Page 121 of The Alien in the Archive

He’s almost here.

I wipe my hands on a dish towel, forgetting about the spot like it never existed as I hustle across the room. I leave the door unlatched for him and go back to the stove, whereI’m stirring together some semblance of dinner—a staple comfort food, mac and cheese. The cottage smells good, like home.

And it gives me something to keep my hands busy.

I don’t turn around when the door creaks open. There’s a soft thud of boots on the floor, then the door shutting again…then a familiar chirp. My lips twitch despite myself.

“Didn’t think you were bringing a plus one,” I chuckle, glancing over my shoulder.

Thorne is standing just inside the doorway, hood pulled back, his hair in long, spiraling silver strands around his shoulders. Ashlan is padding across the floor to wind around my ankles, starting to purr.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Thorne mutters, his voice dry. “He refused to let me leave without him.”

“Well, he needs to get out of the kitchen before I step on him,” I laugh, looking down to shoo him away. He skitters out and leaps onto the couch, where he begins sharpening his claws.

“Stop, Ashlan,” Thorne says. “You’ll ruin it.”

Ashlan continues as if Thorne didn’t say a thing. I can’t bring myself to be angry.

“I figured you’d leave him,” I say, watching as Thorne shrugs off his coat and drapes it over the arm of the couch. “But I’m glad he’s here.”

His gaze settles on me, steady and soft in the low light. “I hoped he might keep you company. In case…well.” He clears his throat, avoiding the words we don’t want to say.

If something happens. If this goes the wrong way.

He doesn’t have to say it for me to feel it.

“That’s not going to happen,” I reply, turning back to the stove. “And your anxiety isextremelyloud, so I’m going to need you to keep it down with your thoughts?—”

I’m so distracted by his mind that I don’t even hear himcoming up behind me, but I sense his desire when he’s close enough.

His arms are already around me, though, sliding around my waist as he ducks his head against my neck.

“I remember a time not too long ago when I was telling you the same thing,” he murmurs.

I bite my lip, laughing softly. “And I’m pretty sure I learned how to keep my thoughts to myself.”

I feel him prodding at the edges of my consciousness, asking for entry. I bat at him.

“I’m trying to cook,” I laugh.

He takes a step back to lean against the counter, hands behind him. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, admiring his lean form, his broad shoulders, the silver in his eyes. I let him take a peek at my thoughtsnow, and he smirks.

“What are you making?” he asks.

“Food.”

“It smells good.”

I glance over at him. “It’s just mac and cheese.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “I didn’t think you cooked.”

“I didn’t think you ate.”

The bond flares with amusement. His head tilts as he smiles. “I didn’t,” he says. “Not until you brought me back to life.”

The words catch me off guard, like they always do.

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