Page 9

My attention dips to the frilly outfit, my cheeks heating with more than the residual heat from the shower.

I’ve never worn anything this… pretty before.

Despite the way the lacy parts make my chest and waist itch, it hugs my body well, my wide hips flaring with the bouncy top as I do a little spin.

My ass looks great too. Lifting my chin and giving myself a little nod in the mirror, I fumble for only a few seconds, trying to get the door open before the chilled air of the bedroom hits me.

The smell of Fafnir and… no fucking way!

Pizza.

He has a food replicator!

I all but float dreamily toward the smell, my mind locked on a one-way track until I see the male chopping something besides a sizzling pan.

His broad back tenses as I enter the room, his head tilting over his shoulder only slightly.

“If this… PissA is not of your liking, I can get you something else.”

Not pizza , piss, then a long A.

My lips quirk.

“I love pizza . Thank you, Fafnir. I can’t believe you have a food replicator! Mom had always saved for one back home, but something always came up.”

He glances at the large device, looking sorely out of place in the cozy warmth of his home. “I was worried the food here would not be of your liking. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

“You got it for me?” Holy hell, those are expensive, but then again, he did just pay a ton of money for me , so I guess that makes sense.

He grunts.

When I get beside him, taking the plate off the warmer, I give him a bright smile. My mouth is already watering. He’d replicated pepperoni pizza, my favorite. “That means a lot, thank you.”

His eyes widen a fraction. The sound of groaning metal makes my head snap down.

The handle of the pan he’s holding is now twisted and bent.

He’s cooking some kind of meat and greens in a smoky lard, but it pops.

I squeal, shoving away just in time to miss being doused in hot oil, but Fafnir’s large hands get coated.

He doesn’t flinch, simply regards what he’s done with an even bigger scowl.

I all but toss the forgotten pizza to the counter. “Fafnir!” It comes out as a scold and not the concern it's meant to be, as my suddenly shaky hands grab a nearby rag and using it as a pot holder to move the pan away from the heat. He grabs for it, but I swat him away.

Swiveling toward the sink, I flick on the cold water before gripping his wrist and hauling him toward it.

His skin hot and slippery from the oil. I know logically I can't haul the giant male anywhere, but he comes all the same. His hooves are quieter here than they were at the station as I guide his hands underneath the stream. I’m fussing over the red, angry state of his tanned flesh when he finally speaks. “Lenora, I am fine. We heal quickly.”

“Oil burns are serious!” My heart is racing, something is churning in my gut. Like dread, but not the kind from earlier today. Discomfort .

Worry.

Suddenly, my small hands drifting over his large, rough ones in soft, assessing passes is too much. My attention snaps back to the stove instead, tutting as I rush to it, flipping the strange-looking meat onto a waiting plate although it looks like it was well on its way to burnt before I got here.

The sound of the water cutting off has me whirling again, my finger pointed at his chest. “Twenty minutes, or at least until the pain stops or they’ll blister.”

“Female, I am fine. I do not need you fretting over me like a kit.” He growls.

You don’t need me—

Breathe .

In and out.

Oh, fuck it.

My hands meet my hips, and I glare up at him. “Then perhaps you should avoid burning yourself like one.”

He makes a huffing sound deep in his chest, his glare deepening with mine, but his eyes flame with a different kind of heat. “It was your fault.”

I sputter. “My fault!? How could you snapping a pan like a horned tanned version of Hulk possibly be my fault!?”

“You were distracting .”

My lips fall open, the anger rushing out of me as his eyes make another lazy path down my body.

“ Oh .”

He sighs, heading toward the stove, leaving me there deflated and… squirmy.

He finds me distracting.

Don’t smile. Don’t smile. Don’t smile.

When my brain catches up, I rush to him to help, a tiny yelp leaving my throat when the man simply grips my waist, depositing me on the counter and out of his way instead, scowling at my bare feet. I bite my lip to hide the wince from my bruised tailbone.

“Do humans not wear foot coverings indoors?”

Foot coverings?

“You mean shoes?”

He grunts.

My mind flips to the odd-looking pair he’d left for me in the bathroom. They looked like work boots but were made from thick reinforced hide. “Uh, some maybe, but I don’t. ”

“If I step on your foot Lenora, I will break it. The shoes I provided should offer an adequate barrier. The design is rated well for humans who wish to protect their feet while on work visas.”

Oh, seems to be my favorite word tonight because that’s all I can mutter as I watch him clean the mess on the cooktop.

“You don’t cook often, I’m guessing.”

“No, everyone shares meals at the Halthara.”

“HAL-thar-ah.” I repeat, trying and failing to growl and roll the R’s like he does.

His lips quirk into something that looks suspiciously like a smile. I hide my own, not wanting him to know I saw.

“What is that?”

“Where our village gathers, the center of our community.”

“But you missed tonight…”

I leave the rest unsaid, my heart pounding as the silence stretches between us. Wishing like hell he’d fill it. So much time passes that I nearly give up reaching for my cooling pizza when he finally does. “I thought you’d like some more time to adjust.”

I can’t hide the next smile as I bring the pizza to my mouth, taking an unladylike bite. He forwent supper with his friends, his family, for me. Got boots so he wouldn’t hurt my feet. Brought me clothes and a towel for the shower when he realized I had none. He apologized…

“Thank you, Fafnir.”

He grunts, and despite myself, I’m still smiling.