Page 12

The sun dipped into view on its downward descent as Aurora peppered Rhaego with questions. He answered them all thoroughly, and she felt his responses were honest, even the ones he didn’t seem too keen to speak aloud.

They reached a lull in the conversation as she digested the surprising news that Tuvastans were apparently the only people on this planet who looked the way he did. She couldn’t decide if it was reasonable or close-minded of her to assume that all Clecanians looked similar the way all humans looked similar. Learning there were some races who appeared almost human while there were others who had functional wings blew her mind.

As an entomologist, Aurora was familiar with taxonomy. Commonly a species was defined as a group of animals able to interbreed and produce fertile offspring. But as she scanned her memory banks, she couldn’t recall a single species of insect with that much physical variability.

Though he’d explained humans were also a part of the Clecanian species, as evidenced by the offspring already produced between a couple living in Tremanta, Aurora wondered whether the child would prove infertile in adulthood like many hybridized animals such as ligers and mules, or if by some miracle, humans and Clecanians truly were compatible. It challenged everything she thought she knew, and the notion was thrilling.

Her attention strayed to Rhaego. What would a child of theirs look like?

Aurora’s gaze caught on his thick horns and strong facial features. In the world of dominant and recessive traits, she couldn’t imagine any of her puny human alleles competing with his. If dominant were an image, this man would be it. Their child would likely be a carbon copy of their father.

He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with her silent examination. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“No apology necessary.” He shook his head and gradually rose from his seat. Was he moving that slowly so he wouldn’t spook her?

When he finally stretched to his full height, he donned a tight smile. “I know humans find my appearance a little…” He peered at the floor, then back at her. “Off-putting. Demonic , if I remember the word correctly.”

Aurora’s lips parted. In all honesty, he did look like a demon, but it made her heart hurt to know he was aware of it.

He must have seen pity scrawled across her face because he stretched his fingers in a nonchalant wave. “I find it interesting. There must be some deep-seated memory of my people instilled in your kind for humans to imagine beings that resemble us so closely.” Carefully avoiding the path between her chair and his love seat, he maneuvered into the walkway behind their seating area. “It’s unfortunate the memory must have been tied to something so distressing to have our likeness represent malevolence.” He ended with what she could only describe as a formal shrug, his shoulders never losing their proper rigidity.

Aurora wanted to melt into a puddle. Though Rhaego was attempting to play it off, she could see the dejection. Who could blame him? She didn’t quite trust him yet, but if he was being truthful, that meant he was risking quite a lot to help her kind, and they’d thanked him by comparing him to an evil, destructive monster.

She wanted to lie and tell him she’d never thought to make the comparison, but that felt condescending. Before she could decide whether to make a joke about how witches were supposed to be in league with demons anyway, so they were a great match, he spoke.

“You haven’t eaten much in the past few days. I think it’s best I make dinner.”

There was a finality in his tone she hadn’t heard before. Like her lack of appetite upset him and he was now determined to feed her. She’d analyze whether that spoke to a controlling or nurturing personality later.

“Would you like me to bring your meal to your room again?” He peered toward the little stream that ran parallel to the sitting area. “Or I could serve it here.”

“So you did make all those meals?” Aurora couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. Though cold and misshapen by the time she’d gathered enough courage to poke her head out from behind her door and snatch whatever morsel she could reach, the food on the trays he’d left for her had looked like they’d been created by a Michelin-star chef.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again in a similar way to Phirdo. “Yes,” he finally answered. It sounded more like a question, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should take credit.

“They were incredible.”

“Thank you.” It might have just been a deep breath expanding his chest, but she thought it looked more like he was inflating at the compliment. A tickle of warmth invaded her mind. “It was one of my favorite subjects in school.”

“I wish cooking class had been an option when I was in school.” Aurora rose from her seat, and he eyed her actions with passive curiosity. “Could I…” She hesitated. Perhaps she shouldn’t hang around the enormous alien. She still wasn’t sure whether to trust him.

There was a nagging voice in her mind reminding her that this could all be a cruel joke. Just a ruse to win her complacency. She’d never regretted being cautious, and there was no harm in retaining a little suspicion for the time being.

On the other hand, cooking was a mainstay of her identity as a kitchen witch and, as much as Rhaego unnerved her, she wanted to see what cooking looked like here, what the ingredients looked like. She especially wanted to see if she could find anything to use for a protection charm.

