Page 10 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Isobel

Isobel had broken more than one rule in an hour—a personal best. First, she’d told a harmless lie that had exempted her from promenading around Haydenmere with Clara and Henry.

The walk was less for exercise and more for strategic socialization, and though her brother wanted her to accompany them, she’d said she was feeling lightheaded.

Secondly, she had pilfered food from the kitchen after waiting for Cook to finally retire.

By the time she reached the ship, she was breathless with anticipation. It was a feeling that rivaled even the most exhilarating climax of a book.

There were people. From other planets. The galaxy was more expansive than anything she thought possible . Entire worlds existed out there.

She’d often felt like she didn’t belong here—in this country, in this lifetime. In this world. It was easy, then, to imagine that perhaps she belonged somewhere else. Somewhere up there .

“Isobel Nott,” Ved greeted in that rough voice of his. He appeared around a bend the moment she stepped inside, his hulking form stopping not far from her.

He looked different. The armor that had covered his torso yesterday was gone.

He was left in a black material that molded to every curve of muscle.

His attire was immodest, but if she took away what she was supposed to think, she was mostly fascinated by his form.

His abdominal muscles were thick blocks built in a ladder that shifted with every slight movement.

There were eight or ten of them, but she lost count as he shifted and they rippled.

He was built unlike anyone she’d ever seen.

However, his skin was still covered, and she suddenly desired to see him. What did someone who sailed the stars look like? It was presumptuous to imagine him exactly like someone from Dorsent, yet somehow it felt ill-mannered to be curious at all.

Something told her he definitely didn’t look like an ordinary gentleman of the ton .

She lifted her gaze to his defined pectorals before realizing she was gawking.

The fire rushing to her face wasn’t even a surprise.

It seemed to be the only thing she could do in his presence.

Holding her basket in front of her like the good shield it was, she at least managed a full sentence. “I brought more food.”

He studied the basket, his eye shields doing that glowing dance.

But he didn’t say anything. Oh, blazes, had he hated the cookies? Was he attempting to find a polite way of saying he didn’t want any more?

She cleared her throat and shifted her weight.

“If I were stranded somewhere, I would want someone to check on me. Especially someone who knows the area. I’m afraid your ship has landed close to where people live.

I’d never tell anyone about you, but others would be quick to call you the Devil if they found out about you. ”

“Hostiles?” he asked.

“Quite possibly. Dorsent and even the surrounding countries aren’t exactly known for accepting things or people who are different from them. They hardly accept some of their own people, for that matter,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes at the truth of it.

He crossed his arms, muscles bulging as he did. “I’m not scared of your warriors. Let them come and meet my blades.”

Had he somehow become more fluent over night?

His accent wasn’t nearly as harsh, and she was certain his replies were better formed.

“They have muskets and rifles, and if our warriors were to come for you, there would be a lot of them.” The entire surrounding male population would undoubtedly gather for the occasion.

His visor flashed red. “I have such things, too, Isobel Nott. I fear no being or weapon.” He snapped his teeth together in a way that made her think he would enjoy it if an army of men attacked him.

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Now, if you would be so kind, please take this as yet another offering of my goodwill. It has the same cookies as yesterday and some cheeses and dry meats.”

He took the basket hesitantly but then dipped his chin in acquiescence. The object was so bizarrely tiny in his huge hands that before she knew it, laughter bubbled out of her.

His head tilted to the side, but he remained silent.

“I’m so sorry. It’s simply astonishing that I’m standing on a ship that journeys through the stars, with a titan of a man who makes a large wicker basket look like a toy,” she said, waving to his person and the surrounding ship.

“If it hadn’t been almost two full days since I’d hit my head, I would still think that maybe this was all some sort of dream. ”

“I could think you a dream, too,” he rumbled, and she had the distinct feeling he was looking down the length of her. It sobered her immediately. She couldn’t see his eyes, but his gaze was an invisible touch whispering over her gown and flesh.

“I have so many questions,” she said to break the tension.

He made a throaty, thoughtful sound as he turned and began to walk away from her. It took three of his steps before she followed him.

“Like, are there women who can captain ships where you’re from?” she dared to ask. “Or pilot them, at least?”

The hallway they walked curved sharply, and he disappeared.

When she caught up, the sight before her stopped her in her tracks.

They were at the front of the ship now. Similar to the other vessel, the one that had melted, there was a panel full of levers and knobs and what looked like blackened mirrors.

“Why are there no lights like in the other ship?” she asked.

“You are a curious little vixa . First, there are as many female captains as any other sex. And as far as my ship goes, it lost power when I crashed.”

“Lost power,” Isobel muttered, pressing some of the round nodes down.

They made a satisfying clicking sound, and she spent several heartbeats depressing multiple of them.

Then she stiffened, realizing that the sensory experience had taken her out of the present and that she was touching his things.

“I’m sorry. For touching,” she said as, not for the first time, she wondered if one could die of embarrassment.

“You can touch whatever you want,” he said slowly. She swore that she could hear a smile in his words. “Unless it is powered. Then you’d have the ship loading weaponry and veering off course.”

A nervous laugh broke through her lips at the thought. “I’d very much like to see it all powered and lit up. ”

He didn’t respond, the silence growing, but she couldn’t be deterred.

Turning in a slow circle, she assessed the damage she could see.

There was sharp debris jutting out every which way, cracks in the glass that showed the forest around them, and deep dents in the siding.

Bizarre black ropes had erupted from a side recess, too, and judging by how he’d cleared the area, they must be important.

Not to mention the missing lights from the panel before her.

“How will you mend it all?” she asked. The extent of the damage looked like it would be outside of the skill of any tradesman she knew. Could he fix it alone?

“Even the most inexperienced of Xaal should travel with tools and knowledge of their vessel,” he said.

