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Focus. Rhaego cursed his own reactions as he gathered Aurora’s dinner.

He hadn’t anticipated the moments of ease he’d feel in a situation so wrought with tension. The circumstances in which he found himself were daunting. The weight of them made his lungs constrict, but she had a way of making his mind go fuzzy around the edges when she peered at him with her sweet blue eyes.

Even now, he should be isolating and devising contingency strategies, yet only one pitiful thought lingered in his mind: She wants to spend time with me. It was a sappy notion that suffused him with unwelcomed giddiness, but he couldn’t shake it.

Rhaego poured tury into two pale green handblown glasses and balanced them on the tray already piled with food. Who could think of blood-filled escape plans while attempting to craft a meal which would impress his timid human?

He could tell himself he’d bought her expensive gifts and tirelessly cooked her meals as a silent apology for all she’d been through at the hands of his kind. But in reality, he wanted to pay court to her and knew he didn’t deserve the privilege. Not yet anyway.

When he got her and Diana safely away and fulfilled the task set for him by the Goddess, he could shift his focus to winning Aurora over. If she’d already witnessed his competence as a husband, perhaps she’d be open to the idea. It was a step closer.

Memories of her flinching away whenever he drew near taunted him. A twinge of despair made his shoulders droop.

She may never want me after what I’ve put her through.

The thought liquefied like bile in his mind. Sour and stinging. He donned his jacket, straightened the knots, and scooped up the tray. Was she only being kind out of fear? The way he was polite and acquiescent to his king in order to avoid hostility?

His steps were quick as he stalked through the house, following her divine scent trail. Before ascending the four steps that led to the terrace, he inhaled a deep breath. The oxygen energized his nerves rather than calmed them. They crackled beneath his skin, intensity building the closer to her he drew.

Halfway through the arched entry to the terrace and his steps failed. Skin lit in soft shades of the fading sunset, Aurora sat staring into the distance. A light breeze ruffled her cascading fluffy hair. It must have tickled her since she swept the locks over her shoulder, displaying the soft column of her neck.

Move, you oaf. Rhaego dragged his gaze away before she caught him gawking. He set his tray on the parapet walls of the terrace and brought over the wide-mouthed flutes of tury. It wasn’t a common beverage in Tuva, but his human friends loved the drink, and he hoped Aurora would as well.

His heart thrummed as he set a plate before her. Would she like it? He’d made it as beautiful as he could, arranging the dish with small creamy yellow dollops of sauce, colorful edible petals, and chilled spiraled green rampine . The flaky white gwelding topped with black fisquat seeds was perched in the center.

Her stomach gave a roar. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? A spark of confidence lit in his chest.

“This is…” she began. He held his breath as he waited for her to finish. “Beautiful.”

He swelled. “I’m glad you like it.” An understatement, by any standard.

Rhaego pulled out his seat and settled across from her, but when he noticed the way his breadth blocked the light from kissing her skin, he shuffled his chair to the side.

She watched his movements but didn’t comment on them. As she twirled her glass, it caught the light and reflected scattered fractals across her skin. Though her view of the Tuvan fjords was no doubt stunning, he decidedly had the better view.

She lifted her glass and took a small sip. “Alcohol?”

“Yes.” Concern had him rising from his chair. “Do you not imbibe? I can get you something else.”

“No. No”—she smiled—“it’s delicious. I don’t drink much, so I was just checking.”

He locked the information away and tried to let the failure roll off his horns. “Of course.”

She peered around the side of her plate as though looking for something that was missing. Her gaze returned to the food on her plate longingly. The corner of Rhaego’s mouth quirked when he understood the issue. She lifted her hand, intent clear.

Before she used her bare fingers to pick up her fish, he stopped her. Silently, he snagged her eating glove, which she’d mistakenly bundled on her lap, and handed it to her. He then put on his own glove and scooped up a morsel of fish.