I can’t allow him to keep cooking for me either. That wouldn’t be fair. This cemented her decision. “Do you mind if I watch?”

“Watch me cook?” The corner of his mouth lifted, and his heavy brows rose in open excitement. “Really?” His deep voice rang through the room, louder than before. He cleared his throat and schooled his features before he spoke again. “I’d be honored for you to join me.”

That eagerness sounded… sincere. Why did the idea of her watching excite him?

“I’ll lead the way.” His grin was tight again, but it no longer resembled a forced smile. It was more like he was straining not to smile more broadly. With another quick head tilt backward, he strode away, and Aurora followed. She studied Rhaego’s broad back as she trailed him to the kitchen from a safe distance. Miles of muscle.

Phirdo had purposefully not shown her the kitchen during their tour, claiming she wouldn’t recognize any of the food anyway so there was no point. She was surprised when Rhaego led her downstairs to the lowest floor. In every house she’d lived in, the kitchen was central—the beating heart of the home where friends gathered and magic was made.

This kitchen was tucked out of the way. Hidden. Like the person cooking meals wasn’t meant to be seen. Even so, she liked the space. It was dim and calm. The windows lining the far wall looked out over one of the small streams that wound through every level of the house.

Unlike the streams on the main floor that sparkled in the daylight and were surrounded with verdant flowering plants, this one was shaded. It bubbled between the edge of the house and the steep cliff walls, where fuzzy ferns grew between damp cracks in the stone.

There was no corner to the kitchen ceiling on the outer wall, but rather the glass of the expansive windows curved to make a rounded corner through which she followed the cliff up all the way until Aurora saw the barest slice of blue sky. Would the sun shine down into this room at any point during the day?

When she glanced back from the window, she found Rhaego watching her silently from the other side of the natural-stone-hewn countertop. His eyes shot away as though he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. He pulled his arms behind him, straightening his back.

“You’ll need a seat.” Speaking more to himself, he scanned the room and frowned. “Wives don’t normally linger in the kitchen. No seats.”

“I can stand. I don’t mind,” she offered, ignoring the zap of electricity that shot down her spine at the vague reference to her position as wife .

“No.” He almost grimaced as he said the word. He ascended the stairs before she could insist.

Rooted in place, she studied the kitchen. The other side of the room was dominated by large cabinets set within the stone walls. No chairs in sight. Wives don’t linger, huh? It was a shame. There was enough space to fit a substantial wooden table where one could listen to the babbling stream outside while sorting herbs.

Perhaps she could sneak down late tonight and raid the cupboards for a few protection-sachet ingredients. It didn’t feel right to scour the kitchen with Rhaego in the room. What would she say if he asked what she was making? She couldn’t very well tell him she wanted to hedge her bets and protect herself in case he meant her harm.

She eyed the cabinets again, and her hope dimmed. What were the chances she’d open the door of an alien pantry and find sage? None.

Rhaego reappeared at the top of the stairs with one of the cushioned chairs she’d spotted in the sun-warmed sitting room. Her lips parted. The chair was massive, large enough to accommodate her giant husband comfortably, but he carried it down the steps as if it weighed nothing. She closed her mouth before he caught her gawking.

He kept the chair held aloft while he turned in a half circle, searching for a good place to set it. Wasn’t he dying under the awkward weight? Eventually he plopped it at the entrance between the two counters. Aurora tried to calm her nerves. She’d be directly in his path as he worked, without the solid counter to divide them.

I could ask him to move it, she thought, nervous prickles racing down her thighs.

He glanced at the chair, then at her when he was finished and waved a hand toward it. “Please sit.” His expression was so earnest that even through her disquiet, a surprising wave of warmth invaded her belly.

Be around the demon who hunted you for more than five minutes before deciding he’s adorable, she reprimanded as she marched forward and sat in the cloud-soft seat.

He gave her another closed-lipped grin when she settled, peering up, up, up at him like a child in a plastic chair. This seat was by no means low to the ground. On the contrary, it was tall enough that her feet didn’t touch the floor. Yet it was still far too low for her to see anything at counter height. She didn’t remark on this, though. It had been a kind gesture on his part, and she’d be an idiot to turn her nose up at those, considering her circumstances. “Thank you very much.”

A hint of fang peeked out of his smile this time, and he quickly hid it.

