The Spur of the Platypus (3 page)

Prescott faced the platypus. “I don’t think I’ve met you.”

“Weeds,” the platypus said, out of breath. Weeds was covered head to toe in the brown fur of the platypus although his body was pure human, and the venom had no tail or bill. “You fought well.”

“Make sure you tell Flex that.” Prescott wiped the blood off his blade with his pants.

“Oh, I will. Flex will be pleased.” Weeds hissed as he reached up and touched a cut on his forehead.

“Hmmm.” Prescott wasn’t so sure about that.

“What? You think because you stayed here, he doesn’t want you to fight?” Weeds chuckled.

Prescott shrugged as he watched his friends helping the injured people out. “Seemed like it.”

“Protecting yourself against a nest is one thing. Jumping into a territory full of hostiles is quite another.”

Weeds made a lot of sense. It was a simple numbers game. They had more, and the small nest of rattlers that came in were completely outnumbered. That wasn’t the case for Flex and the others. How much were they outnumbered? Prescott rubbed his face, adrenaline washing away as bone-deep concern assaulted him.

Weeds spoke softly beside him. “Come on; let’s take care of those cuts on your arms.”

Prescott glanced down to see the scrapes along his forearms. Numbly he followed Weeds while his mind remained with another platypus.

Four days later, Prescott was angry, sore and tired. He hadn’t slept, and the only patience he had, he reserved solely for the little ones. That was it. The rest of the time, he was a surly bastard as he stared off into the distance toward Mission Territory every night, hoping.

They hadn’t been attacked since that first night, and Prescott and the rest assumed that it had to be an isolated incident of wandering travelers as opposed to something that had been calculated from Pacific or La Jolla.

Prescott glanced over at the water to see a couple of bees splashing in the waves with other platypus children. It was unbelievable how well the group had come together, and there were whispers that if the group succeeded in Mission Territory, that others might move there. However, Prescott could see a divide. Some of the bee families gazed upon their children playing in the water, content, and knew that they wouldn’t be leaving the area. They were safer here than in Mission. Prescott didn’t know why any family would move there until the territories at least stabilized and became less violent.

And that was the problem. Would that happen again? It seemed with La Jolla and Pacific Territories joining, that might take a long time, but Prescott knew they had to fight. If they ran, then this violence and crime would become like a wild fire until the whole area was no longer safe to live in.

Off in the distance, he saw movement. Prescott couldn’t make out the figures and shouted, “Tristan!”

Tristan came running, weapons in hand. “Who is it?”

The approaching group grew and appeared armed. Prescott turned his full attention to the group coming their way. Squinting, he tried to make out someone, anyone, hoping until one figure stood out like a beacon. Flex was walking with a slight limp, and Prescott decided he didn’t care how pissed he was for being left behind. He didn’t think about anything else as he ran to his mate.

Flex felt like shit. He limped, with the huge gash on his leg, but he was fucking determined to be with the first group back. He hissed, and Green was about to grab his arm again to help him walk when Flex saw someone running toward them in the distance.

A small body with brown hair falling across the brow of the man, the sun setting behind him, was worth every bone-jarring step along the way. He didn’t even have time to react before Prescott was upon him and leaping into his arms.

“I’m so pissed at you.” Prescott pulled back and jumped off.

Flex almost laughed at the turnabout.

“Aww, you missed me,” Flex teased.

Prescott scoffed and rolled his eyes.

That didn’t matter to Flex; Prescott had let his guard down for just a moment. He could be pissed at him all night long, but Flex knew that the anti-venom cared at least a little for him. It was a start, and hell, he wanted to see what else was in store for them.

“Shit; you’re bleeding.” Prescott bit his lip as his eyes gazed down to the wound on Flex’s leg.

“It’s just a scratch.” Flex smiled as Prescott lifted the leg of his shorts to reveal the
scratch.

“Fuck, it looks bad,” Prescott hissed as he touched the area around the wound.

“You sound concerned,” Flex teased. In truth, he felt like he was about one minute away from passing out. He was dizzy and nauseous, and wanting to see Prescott safe when he feared that something could have happened to him had him pushing past the pain to get back.