“Xaal,” she mused, liking how the word slid off her tongue. It was so incredibly not of this world that its mere pronunciation fascinated her. “That’s what you are?”

He made that single nod again.

“What are Xaal like?” As soon as the question left her mouth, she realized how crass it was. “I apologize, that was a rude question.”

After a moment of silence, he said, “We are warriors. Fighting is in our blood and bones. We have strict codes of honor, and our clans’ hierarchies are based on strength and loyalty.”

His responses had definitely improved. “You are always battling, then?” She was exhausted merely from trying to act as society expected her to; she couldn’t imagine fighting every day.

“There are always beasts in need of slaying, lands in need of conquering, and enemies in need of a worthy opponent.”

“I see,” Isobel murmured as she took in the information. She was marveling some more at the space—and him, if she were being honest—when his gravelly voice caught her off guard.

“What do you do, Isobel Nott? You are not a warrior.” It was a statement, not a question.

“As in, my profession?” She shook her head. “I have none. Women of my station rarely do. I spend my days reading, attending social events, daydreaming, and drinking tea.” It all sounded so trivial and mundane when she put it like that.

“What is this tea?” he asked.

Her brows raised. “You don’t know what tea is?

Tea is … everything ,” she breathed. “Tea is both an artform and a soothing draught. It requires boiling water to be poured over specific dried leaves and herbs, creating a warm and oftentimes bold drink. Here in Cinder, we drink it multiple times a day, and it’s very integrated into our meals and social lives.

For instance, if you were from Cinder, every time I came to visit, you’d offer me tea. You have no such thing on Runus?”

“No,” he grumbled, “not in my clan. We have many customs, but to be offered a drink requires a deeper trust. We do have certain brews we drink during celebrations, though.”

“Fascinating,” she murmured. “I’ll have to make a cup for you sometime. It is imperative you try it before you leave.” She tried to imagine his hand holding a delicate teacup. If the basket looked tiny in his grasp, a teacup would look nothing short of ridiculous. She had to see it.

They stood in growing silence, which she was quickly becoming used to. What she couldn’t quite grow accustomed to, however, was the feeling of Ved staring at her during those pauses. What was it he saw?

Catching a glimpse of the darkening skies, she frowned. “I have to get back home before my brother and niece return.” She wished she had more time to explore his ship and learn about him, but time was against her. It was one thing to lie and another thing entirely to be caught in that lie.

“Wait,” he commanded and, without any further instruction, took off deeper into the ship.

Isobel bounced on the balls of her feet, clutching the fabric of her dress in her hands. Just when she was beginning to think she should have followed him, he was there again.

“Your food box,” he said, holding up the basket she’d brought yesterday. “And your weapon.”

It was the book she’d thrown at his face. She didn’t know how she could have forgotten it. It had become her new favorite story.

“Oh,” she said, taking both from him. “I’m sorry about the—” She mimicked throwing it at him.

He grunted and gestured to the book. “I read this story.”

“You read it?” Isobel gasped as cold dread rippled from her head all the way down to her toes.

SV wrote her romances with a lot of pining and angst, but there were also intimate scenes.

And though Isobel found them beautifully written and passionate, they were not what any proper woman should be found reading.

“It helped my neurolink better understand your language,” Ved explained.

“Oh,” was all she managed to choke out. She couldn’t even question him as to what a neurolink was.

Hotness bloomed in her cheeks and knots formed in her stomach.

Was that truly how he was able to speak her language better—from reading a risqué romance novel ?

Did he think it was sinful and shameful?

Had he read it knowing she’d read it as well?

Had he enjoyed it? What had he thought of the romance and the plot twist steeped in betrayal?

There were a thousand questions she couldn’ t ask.

“That,” he growled, causing her to startle out of her racing thoughts. He stepped closer and brushed two gloved fingers against her cheek. “What is this reaction? I do not understand it.”

Her lips parted, but it was another moment before she could form a response. “It’s called blushing.”

“Blushing,” he ground out.

She took a step back, away from his touch. “It happens when one is embarrassed.”

“Why are you embarrassed? You have done nothing dishonorable.”

She shook her head. “It’s … it’s nothing.”

“I have insulted you?” he grumbled.

“No, of course not. I really must go, though. It will take me at least twenty minutes to reach the lavender fields,” she blurted out, eager to end the conversation about her red face and the lewd novel they’d both read.

“Lavender?”

She stopped mid-turn. He had answered so many of her questions, but she’d forgotten her world was just as new to him, and he was trapped here. Taking a deep breath to tame her racing heart, she turned to face him again. “Runus doesn’t have lavender?”

“Life on my planet is different. There is no lavender.”

No lavender. She couldn’t imagine such a world.

Excitement rose above her mortification as a wild, daring thought occurred to her.

“I could show you! Our lavender gardens are beautiful. I’d even say the best ones in all of Cinder.

We could walk through them. It would have to be at night, though, so as not to be seen.

” By the devil, she was out of control. Yet she couldn’t stop herself.

“I could sneak out when Henry and Clara come back from a poetry reading they must attend in two days.” Whenever Henry had an evening event, he didn’t dawdle in his study. He always went straight to bed .

She cleared her throat, unable to bear the silence he often needed to respond. “That is … if you’d like to see them. With me,” she ended hoarsely.

Waiting for his response to the disaster of an invitation felt like the moments before an executioner’s blade hit its mark—infinite.

“That would please me,” he finally rumbled.

She let out a long breath and smiled. “It would please me as well. I can meet you at the forest’s southern edge that night.”

It wasn’t until she said goodbye and trudged all the way back home, though, that she realized she’d forwardly asked a man—a Xaal , rather—to walk with her. Unchaperoned.

At night.