Aurora remembered what Diana had told her about how it was rude to show teeth when smiling. It was too bad. Now that she’d had the chance to really look at Rhaego, she imagined he had a handsome smile—even with the unsettling fangs.

Turning to the counter, he shrugged out of his tailored jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, exposing his muscular forearms. She swallowed. The strange vest he wore over his loose shirt had slightly elongated shoulder covers and clung tightly to his sturdy torso.

She could admit more than just his smile was attractive. Imagining what all that muscle was capable of still unnerved her, but now that she could sneak glances without feeling threatened…well, she’d always liked large men.

He caught her eye while gathering handfuls of produce from a hidden panel by his knees, and she quickly glanced at the food, pretending she was curious about that and not taking a moment out of her nightmarish week to ogle her fake demon husband.

“Would you like to know what I’m doing, or would you prefer only to watch?” he asked.

“I’d like to know.” She tried to rise, but he held up a massive—clawed—hand.

Dumping the produce onto the counter, he swiped one oblong item that was the shape and color of a fat cucumber but covered in a layer of thick fuzz. He advanced on her, and the air whooshed out of her lungs. She flattened against her seat, adrenaline spiking.

He knelt on one knee before her chair and presented the furry cucumber to her with the same fanfare of a proposing man. After realizing she wasn’t under attack, she let out a relieved breath and tried to relax, but Rhaego had noticed her reaction.

A flash of guilt, or maybe sadness, passed over his features before he blinked, recalibrated, and smiled. “This is a fisquat . I’m going to smash it and extract the seeds. They have a salty flavor that your scan said you’d enjoy, and they’ll pair nicely with the fatty fish I’m making.” The fisquat rolled in his palm when he extended it to her. Did he want her to take it?

She met his steady gaze, and her breath hitched. Close up, she saw just how gorgeous his eyes were. Deep-set, pale gray, and lined with dark lashes and heavy brows.

“Cool,” she breathed in acknowledgment of the fisquat. His grin widened.

For the next twenty minutes, Rhaego showed her each of his ingredients one by one, always stooping down on one knee to present them to her. He took the time to describe why he thought she’d like each of the foods and how he planned to prepare them.

Aurora couldn’t help the squirm of heat in her chest. He was being so sweet. So patient.

“What is my scan?” she asked. He’d mentioned it a few times now.

Rhaego focused on her. “Your food-and-scent-preferences scan.” When Aurora looked at him blankly, he faced her fully. “The test that sprays scents and shows images of foods, then scans your brain’s reaction and estimates which types of ingredients you might most like.”

Snakes coiled in her belly. “I don’t remember that.” She didn’t remember so much of her time before the chase. The days were a blur. Had she even been awake for that? Or had it been done while she’d still been unconscious? Bile rose in her throat. Around the same time they’d dressed her body in new clothes?

A shadow crossed over his features, and she spotted the faintest hint of red light his eyes before he turned his face away and placed both fists on the counter. Aurora tensed. Was that the recognition thing he’d talked about? He’d discussed matehood with such awe. Like it was sacred. But this felt like anger.

His nostrils flared, and he glared down at an electronic screen. “They must have done it while you were asleep.” His words were low, but when he looked back at her, the red was gone. “If you don’t like anything, please tell me.”

Was he mad for her?

“How much did they explain to you?” He kept his eyes trained on his work, but a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Not much,” she murmured. “They told me whoever caught me would be my husband. They said if I made it to the river, I wouldn’t have to get married.” She dipped her head. “They may have said some other things, but…I had a hard time listening when they first woke me and…I now know crying is rude here. I couldn’t seem to stop at first.” A low growl had her head shooting up.

“I’m sorry,” Rhaego rasped, his deep voice like tumbling stones as he tried to smother the growl. “It’s unacceptable. I knew King Yaskan was unsympathetic, but I didn’t think him capable of such cold-bloodedness.” He waved his knife skyward in agitation. “And to treat a female so? How could he believe such actions would win him favor with the Goddess?”

Goddess?

Aurora was a spiritual person. She believed in the interconnectedness of things and that the exchange of energy was vaster and more mysterious than anyone yet knew. But like her nan, she’d always placed her belief in nature rather than deities. Still, Rhaego’s reverence to his Goddess intrigued her.

“Do you think it’s possible the husbands of the other humans feel this way, too?” Aurora had tried not to think about Diana and Maggie. Dread rose in her throat whenever her mind drifted to them. “Do you think they’re being treated well?”