Pink rose to her cheeks. The color charmed him into silent stupidity, though he knew he should assure her she had nothing to be embarrassed about.

Aurora copied his actions and picked up a spiraled rampine. She glanced at him nervously before closing her eyes and taking a bite. The moan she released sent a sudden rush of fevered blood to his shaft, making him swell against his stays. He swallowed and forced himself not to adjust his trousers.

She opened her eyes, a shimmer of happiness in them, but when she caught sight of the fever he knew had colored his gaze, she stilled. Whatever she’d been about to say died on her lips.

He tried not to let her disquiet at the sight of his fever bother him. She didn’t look or smell as fearful as before. Perhaps in time, evidence of it wouldn’t phase her.

She returned to her food as Rhaego silently battled to shove his fever back into its cage. It was both a gift and a punishment that she made no more sounds of pleasure as she ate her meal.

They dined in awkward silence, though he pulsed with questions he was bursting to ask. He yearned to know everything about her but dreaded what he might learn. If the quality of her character was even a fraction as beguiling as her appearance, he feared he’d be rendered mindless and simpering. It was a state he couldn’t afford at the moment.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked while struggling to hold on to a portion of flaky fish.

“We need to establish contact at the luncheon.”

“Luncheon. Phirdo mentioned that too. What is it?”

“Near the end of each week, wives attend a private meal with each other while their husbands see to household chores in town. I need you to find out everything you can about Diana’s denstead. How far her carriage traveled, what the surroundings look like, whether there are any identifying landmarks. You’ll need to be covert when you speak to her, though, so you aren’t overheard by the other wives,” he explained.

Her lips pursed nervously. “Couldn’t we meet up with them somewhere else in town?”

“Marriage is traditionally a time of bonding. When Phirdo brings us to Tuva, a cleric will bind us together with ribbon their order is known for weaving. It is unbreakable and can only be removed by a cleric. The same will happen to all married couples. The luncheon is the only time it is removed.”

“Like handfasting?” A broad, shimmering smile spread over Aurora’s face. He had to work to recall how to chew. His mind was so taken that he missed the translation past the buzzing in his ears. “That’s so cool. I mean, except for it making our job difficult. We have a similar practice on Earth.” She made little sounds as she ruminated on Tuvastan binding while eating her gwelding.

He wished he knew which of her thoughts caused each and every murmur.

“Do you know how that practice got started?”

Rhaego thought. He’d never questioned the why of binding, merely accepting it as tradition. “I don’t,” he admitted. “But I suppose it could have started for reasons similar to the settling of densteads. When females began to die off and males started battling for brides many laws were put in place to curb such behavior. It would be more difficult for a male to steal a bride for himself if she were attached to another after all. Unless they removed his arm.”

Aurora’s hand stopped halfway to her mouth and her nose scrunched. “How…innovative.”

He silently cursed. Why mention such violence so soon after she’d finally left her room? “Perhaps there was another reason.”

With a shrug, she returned to her fish. “Am I supposed to ask Diana and Maggie if they want to leave? You said you didn’t want to assume again.”

There it was again. Mention of the third human, Maggie. He hadn’t yet found the heart to tell her Maggie would likely be left behind. He’d come for Diana. That he was bringing Aurora along was only a result of his poor control during the chase. But to risk it all for a third?

“Diana must leave regardless,” he said, carefully avoiding the topic of Maggie.

“Why regardless? You’ll give Maggie and me the choice but not her?” She raised a brow. “Not that she’ll want to stay, but still.”

“She’s mated,” he explained, his voice dropping a respectful octave. “It’s crucial she be reunited with her mate before he…before he grows ill.”

“What?” She fell back against her chair, jaw slack. “She didn’t say anything about that. Why would your city force her to get married if they know she has a mate? I thought that was sacred.”

