Far From Home: The Tribal Chief's Mate- a M/M fantasy romance

6- The Rain is Heavy

****** So, if you're reading about a man who was a sex slave as a child, I figure at this point you know there's gonna be yucky stuff. This is the yucky stuff chapter. Not too much detail, and it's actually more his parents' deaths Srin focuses on, rather than his own captivity. If you're ok with triggers and don't want spoilers, skip over the next paragraph & enjoy!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of child rape, sexual slavery, rape and gore and descriptions of gruesome deaths, and suicidal thoughts. Proceed with caution because my mind is a dark place, ya'll.*****

JACOB—

I promised myself I'd give Srin a few hours. A few hours to cool down and calm himself. Then we'd talk. I would explain that I wasn't ashamed of what we'd shared— it had been beautiful and pure and one of the most incredible things I'd ever felt and experienced— but it couldn't happen again. He was too young— no, I was too old— but he would have me at his side while he found someone who could take my place in his heart.

He was clinging to this attachment to me because it was all he knew. I was probably one of the only good men he'd ever known, the only connection he had to his past, his family, so he was clinging to me. He wasn't in love with me. He couldn't be. And it wasn't healthy for him, or for me, to keep appeasing it.

A few hours before sunset, I went out to the stables to track him down. I'd thought he went out there to find comfort in the horses, but he wasn't there.

I returned to the mansion, making my way back to the kitchen, where my tribe mates tended to gather when there was no work to do— like now, as they waited out the rain.

I was met with a stony-faced Dierd'a, who glared me down from beside the fire, along with Joy and Estin— two of Und's, my chef's— mates, Und himself, and over a dozen other men and women who worked in or around Eyatka. Most played games— cards or dice— but some held tea cups to their chests and simply soaked in the warmth of the roaring fire.

"Where is he?" I asked tiredly, and I was met with blank stares or outright hostility.

Estin snorted with amusement, never taking his eyes off the cards in his lap.

"The whore is gone," he said with a sneer. "Good riddance."

I'd never felt such fury as I did in that moment. It was murderous and dark and filled with torturous thoughts. All directed at every single man and woman in that room.

"What if that was your son?" I bit out, rounding on Estin. He looked up at me, startled. "What if your son was taken and raped and beaten and tortured, and by the grace of the gods he survived. He fucking survived, despite all of the odds against him. He lived to be free, and then he came home, managed to escape his captors, and the men he should be able to call family shunned him for the things he was forced to do to survive, to continue breathing? Our children are forced into slavery every day, forced to do horrible things, and then when we manage to get them back, we condemn them for surviving. What if that was your son!?"

By the end of my speech, I was screaming, my chest heaving, sweat trickling down my temple. If my people couldn't accept him, how could I possibly convince him to come home? How could I convince him I was wrong— gods, so wrong, and maybe too late.

No, I wanted to moan. Not too late. Can't be too late.

"We heard you fighting," Dierd'a explained, her words trying to soothe me as my chest heaved and I felt nausea climb up my throat. "So when he came out and left, we assumed you knew. We thought—"

"— We thought you finally came to your senses and made him leave," Und cut in, coming up to stand beside his mates, who watched me with anger and confusion.