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“Now, get in that kitchen, my little witch,” he teased against my lips, nipping at the bottom one with his fang. “Or else it’sback in bed for you, and I promise you I’ll be hungry in other ways that have nothing to do with your scones.”
“Hmm, the kitchen or the bed for me? One would think we’re back in the Graydom era.”
He barked out a sharp laugh. “Believe me, I know how risky this is to tempt your wrath. I’ll make it up to you. But the scones are worth it.”
I shook my head, fighting my smile, and went into the kitchen. Behind me, I heard him dressing. One thing I’d learned about Lorik over the last two days was his charmingly voracious appetite for food and the shameless lengths he went to get it. At this rate, we’d have to go to the market to get more provisions because he’d already eaten through half of my underground cellar.
But I didn’t mind it. Not one bit. The cottage felt vibrant with him here. It felt brighter, despite the winter approaching.
A Kylorr-Allavari male, I realized, must need to eat a lot.
“Tea?” he murmured, coming up behind me as I stood at my small prep counter. He pressed a kiss to my temple, and my belly erupted in flutters.
“All right,” I responded, ducking my head when a huge grin threatened to erupt.
I wasn’t used to be taken care of. But Lorikhadtaken care of me the last couple days. In more ways than one. He helped me from the moment we woke until we closed our eyes to sleep. From small things like chores to making my tea in the mornings and evenings to helping in the garden. To larger things like completely fixing two of my back windows and clearing out a clogged pipe from the well.
And then at nights—or really anytime the mood struck—he took care of me in other, more satisfying ways. He was an unselfish lover. Last night, he’d murmured into my ear that it turned him onmorewatching me come apart with his touch.
It felt comfortable between us. Strangely so. Like we’d known each other for years, had lived together for years, had been making love to one another for years…
After Lorik got the kettle on over the hearth, the fire of which he’d stoked with the pile of wood he’d chopped yesterday, he returned to me, leaning against the prep counter, keeping his wings tucked so they didn’t get in my way as I mixed the dough.
He watched me. He was dressed in a soft linen tunic, with long sleeves that went to his wrists and dark brown pants, the leather soft and supple with time. He’d cheekily brought a small bag of spare clothes with him on his return. From where? I didn’t know. And as the days passed, it got both easier and harder to not ask questions. It was a strange tumultuous feeling bubbling up inside me.
But all I knew was that the inside of his wrist was smooth—no magical marking in sight, calling him away. I’d been checking it the last two nights, even in the middle of the night if I woke and Lorik was sleeping.
“What are you thinking about?” he wanted to know now.
“You,” I told him truthfully.
He smiled. He liked that. I could tell.
“I really like you, Marion,” he told me softly. I paused in mixing the dough when he reached forward to tuck back a strand of my hair. For a brief moment, I saw his lips pinch down. “One might even say too much.”
“Even though we barely know each other?” I asked quietly.
He nodded. He swallowed. Hard.
“Sometimes…I wonder if the Kylorr’s deities have been watching over Allavar all this time,” he admitted quietly.
I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling my belly warm with the meaning. Fear sprung up too…but only because this feltreal. This felt meaningful and unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.
He was wondering if fated mateswerestill possible, when he’d told me once he didn’t believe in them. He was wondering if I was his. Bound in blood. Picked for one another by a higher power, one that we didn’t even understand.
“Oh, Lorik,” I breathed.
“Too soon?” he murmured, quirking his lips in a self-deprecating expression. “Maybe. But I don’t want to hide what I feel for you, Marion. Because of what? Fear? No, I don’t believe in that.”
To banish the sudden vulnerability I spied in his eyes, I leaned forward quickly, going up to my tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his lips. He grunted against me, his hand reaching out to circle my waist. Even though my hands were covered in dough, I cupped his cheek in my grip when I leaned back.
“I really like you too, Lorik,” I told him, feeling my throat tighten with fear—but also relief—as I spoke the words. His gaze warmed, molten and soft. “So let’s just see where this goes, all right?”
For a long while, Lorik looked like he wanted to say something. I could see the debate in his eyes, the words held on the very tip of his tongue.
But whatever it was died, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment.
He looked down between us, his eyes going to the floor, and when he met my gaze again, he gave me a warm smile.
