He didn't seem to notice her incredulity, too focused on his treat. "I'm unfamiliar with that term."

Bulma had never been so offended in her life, not because of him, but for him. How could you go through life without books? "Um, it's… a device where we record written stories and knowledge."

"Written?"

Oh no, he couldn't be serious. He didn't know what writing was? Despairing at this great injustice, Bulma smoothed out a section of the damp earth between them and wrote her name in the soil with her finger. "Writing. Like this?" she was clinging desperately to the hope that this was all just a translation issue.

Vegeta cocked his head at her scrawled name, and nodded sagely. "Ah, we call that markings."

Bulma sighed with relief. See, just a misunderstanding, that was all.

Vegeta reached out and pawed over her name with his claws, leaving a great gaping gash in the earth. It was rudimentary for a written language, but Bulma didn't want to be discourteous and judge another culture by her own. "What does that mean?" she inquired politely.

He looked baffled. "Mean? There's only one meaning."

"Which is?"

"'Mine.' We mark our territory this way."

Markings. It wasn't writing at all but territorial marking. Bulma had read about animals doing that. In books. Which Vegeta obviously had no concept of because his people didn't even write.

"Our markings are… a little more complex," she tried to explain without sounding condescending. "They can express many things. In fact, everything we say can be written, and then read by someone else. It's how I learned a lot of what I know." She smoothed out the earth and wrote his name, at least, as far as she could guess it would be spelled. "See? This says Vegeta. Vu-GEE-tah."

Vegeta frowned, his half-eaten pasty forgotten as he watched her spell out his own name. Thump! "What else can you write?"

"Anything at all… Let's see…" Bulma daintily carved — to the best of her ability — his people's name. "YULF-heth-nar."

Vegeta went still, his half-eaten pasty forgotten and his eyes fixing with an unknown emotion on the word. He reached out and gently traced the letters with his fingers. For a moment Bulma feared she had offended him, and was ready to formulate an apology when he gently smoothed over the word with a reverence used for burying the dead.

"We have no use for such a skill in the forest," he said quietly. "But I can see its merit." There was a moment of silence where he collected himself, then looked up at her. "I take it you've read a lot of these… books?"

Unable to shake the feeling she had upset him, Bulma let him change the topic and nodded. "Aside from my father, I'm the most well read in the village."

"Hn. You must be highly valued to your people for your knowledge."

She frowned despite herself, years of indignation bubbling to the surface. Her fingers tightened on her pasty's handkerchief. "You would think so, but girls aren't supposed to be well-read."

He gave her an odd look. "What does your gender have to do with your intelligence?"

"Right?" she exclaimed, grateful and relieved that he saw things the same way as she did. "That's what I always thought and my father said as much too, but most of the people in the village don't see the value of an educated woman."

He scoffed. "Sounds like they are fools not worthy of your time."

Bulma laughed, feeling a lightness she hadn't in a long while. It felt good to be understood. "Pretty much. I don't really spend much time there at any rate."

"Is that why you visit the old man and pups instead?"

She blinked, taking a moment to realize he meant Roshi, Goku, and Krillin. She took a thoughtful bite of her pasty and considered his question. "Mm, I suppose so. It does get lonely at home. The boys aren't stimulating company, but they're genuine, and they don't judge me like the villagers do." Then the full implication of his question sank in, and she cast him a shrewd look. "And can I take that to mean you have little better to do than spy on how often I visit Turtle Lake?"

A blush crept up his face and he looked away, shoving the last of his meal into his mouth and chewed it slowly to avoid answering her.

"Well?" she pressed. If he thought he could out-wait her, he was about to be sorely disappointed. She was very good at interrogating people, and right now she was determined to get to the bottom of him watching her comings and goings. "Care to explain yourself?"

He scowled, his tail twisting like a snake trying to escape a trap. "The old man's den borders my land. I like to keep an eye on those that pass through. You're not exactly subtle."