“Come on. I can bitch you out while I clean you up.” Prescott stood and grabbed his arm, putting it over Prescott’s shoulder. Flex swayed and moaned as they made their way toward the building.

Weeds approached and grabbed a hold of Green. “We need to get you both inside.” Weeds hesitated before his gaze locked on Flex. “How many?” Weeds whispered.

“We lost four platypuses, but it could have been worse. Hell, it could have been a whole lot worse, but Mission wasn’t expecting an attack and every venom that came to the fight brought their strengths to the front line. We had aerial battle with the bees, speed with the snakes and strength from the ants. Mission Territory was in for a serious surprise.”

Reese and Leif came running up. Reese was the first to look around, and Flex held up a hand. “Kalder and Wilder are okay. They want us to bring you to Mission immediately. A lot of clean up was needed.”

Boone raced by Flex toward Julius, grabbing his mate and holding him tight.

Reese nodded, holding his hand to his chest. “Okay, we’ll be ready in ten.”

“A couple hours,” Flex slurred.

“Huh?” Reese asked.

“I...” Flex saw dots cover his vision before he heard shouts from Prescott and then knew no more.

Flex moaned as his brain fired back up. He couldn’t open his eyes, and his first thoughts were of the pain in his leg.
Shit, what the hell happened?

“Flex,” a voice said next to him.

Flex pried his heavy eyelids open to see Prescott staring down at him.

“You scared the hell out of me.” Prescott shook his head as he leaned his elbows on the bed. He reached forward and petted Flex’s hair as if he was used to doing it.

Flex tried to swallow and couldn’t. His throat was bone dry. Prescott reached over to a table nearby and grabbed a glass of water, bringing it to his lips. Flex drank thirstily. God, he was parched. After emptying the glass, Flex pulled back.

“How long was I out?” he rasped.

“Just a night. You lost a lot of blood, and that wound was becoming infected. Whatever remedy Weeds put on, it seems to be helping a lot. It’s not as hot as it was last night and doesn’t look as angry.” Prescott gazed down at Flex’s wounded leg.

Flex groaned as he sat up to stare down at his leg. It was wrapped in seaweed with the weird natural concoction that Weeds created. It helped. It would take a couple days, but he could at least travel. He pulled his legs off the pallet, trying to stand when Prescott pushed him back down.

“You’re not getting out of bed.” Prescott all but tucked him back in his blankets.

“We need to be getting back,” Flex argued.

“They already left,” Prescott said as he sat down next to him. “Boone took a group back with some ants and bees last night. My friends went with him to travel to their mates.”

Flex brows rose. “You didn’t go?”

Prescott bit his lip again, and Flex was coming to realize that was Prescott visual sign of nerves. “We’ll be traveling there when you get better.”

“You stayed behind for me. I thought you wanted to fight?” Flex was shocked by the turnabout. Pleased but surprised.

“Yeah, well you got under my skin,” Prescott grunted.

“That’s good.” A smile grew on his face. He hurt unbelievably, but there was something growing between the two of them, and it was no longer one-sided.

Prescott pushed him back down. “Get some rest, will you? We’ll leave when you feel better.”

“Tomorrow. We need to get back quickly.” Flex closed his eyes and snuggled right into the pallet.

“Why’s that? Is there trouble?” Prescott leaned over him as Flex reopened his eyes.

“No, we just have to get back to pick out where we’re going to live.” Flex winked at him as Prescott groaned and got up.

“I swear you venom are relentless.” Prescott walked out, and Flex laughed to the empty room. Prescott was fighting it, but he was losing the battle. Even Flex could see it.

Snuggling in, Flex closed his eyes. He had some healing to do so he could leave with his mate in the morning.

In the morning, Flex woke up and felt a presence next to him. Turning his head, he stared at Prescott, lying next to him with his hand holding a sheathed blade tight to his chest. Flex wondered what the anti-venom had been through during the course of his life to feel the need to sleep with a knife at night.