Rhaego paused while wiping his hands on a navy cloth. “Of course.” He held his eyes closed for a long moment, as though berating himself. “I forget how little you know.”

Tossing the cloth aside, he leaned against the counter at his back. “Even before the plague ravaged our world, females were always cherished. This hasn’t changed, though I can see it appears different to your eyes. Wives are doted on in marriage. When I mentioned enjoying cooking in school, I was referring to our secondary schooling—husbandry school. We attend courses to learn how to care for wives in all ways so that the Goddess, by way of the female’s approval, will bless us with children and allow our species to continue.

“When a Tuvastan male takes a wife, they work to prove themselves fit. Husbands will spend their days showering their wives with compliments, gifts, foods, and ensuring they are sufficiently…” Fuchsia tinged his cheeks as he rumbled, “pleasured.”

His blushing distracted her so much that it took a moment for her to comprehend his words. When she did, heat rose on her cheeks as well.

“But…” What he said didn’t compute. “How does hunting a scared woman through the forest fit in to that?”

Rhaego flinched. He shook his head, his thick dark curls brushing over his broad shoulders. “It may feel counterintuitive, but all Tuvastans enjoy it. It allows us to loosen the reins on our fever.” He stepped toward her and knelt again. “But you were not properly prepared. Our king was impatient, and that is unforgivable.”

A red glow burned beneath his pale irises, and she forced herself not to shrink away.

“The medics who treated you should be dismissed for their incompetent care, and whoever was assigned to ease you into our city’s customs…” He seemed to weigh his words while returning to absently prepare the meal. “I wouldn’t mind hunting them down in the forest as well.”

Aurora enjoyed the threat a little too much. The protective cut to his words as he spoke about the people who’d been so cruel to her nearly made her want to sigh.

She tucked her legs under her, curiosity burning brighter. “Is it rude to ask about fever?”

He punctured a round pink fruit using one sharp claw and squeezed until it was no more than pulp in his powerful hand. “Don’t worry about rudeness with me, Aurora. You may ask me anything you wish.”

A shiver ran down her spine at the way he rumbled her name. Like it had every time he’d said her name. “What is it, exactly? Fever?”

He stopped mid-chop and studied her. “That wasn’t explained either?”

Feeling a little braver, she rose from her chair and stood across the counter from him, curious to see how he was preparing the food. “At first I thought it was slang for being angry or annoyed. But now I think it may mean something else.”

Rhaego’s hand squeezed and un-squeezed the handle of his knife which, to her amazement, had a laser in place of a metal blade. A knife that never dulled. Nifty.

When Rhaego didn’t move, she glanced up and found him staring at her again, a faint red in his eyes. He sucked in a breath and averted his gaze, then returned to chopping. “ Fever is what we call the spike of chemicals and hormones our body creates when we experience certain emotions. It heightens those emotions and makes us behave…inappropriately. If we don’t control it, that is.”

“So, it’s an actual reaction in your body? Interesting.” She shouldn’t have been surprised. Physiological hormonal responses were normal throughout the animal kingdom. Lepidoptera had ecdysteroid signaling that triggered all kinds of things, including metamorphosis. She rested her forearms on the counter and leaned against it. “Why do you call it fever ?”

His eyes strayed to the lace hem of her neckline where her cleavage was now on display, and she quickly straightened again, her skin heating.

“It feels…” Glowing red eyes trailed up from where they’d been affixed and held her stare. “ Hot .”

Aurora’s belly squirmed.

Seeming to shake himself, Rhaego forced his attention down and chopped so quickly, the blue light from the laser blade was a blur. “Like a fever,” he added. “The warmth rises in us as the chemicals spike. It makes us hot.”

As casually as she could, Aurora retreated to her chair. Was their kind of fever contagious? Because she was feeling flushed herself. He pressed his palm on the counter to the right, and the sound of grinding stone hit her ears. Fish fillet gripped between two claws, he dropped it onto the counter where he’d placed his palm, and to her surprise, it sizzled.

“You can see fever in a Tuvastan’s eyes.”

Aurora stilled. Was it fever and not recognition that changed his eyes? “The red?”

He nodded while seasoning the fish. And she let out a relieved sigh. The sound had him turning toward her, brows raised.