Bulma narrowed her eyes as if she could glare the truth out of him. His jaw clenched under her scrutiny, his regal cheeks still pink. If she had to guess, he was telling the truth — just not all of it. He was hiding something, but whatever it was it didn't feel malicious. Besides, she didn't have much room for criticism. She was the outsider here, not him. This was his home and he had never tried to hurt her or the boys before. And he was right, she wasn't subtle when she walked the path in a bright red hood and singing to herself as she went. No wonder he had noticed her, whether he wanted to or not.

"Well, next time come say hello. I can introduce you."

He grimaced. "…Humans don't usually react well to my kind."

"Don't be silly. The boys would adore you. For that matter, so would my parents." She was convinced of it. Her mother and father loved to collect and take care of eclectic stray animals. They had fostered ravens, boars, and snakes among other things. A man with a tail and ears would hardly raise an eyebrow. "If you think my cooking is good, wait until you try my mother's. She won't let you leave until she's fed you three winter's worth of meals, and my father will want to know everything about your culture. The only thing you have to worry about is them not leaving you alone."

"Ah, so that's where you get it from," Vegeta commented wryly, his eyes glimmering with silent laughter.

Oh, he thought he was funny. Bulma poked out her tongue. "Just for that, I'm not sharing anymore food with you."

Thump! His eyes still dancing, Vegeta licked his canines clean and leaned in to her, bracing thick arms either side of her. Bulma went still, her heart beating faster at his sudden proximity.

Slowly, he bent down to inhale the scents of her basket still in her lap. His nostrils flared as he breathed in, his eyes dragging up to lock with hers. His gaze burned with a dark hunger.

"You have more to spare. I've saved your life, the least you can do is repay me."

Wow… He was only play-threatening, right? Bulma swallowed against her dry throat, trying not to appear intimidated. She lifted her nose at him. "It's polite to say 'please', you know."

The corner of his lip curled up, obsidian eyes flashing with excitement. "Please." The growled syllable rolled over her, raking at her nerves and leaving her raw and tingly.

She was helpless to stop the heat that burst through her. Desperately she tried one last-ditch effort to cling to propriety and fend him off. "Why do you need my food? I thought you were a good hunter."

His teeth flashed in a feral smile. "I am. Very. So good in fact that my prey doesn't even know when it's cornered."

He meant her of course, if only in jest. But what surprised her was that she wanted him to mean it. Liquid excitement bubbled inside her, quickening her breath as she waited to see his next move. Hoping he would make one. Please, make one…

He watched her carefully, judging her interest. When she didn't shrink away he rubbed his cheek to hers and inhaled deeply. A growl rumbled pleasantly in his chest. "Smells good."

"The food?"

"You." His voice was gruff, struggling to form speech.

Baba, forgive me. Bulma gave in, letting go all the inhibitions she had been raised to adhere to. Her eyes fell closed as she rested her cheek against his, enjoying the intimacy. "Like sunshine and strawberries?"

He huffed a laugh against her ear. "Sweeter."

It was sweet relief when his tail cinched comfortingly about her waist.

"I do not smell a mate on you," he added. "Have you not taken one?"

Wh-what? Bulma struggled to swim back up from the sensations she was drowning in to focus on the sudden question. "A mate?"

"Yes." He leaned back enough to see her face, cocking his head to one side. "Is it not your way? Úlfhéðnar mate for life."

Her heart fluttered furiously, flustered by his question. "I-I suppose we do, though it depends on the person."

"And of you? You have not taken one?" he pressed. Insistent.

Bulma felt her panic crest, the color draining from her face. She looked down at her lap.

Had she taken a mate?

One bright spring day she had given her first kiss to Yamcha. It took weeks to coax the shy village boy into shirking his wood-cutting duties to talk to her, let alone persuade him to take her out on the lake. There, in her father's rowboat and under the shade of her parasol, she received her first kiss, unaware the price was her heart. She was smitten. He was sweet and handsome and roguish, everything a young girl thought she wanted.