Rhaego shook his head. “My city doesn’t know, and neither does she. Her mate, Marsol, recognized her while she was in cryosleep. He was working for us as a spy in the Queen’s employ when it happened. She found out and punished him by sending Diana away.” His appetite wavered at the reminder of the situation. “Since I’m the only Tuvastan among our band, I hastened here as soon as we realized this was where she’d been sent. I’d planned to marry her and bring her back to Marsol as soon as I was able, but…” A fist squeezed his gut. He took a sip of his tury. “But I ended up catching you instead.”

Her eyes moved back and forth over the table as she worked through his words. Soon, she’d arrive at the question he was still too humiliated to answer.

If he’d meant to catch Diana, then why had he caught her ?

He spoke again before she could ask, explaining the delicate situation surrounding Marsol and Diana. She seemed to understand why Marsol was nervous and unwilling to reveal what the Queen had done before Diana was safely with him.

“Is he ill now?”

Warmth rippled through Rhaego’s veins at the concern he saw in the sweet human’s expression. “Not to fret. It is temporary and will subside when he and Diana are reunited.”

“But…” She licked her lips, eyes distant as she worked through something. “But what if Diana doesn’t want to be with Marsol? Will she die?”

“Humans don’t feel the bond in the same way we do, and we’ve yet to learn how much, if any, mating instinct remains in your DNA. Diana won’t grow ill or die, though. We know that much.” He breathed deeply. “As for whether she wants to be with Marsol, that’s up to her. Mate deprivation symptoms are caused by the separation . She need only visit him occasionally to keep him healthy. He will pine for her,” Rhaego admitted, “but we won’t force any human to give herself to anyone, even their mate.”

This answer seemed to appease her since she let out a slow breath, nodded, and took a sip of her tury.

Though he’d spoken the truth, Rhaego’s belief was that the Goddess made no errors when choosing mates. He was sure Diana would want Marsol after meeting him even if she didn’t think she would. There was little evidence yet, but Rhaego believed humans still felt the bond somewhere deep down. But that was all soft-horned thinking, so he kept it to himself.

“Is there anything else I need to say to Maggie and Diana when I see them?”

“I’d like to know about their daily movements. Are they spending time with their husbands or avoiding them? Where are their rooms within their dens? Do they venture into their forests, or do they prefer to remain inside? From there, I can start narrowing down possible extraction points. I think stealing Phirdo’s carriage may be our best chance of reaching Diana quietly. I’m waiting for our tech expert to tell me if it’s possible to override a carriage’s print controls, though.” Rhaego’s brows lifted. “This needs careful planning. I’m the only Tuvastan in our band, and Tuva isn’t kind to strangers, as you are well aware. I’ll be banished regardless, but if I fail, Diana will be out of reach entirely.”

The overhead lighting glowed brighter as the last rays of sunlight vanished behind the mountains.

“I see,” she breathed, her widened eyes the only sign his words had affected her.

His thoughts strayed to his mother, and a deep sense of hopelessness settled over him. Rhaego had tried to ease into the conversation of leaving the last time they’d spoken, but she’d been flaring, and it’d been difficult to follow her words.

He would try again during the luncheon when he had the time. It hurt his soul to think of leaving her behind, but he had to acknowledge the likelihood of it. His mother hadn’t left Tuva in over sixty years. Not even on a day’s outing. As much as he hoped she’d agree to meet him at the extraction point, he worried her mind wasn’t fit enough for it.

Rhaego froze when Aurora’s soft palm rested on his forearm. All thought fled.

“Thank you for helping us. Now and before.” Her head dipped until she managed to wrench his gaze from her hand where it was riveted. Blonde brows crinkling, she spoke as if urging him to feel her gratitude. “Thank you.” Her blunt white teeth flashed into view as she smiled. “You don’t understand how—oh.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth and her forehead furrowed in worry. “I’m not supposed to show teeth. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend.”

Without thinking, Rhaego wrapped his palm around her delicate wrist and pulled her hand away from her face. Her eyes widened. “I crave your natural smile. Your teeth are far too pretty to ever offend me.”