“Sorry—I thought…” She stopped herself. It felt rude to admit how relieved she was, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. It kind of felt like she was saying, Thank God we’re not meant to be together . “I just hadn’t realized that’s what that was. The chase makes more sense now.”

“We train our whole lives to rule our fever. Being wholly in control is a source of pride for many. But when we put ourselves into situations that spike emotion, like fights or the marriage chase, you can only restrain it for so long.” She listened intently as he worked, enjoying the sound of his deep voice. “It’s a vestigial reaction passed down from our primal ancestors who harnessed their fevers to fight and reproduce.”

Aurora thought about the mannerisms she’d been told were rude, and puzzle pieces started falling into place. They were all related to openly expressing emotion. Showing your teeth was a sign of aggression for many animals back on Earth. Crying was obviously a show of extreme emotion. A thought struck her. “What does pushing your horns mean?”

Rhaego began plating his divine-smelling creation, bending at the hips and using a pair of tweezers to meticulously place something she couldn’t see from her low angle on the food. Butterflies flapped around her belly as she watched him put such care and intention into her meal.

His brows scrunched in mild confusion. Then he stiffened and narrowed his eyes at her. “Did Phirdo say that to you?” He let out a clipped growl when she nodded, then refocused on his work. “My people are infatuated with manners and intolerant of anyone who doesn’t intrinsically know our rules. It’s an exhausting way of life, and you’ve been unlucky enough to be met by the most bigoted among us.”

Aurora shrugged. “You’re not so bad,” she joked.

He did a double take, and when he caught sight of her smile, another bloom of fuchsia colored his cheeks. “I’m glad to hear it,” he rasped. With a clearing shake of his head, he explained, “Lowering your horns toward someone is combative, since ramming horns is one of the ways we fight. If you tell them to stop pushing horns, you’re addressing the rude gesture.”

Aurora nodded, understanding dawning. She traced the curve of his horns with her eyes, starting from the slight bulge where they sprouted near his temples, then along every ridge as they spiraled once, ending in sharp points. They were deep red, like his skin. “Is that why everyone tips their head back when they greet each other?”

Rhaego straightened and passed a critical eye over his creation before glancing at her. “Indeed. To tip your horns away and expose your throat is polite. I believe shaking hands is an equivalent custom for some of you humans. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

She bit her lips to keep her teeth from showing when she smiled. Though she wanted to douse herself with a healthy serving of suspicion, she found her worries relaxing further and further into the recesses of her mind. This man felt trustworthy.

He pressed a few buttons on a control panel she hadn’t seen before and stilled when two glass pieces of the light fixture floated down from the ceiling and hovered over each of their plates.

“Where would you like me to bring your food?”

Aurora glanced upward, scanning the ceiling as she tried to recall the layout of the house. “Um, I don’t have a preference. Where do you want to eat?”

His head canted to the side. “You’d like to eat with me?” His confusion almost made her feel embarrassed. She’d just assumed they’d eat together since they were alone in the house, eating the same meal at the same time.

“Oh, sorry,” she backtracked. “We don’t have to.”

“No.” He hadn’t yelled, but his voice rang loudly enough to make her ears buzz. A moment of silence passed before he spoke in a softer tone. “I’d like us to share a meal.” A curl of dark hair fell across his horn as he glanced at the floor, then lifted his eyes to meet hers. Was he nervous? “How about you settle yourself on the terrace and I’ll gather the food and join you?” He raised a palm toward the stairway that led to the main floor.

She eyed him but couldn’t decide whether he was feigning excitement to be polite or actually wanted to eat with her. “Can I help carry anything?” she offered.

“That isn’t necessary,” he nearly scoffed, as if it would be insulting for her to lift a finger.

Aurora wanted to argue but instead silently wandered up the stairs, muddling through all she’d learned while trying to recall where the terrace was. After one wrong door led to a closet, she found it and settled into a chair at the small table.

The terrace had a domed stone roof and columns running along the circular edge. Velvety vines sprouting purple flowers climbed up the side of the terrace and wrapped around the columns. The early-evening breeze was warm. Now that the sun had nearly set, the sky was fading from cornflower blue to a duskier shade. Streaks of violet and pink clouds hung near the mountain peaks in the distance.

In any other circumstance, this place would be heavenly.

If Rhaego managed to get her out, where would he take her? She shut her eyes and soaked in the dying rays of sunset, hoping that wherever she ended up was half as beautiful as Tuva.