For weeks she begged and begged her mother for a new dress to wear to Summer Solstice, a popular festival where young couples danced about the maypole and wrapped ribbons and romantic hopes around it. Bulma never had reason to attend before, avoiding the ceremony and the vulgar village boys all together. But she showed up this year in a beautiful rusty-red dress her mother had labored to sew for her, white flowers in her hair and her heart on her sleeve.

Yamcha looked so handsome in his bleached tunic and dark breeches, joking loudly with the other boys as everyone lined up by the maypole. Their eyes met. Bulma offered him a hopeful smile, her cheeks warming at the memory of their kiss and the gentle way he had held her hand as he helped her from the boat. But he didn't smile back. In fact he looked startled to see her. He glanced at his friends, all of whom were snickering unsubtly about the strange Briefs girl (and what nerve she had showing up!). She took a step towards him, and he one back. The color drained from her world as she watched him cowardly offer his arm to the baker's daughter.

She made it all the way to the edge of the village before she collapsed to her knees and wept and wept under the summer night's sky.

That was the end of her attempts at courtship.

"No," she whispered. She had not taken a mate.

Gentle fingers brushed away her bangs that had fallen over her eyes. Bulma glanced up and saw Vegeta's solemn expression, his ears flattened. He had picked up on her heartache. "It is a good thing you were not born Úlfhéðnar, little one."

"Why is that?" Bulma asked, grateful to be distracted from the memories of her failed romance.

He continued to brush her bangs, pushing the longer locks back behind her ear and gifting her a bitter-sweet smile. "It is our custom to fight for the affection of a mate. Sometimes to the death. Had you been Úlfhéðnar, so many would have died for your affection."

Bulma ducked her head at the compliment — as barbaric as it was — , unsure why she felt a tight pressure squeezing on her chest. "Don't be silly. I don't want anyone to die for me."

He huffed, his tail tightening around her waist. "It would have been no great loss. Only those foolish enough to go against me would have died."

Time froze, and her breath lodged in her throat. Something had shifted, her whole world tilted, the axis pitching to the side. She began to fall fall fall into an unknown chasm as deep and dark as his eyes. Only his tail kept her grounded. She must have misheard him or misunderstood. But when she searched his eyes for answers she found them strangely unguarded.

He looked at her in a way no one else ever had. He didn't see an uncouth girl with a head filled with 'nonsense'. He saw someone he liked, so much so that he would fight to keep her.

"I—"

Suddenly his ears perked and his body tensed. He pulled her protectively against him, going still and tense. Waiting. He listened to sounds that her ears couldn't perceive and she knew better than to protest. Then his tail unwound from her and he stood, his expression grim.

"Is there anything fragile in your basket?" he asked briskly.

Bulma shook her head, unnerved by the question and his sudden shift in demeanor.

"Your hood and boots. And the pelt. Give them to me."

"What's wrong?"

"Please do as I say. We have little time."

Oh god. They were still being hunted, weren't they.

Bulma hurried to obey, her fingers shaking as she stripped off her outer layers. Vegeta removed a pouch from his waist and added it to her basket along with her clothing. Then, effortlessly, he lobbed the basket all the way to the other side of the river where it landed on its side in a shrub. It was an impressive throw, Bulma doubted even the strongest man in the village could achieve it.

He held out his hand to her. "We need to swim across."

"Swim?" Bulma repeated, looking at the raging river in horror. She could swim of course, but her experience was limited to lakes and streams. She wasn't confident about navigating something so wide and ferocious. And what of Vegeta? His arm was still wounded. How far could he swim with such an injury? "Your shoulder," she reminded him anxiously.

He huffed, unconcerned. "It is fine. We have to go. Now."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. Fear prickled her skin and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. She looked behind her into the forest, half expecting to see something there, watching them.