A lovely blush, deeper than the embarrassed one before, colored her cheeks. “Oh. Th-thank you.” She glanced away before peering up at him through pale lashes.

His purr rumbled to life at the sweetness of this female. Still within his grasp, her wrist twitched in response. Rhaego commanded his hand to let her go, commanded his purr to quiet. But his body refused to comply. His fever ached to ease her into his touch. Perhaps if he held on just a little longer, she’d relax.

Only a faint trace of her fear hit his nose as her blue eyes studied his reddened ones. Would the scent build if he didn’t release her?

No breath lifted her chest. But she didn’t attempt to pull her hand away either. Even after he brushed the pad of his thumb over the silky skin of her inner wrist.

She twitched again, gaze lowering to his hand. “That sound…”

“My purr?” he supplied. His voice nearly rattled with it.

“It tickles,” she breathed.

Rhaego chuckled, and her eyes shot back to meet his. He knew she could see the fever in his gaze. Rhaego inhaled her scent, allowing the glow to pulse brighter. Over time, exposure to his primal side would tenderize her fear.

Wait.

His thumb stilled. He was letting his fever get the better of him again. She had only tried to be kind, and her lack of struggle right now could mean any number of things. There was still a hint of fear perfuming the air. He couldn’t be sure she wasn’t acting out of self-preservation. Rhaego wanted her to want his touch, not bitterly accept it because she thought she had no choice.

“Apologies.” He forced his purr to quiet and his fever to ebb, then he released her wrist and sat back in his chair.

She turned to her plate as though unsure what to say. From the corner of his eye, he spotted her reaching for her wrist with her other hand. Spine growing stiff, he waited for her to start scratching the skin the way she had after he’d touched her hand. He relaxed when she only brushed her fingertips over her pulse absently.

***

Aurora’s insides were riotous. He purrs? Why was that so intriguing?

“Shall I walk you to your room?” he asked when her plate was clear.

Blinking, she took stock of herself. Rhaego sat upright, a formal gentleman, while she slouched like a bored teenager, lids hovering at half-mast as the warm evening breeze lulled her.

If she had any inclination as to how to find her room again, she would have turned him down, not wanting to inconvenience him. But after five nights of shitty sleep, she was exhausted, and the house was a grand maze of comfortable sitting rooms, bubbling waterways and windows, so she nodded.

Dragging herself out of her chair, she reached for her plate. He stopped her. “I’ll clean those after.”

She wanted to argue, but fatigue weighed her tongue down. Tomorrow she’d press the issue and start pulling her weight. Tomorrow.

They meandered quietly through the home. Rhaego walked alongside her rather than in front of her, and Aurora tried not to let all her awareness fixate on how utterly enormous he was. Gaze drifting to their narrowly separated arms, she judged her elbow to be in line with his wrist.

Stop staring.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how tired I was,” she said as she dutifully examined the tapestries lining the walls of the house. “I’m a brat when I don’t get enough sleep.”

“I very much doubt that.” He had to tuck his chin to look down at her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Got any chamomile tea?” She laughed. Belatedly, she realized her teeth were showing, and his earlier compliment echoed through her mind, sending a sizzle of electricity up her spine. The ridiculous hope that he might compliment her pretty teeth again welled inside her.

She tried not to be too disappointed when he didn’t.

Delerium must’ve been setting in because not only did she miss the compliment, but she also itched to re-experience his deep shiver-inducing chuckle while his clawed thumb traced over her skin, feather-soft.

But all of that was insane. Wasn’t it? The sky wasn’t even black yet. Just three days ago, she’d been bowel-curdlingly terrified of this man. How had one dinner left her begging to hear him purr again?

The hallway they strolled down looked familiar, and she spotted her door at the end of it. Anticipation made her alert, but she tried to quell the feeling. He was showing her where her room was. That was all. This wasn’t a date. He was here for a job, and by his own account, he’d freed plenty of women before. She wasn’t special. She was just another mission.

