Page 12 of Healing His Mate

“Um, o-kay,” she replies, staring at the item in her hand, not noticing my lingering presence. But then she lifts her chin, and her eyes meet mine. They hold a fierce determination. “Yes,” she says, her lips slowly parting. She runs her tongue along the bottom lip, then the top.

She smiles. “Yes, this is the key. I need you. And your food. I need you here with me.”

CHAPTER 6

NALBA

It was fleeting, and nothing more than a single image, but it was there. I hold onto the memory as if I can trap it in my hands while I run to the table in the center of my shop and pull out a box from the shelf beneath it. Sucking in a breath, I carefully lift the item from the box. It is apullobyskahn,a new weapon I am working on that shoots curved metal hooks from a hollow wooden block with propulsion similar to that of bullets from a gun.

But . . . that cannot be the entire point of this weapon, can it? The design lacks innovation. It needs something more. A unique element that makes it a truly dangerous weapon. The end result is a hook-shaped bullet. That is all.

Is this what I do now? Create useless trinkets that are not even pleasant to look at?

“What is it?” the cook asks as he stands at my side. I forgot he was here. But I was the one who demanded that he stay, after all.

I let out a sigh, tossing the pullobyskahnandthe loading block back into the box and return the box beneath the table. “It is an incomplete project. A disappointing one.” I throw myself onto the nearby stool and place my head in my hands. “I remembered it,” I murmur, shaking my head. “I remembered the name, and I could see myself loading the hooks into the block. But that . . . cannot be a completed design. It cannot.”

The cook, Waldric, I believe his name is, places the plate of bread next to me and leans his hip against the table. “Do not let this moment feel like defeat, Nalba,” he says in a comforting tone. “You remembered something. That is extraordinary. This is just the beginning.”

I lift my head at his words. “It is?”

“Yes,” he says, gifting me with a hopeful grin. In fact, this male seems to emanate hope from his entire body. “You should be very proud of your progress.”

“Th-thank you,” I stammer, not knowing how to respond.

When I would have a setback such as this in Yignnuf’s innovation facility, he would not offer kind words. That was not his approach at all. He would push me deeper into my melancholy with harsh comments about my waning creativity or how mediocre my finished projects have been until I was so angry that it fueled my need to continue working in order to make improvements. That was how he treated all of his apprentices, but he was particularly tough on me.

“Would you like more?” Waldric asks as he lifts the plate of bread in front of me.

I nod, taking the corner off the top piece in the stack and popping it into my mouth. Perhaps more memories will return if I continue eating.

“If you remember nothing else, do not fret,” he says as if he can read my thoughts. He uses his thick forearm to sweep the crumbs off the table and into his large hand. “They will come. You know that for certain now. Just wait for them.”

“But I do not have time to wait. The clan . . . the clan does not have time to wait,” I explain. “They are counting on me.”

He places both palms on the end of the table and leans forward, holding my gaze. “The clan is counting on you to prioritize your recovery. We want you to care for yourself.”

He is quite a large male, this Waldric. He may even be the largest male in the clan. He may not be the tallest––that is Varrek, I believe––or the strongest––which is Ahlvo––but he is certainly the widest and thickest of them all. Waldric has the sheer mass of a formidable warrior, despite being a cook. Everything else about him is far too kind to incite fear, however, like his eyes. They are a mix of burnt orange and auburn with flecks of blue scattered close to the pupil. How did I not notice his eyes before?

“Are you well, Nalba?” he asks, breaking through my trance.

I gently run my fingers over the long wound on my scalp that runs from behind my ear to the back of my head. “Uh, yes. I am fine.”

Waldric brushes his palms together, wiping the breadcrumbs from his hands, then crosses his arms across his wide chest. “How else can I be of service to you?”

“Service?” I repeat slowly as my eyes follow the path of a vein running from his right wrist to the underside of his forearm, disappearing behind the rolled sleeve of his tunic.

“You said you wanted me to stay.”

That shakes me to a state of awareness. “Yes, right,” I say, clearing my throat, forcing my mind to focus on the task at hand. “I am hopeful that continuing to eat the foods I have enjoyed here on Oluura will help me recover my memories. I would like for you to prepare meals for me here and remain until after I have finished eating. This way, we can determine precisely which foods are the strongest triggers, and I can focus on eating those exclusively to get my mind back to where it was.”

His brow furrows as he scans each wall and corner of my shop.

“There are other cooks that can take your place at the food hall, yes?” I ask, caught off guard by the slight tremble in my voice. Why am I nervous?

“Yes, there is another cook here.”

That is technically an answer to my question, but I suppose I should make my needs clearer. “So, you will stay? You will cook for me? Each meal?”

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