He touched her chin, turning her attention back on him. "Don't look back. I'll be with you all the way."

She nodded, and he gave her a brief but warm smile that helped ease some of her alarm.

They headed to the darkest part of the river where the water was deeper and the current less severe. The grass felt shockingly cool on her bare feet. He pointed downstream towards a sandy patch on the opposite bank.

"Aim for that spot. Don't fight the current, swim with it and allow it carry you there. Prepare yourself, it's going to be cold."

Bulma felt her throat go dry as her toes kissed the edge of the river. He wasn't kidding, it was freezing, and left her toes as numb. She squeezed his hand nervously. Oh god, oh god, she didn't want to do this. There had to be another way!

His tail snaked around her middle, fastening her to him. "Ready?" he asked gravely.

No. But what choice did she have? She stood on the edge of the river much as she had done the doorway of the 'haunted' farmhouse, and tried to convince herself that her terror was merely courage. She nodded.

Vegeta pushed her in.

The shock of the water was worse than anything she could have imagined. The cold burned through her, stealing the air from her lungs and sending her nervous system into a panic. She kicked and failed until her head broke the water's surface. Gasping, she tried to get her bearings. They were being swept downriver. Vegeta was already ahead of her, swimming with powerful strokes. If his left shoulder hurt him, he didn't let it show. Only Vegeta's tail kept them from being separated.

Bulma followed. Her limbs felt stiff, shivers wracking her and slowing her movement. Come on, Bulma, fight. It's just water. Goku and Krillin do laps in Turtle Lake all year. Are you going to let two little boys get the better of—

Something brushed her foot. She screamed and thrashed. Vegeta turned around and swam the two strokes back to her. "What is it?!" He shouted over the roar of the water.

Without thinking she latched onto him and pressed up as close as she could get, her breathing frantic and fogging against his wet neck. "S-something touched me!"

Both of them treading water, Vegeta searched the river but couldn't spot anything. "A fish or reed perhaps."

Perhaps. She couldn't shake the feeling that it had felt like fingers.

His hand rested firmly on the small of her back. "We need to keep swimming."

Bulma looked up and to her dismay saw their destination drift by. Her little panic attack had thrown off their timing. Now the river was growing louder, the channel forming into faster rapids. Riddled with guilt and shame, she nodded, and somehow pried her arms off him. They picked up their strokes with renewed vigor.

Vegeta did most of the work, though Bulma did her best to keep up. He reached the bank first, pulling himself up in one fluid powerful gesture. He then turned and grabbed her wrists, lifting her up and into his arms, her feet touching the ground.

At last, they had made it! She clung to him, wet and shivering, adrenalin still pounding in her ears as freezing water pooled at their feet.

He rubbed her arms to help her circulation. God, he felt so achingly warm. "You did well, little one. We are safe now, they won't cross the river."

"Yes, because o-only crazy people w-would do that," she sassed, barely getting the words out through her chattering teeth.

Vegeta's mouth split into a wolfish grin. He cupped her face and pressed his nose to hers for a moment before letting her go. "My den is not far off. Wait here a moment, I will collect our things." He hurried away, running back up river to where he had tossed her basket.

Bulma crouched down, hugging her knees to her chest as she waited in a feeble attempt to stay warm. Her nose still tingled from his touch. A soft smile formed on her lips.

Vegeta was only gone a minute, soon returning with her basket at a light jog. She stood to greet him.

It was hard to say what happened first, as it all felt like it happened at once. His eyes widened, her basket dropped, one of them screamed. Cold wet fingers grabbed her ankle and pulled.

"No, BULMA!"

The last thing she saw before the water swallowed her up was Vegeta diving for her, but too late. Then the icy rapids claimed her. She couldn't swim, something had wrapped around her limbs like a vice. She was tossed downstream and struck a rock, and everything went—

~xoXox~

AN: …