For all Aurora knew, he was already in a relationship. Or several. He was handsome enough, and his self-appointed savior schtick would make most women melt—not to mention the to-die-for cooking.

Though she couldn’t quite make herself believe Rhaego was a secret lothario, the truth was she knew so little about him, it’d be idiotic not to consider the possibility. She tried to keep that in the forefront of her mind as he leaned in close, his chest nearly brushing against her nose as he opened her door for her.

Freya help her, he smelled good. She’d noticed earlier while he’d been cooking, but she’d assumed the divine aroma was wafting from some out of sight baked good. Heat poured off his big body at this proximity, enhancing his smell—sweet and spicy and arboreal. The notes were familiar, but she couldn’t place them.

“What is chamomile?” he rumbled, sending shivers across her scalp. “I know how to make many relaxing brews, but I’m not sure which would be most similar.”

Why was his offer to fetch her tea so damn attractive? “Many, huh?” she smiled. “Did you learn that in husbandry school, too?”

Rhaego’s brows lifted. “Absolutely,” he agreed, tone serious. “Sleep is critical. There are courses devoted to learning how to aid a female’s sleep.”

Aurora entered her room and turned to face him. He remained in the hall, lingering, like a vampire needing an invitation. “You’ve cooked enough for me already.” She lingered as well, trying to think of how to keep the conversation going, as she was not quite ready for the night to end. “What do they recommend apart from tea? A noise machine? A heating pad? Do you have a secret repertoire of lullabies ready to go?”

Any casualness that existed in his formal stance dissipated, and he stilled. “Well…”

She’d been going for flirty and playful with her questions, but apparently that hadn’t translated. Had she been rude again? Was it inappropriate to ask about what he’d learned in school?

“Tuvastan wives expect to be relaxed into sleep through manual means. Any release of tension is ideal.” Aurora must have looked confused, because he swallowed and elaborated. “Many prefer to be massaged or…pleasured.” Fuchsia appeared on his cheeks and spread to his horns.

Her brain blinked out and all she could do was stare as red pulsed to life in his eyes. Thoughts scrambling to right themselves, she distantly understood three things. One, he’d been taught how to… relax a woman into sleep. Two, she was titillated by that knowledge. And three, the red in his eyes meant his fever was rising. Did that mean the thought of helping her sleep intrigued him too?

Aurora could only sputter out a limp “Oh.”

“Deralja is also commonly used,” he sped on, as though the words would erase the devastating image he’d just implanted in her mind.

Her voice rasped when she finally got her throat working again. “What’s that?”

“A drug we smoke. We use it to help pacify our fevers. In larger doses, it has a calming effect that can aid sleep. Would you like me to bring you some?”

Aurora’s mind strayed to an odd device she’d spotted in the sitting room earlier that day. It was gold and bejeweled, like a multi-spouted pot. At the time, she’d had more important things to worry about, but she remembered being confused when a tendril of smoke had come out of one end.

Did that mean he needed help controlling his fever? Or was it something people did casually here? Was it rude to ask? “No,” she answered at length. “Thank you, though.”

In truth, she’d very much like to try all the things he’d mentioned. Tea, a few puffs of indica, a massage, and an orgasm induced by this colossal gentleman demon sounded like the type of bedtime story dreams were made of.

“Very well. Just call out if you need anything at all.” He extended his hand, palm up, and glanced pointedly at her left hand. “May I?”

Was he going to kiss it good night? She wished he wouldn’t. Her less reasonable side might swoon at something so charming. Lifting her hand, she tried not to hold her breath.

Rather than lean down for a kiss, he brushed his thumb along the edge of one angry red scratch. A rubber band snapped inside her, and she snatched her hand away, hiding it behind her back. Though she shouldn’t have been embarrassed under the circumstances, she was.