Looking closer, Flex could see the dark circles under Prescott’s eyes and was damn tempted to brush his fingers over them. When was the last time Prescott got a decent night’s sleep? He knew he didn’t the night before. He remembered a couple times of Prescott and Weeds waking him to change the wrap or to give him a drink. The man had been vigilant in taking care of him even though he’d walked out the night before. Prescott came back. To help him. The thought had Flex grinning like a fool.

Slowly, trying not to disturb Prescott, he sat up and looked under the fresh seaweed wrap to see that the wound was slowly healing. It would take some time, but the pain had ebbed a lot, and he could take all the supplies he needed back to Mission Territory and redress the wound along the way.

Prescott jumped up and had the knife unsheathed as he stood above Flex.

Flex scuttled back on the pallet as he got the fuck out of the way in case Prescott unknowingly swung it his way.

“Pres!”

Prescott’s eyes were wild as they met and locked with his. Prescott’s chest was pumping up and down.

“Put the blade away.” Flex tried to stand, then Prescott’s gaze shifted around the room, and he slowly resheathed the blade.

Holy fuck!

“Are you okay?” Prescott asked.

“Me? You’re asking me?” Flex pointed a finger to his chest.

“Yeah, you. Was someone in here?” Prescott was still standing over him as if he...shit.

“Are you protecting me?” Flex raised a brow at the very thought. He had at least forty pounds and a good six inches on Prescott, and let’s not forget he was platypus, which by nature were pretty fucking territorial and protective of their own mates. To have it be reversed on him...wow.

Prescott blew out a breath before he sat down and checked out the seaweed wrap.

“You were.” Flex fucking loved it.

“This looks better, but it needs another wrap.” Prescott avoided the question. Oh, he was about to know who he was mated to.

“Not going to answer me, are you,” Flex teased.

“You think you’ll be able to travel today?” Prescott asked.

“Sure; now, how about that answer.” Flex winked at Prescott who glared at him.

A battle was going on inside Prescott, and Flex was in a front-row seat to see flickers of emotions running over the man’s face too quickly to actually read. After a minute, Prescott blew out a breath.

“Never slept a night without someone to protect.”

Fuck!
“Sounds like a lot of long nights.” Flex couldn’t even fathom what it was like being hunted like that. Sure, they had kept their eye out for attacks, but for the most part, except until recently, Point Loma had been a very serene place to live. Sure, they hid, but neither he nor his other platypuses felt they would be attacked at a moment’s notice.

“It’s all I know, and from the looks of it, going to Mission Territory with my family, it’s all I’ll have in the foreseeable future.” Prescott didn’t seem weighed down by it. In fact, he made it sound like his average day. Hell, it probably was.

“You traveled with the anti-venom before you met up with Kalder and the others?” Flex was pretty sure of the answer but wanted the details.

Prescott nodded. “Yeah, Reese, Leif and Julius are brothers to me.”

It hit Flex all at once.

“You protected them?” Flex said seriously. “You always have.” It wasn’t a question. He knew.

Prescott bit his lip. “They’re my family. I’d do anything for them.”

Flex knew he meant it. The look on Prescott’s face showed that the man would stand in front of any army and die if need be to protect those that he cared for. And last night, Prescott had slept here with him when he had been hurt.

Right then and there, Flex knew he had it all wrong, and instinct was going to have to take a backseat. Prescott was going to stand by his side and protect him with everything he had just like Flex would for Prescott. Flex was going to have to let his mate do this, or he would change the very heart of the man. It would be tough though.

“I’ll be ready to leave in an hour. It’s time you got back to your family.” Flex stood and put weight on his leg. Definitely better. It hurt, but he would make it.

Prescott smiled at him before he moved toward the door. “I’ll go pack and meet you here then.”

Prescott opened the door, and before he could leave, Flex called out, “Prescott.”

Prescott turned, facing him. “Yeah?”

“Thank you...for everything. Staying and guarding me last night.” Flex knew he had a teasing manner, and he made sure that he stared Prescott in the face seriously. He wanted to let Prescott know that what he did for Flex meant something very dear to him.

Prescott nodded before he turned and left. Flex put his hands on his hips. He had to pack light but also for the long term. He wouldn’t be back to Point Loma any time soon. He was going to be moving with his mate and family to Mission Territory.