“Its… I’m fine,” she muttered. “It happens sometimes.”

Her scratching was a nervous habit, one she’d left behind in middle school. Mostly. A few moments of horrible stress throughout her life had brought the habit back, but those instances were few and far between.

At Rhaego’s concerned look, she added, “Not often anymore. It started when we began practicing public speaking in middle school. I wasn’t the most popular, and I got really nervous.”

“I was scolded for adjusting my claws in school.” He brandished and retracted his claws to show her what he meant. “I was not very popular either.”

A little of her embarrassment faded, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling.

“Did you also have a bully?” she asked, leaning against her doorframe. “Mine was a pig-nosed string bean named Freddy. He told everyone I had fleas because I scratched.”

She and her grandmother had finally worked out a way to help her stop the absent-minded habit. To build her confidence, she’d practiced her presentations in front of willing customers in her nan’s tincture shop. Then, every presentation day, she’d wear gloves and whenever she felt her anxiety spiking, she’d sit on her hands or hold her spell jar necklace until the urge to scratch passed.

Unfortunately, her gloves and rumors that her grandmother was a witch had changed the topic of teasing. She’d become Aurora the Magnificent , and everywhere she went they’d snicker and ask her to pull a rabbit out of her butt.

“I did have a few bullies,” Rhaego said, nodding, but there was a tightness to his eyes like he was underplaying it.

“Kids.” She shrugged and smiled. “More like demons than you could ever be.”

Aurora hoped the joke would reassure him she didn’t find him demonic, but what if it offended him? Her shoulders relaxed when a smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

“Anyway…” She peered down at her hand, examining the scratch marks. “The impulse comes back sometimes when life gets particularly difficult.” The image of her small spell jar sitting on her jewelry box made her heart give a painful lurch.

She could still remember filling the jar with her nan’s help. Citrine for protection and confidence, a little soil from under their lavender bush along with the dried lavender itself. They’d loaded the jar with a few other ingredients and Aurora’s privately scribbled intention, then sealed the glass with blue candle wax. She’d worn it to school every day, squeezing it when she’d needed strength.

She wished she had it now, her eyes stinging. It was sitting in a room she’d likely never see again.

The sound of his voice drifted through her wandering thoughts, but she’d missed what he’d said. “What?” She glanced up and saw he was holding some kind of device.

“Would you like me to heal them?” Rhaego’s voice was quiet and warm, without a note of criticism to be found.

Aurora eyed the device. Could the little machine do the same thing as that awful tube? Tentatively, she placed her hand in his. “Will it hurt?”

“Not at all,” he rumbled.

He hovered the device over her scratches. A blue light lit her skin for a moment before green foam squirted onto her hand with surprising precision, only landing on the red centers of her scrapes. The foam bubbled and fizzed. When it stopped, Rhaego produced a cloth from his pocket and wiped it away. The only evidence of her scratching were light pink lines on her skin where the marks had been.

She lifted her hand, turning it over in front of her face. The technology here was a different kind of magic. “Wow.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

Rhaego nodded briefly, but she now noted that his horns never dipped too far forward when he did that. She’d thought of the nod as stilted and perfunctory before when other Tuvastans had done it, but she now realized it was clipped so as not to push horns like he’d explained.

“And again, thank you for what you’re doing for us,” Aurora breathed. “I know Diana and Maggie will be so grateful and so relived.”

“It’s my duty.” His jaw worked as if he wanted to say something but also didn’t. Finally he murmured, “I hope you sleep well, Aurora. Call out if you need anything. I’ll hear you.”

He tipped his head back, exposing his strong throat for a long second, then marched away into the depths of the house.

Aurora waited until he was out of sight to slip into her room. She leaned against the door, letting her head fall onto the wood with a thump, and sighed.

I’ll hear you.

She didn’t feel the same sense of dread at hearing those words as she had the last time he’d said them.