Page 16 of Healing His Mate

“Why? Why would I refuse that?”

“I really don’t know,” Cloh-ee replies. “You always said you had a system that worked for you, and you didn’t see the need to change it.”

Guilt settles like a rock in my stomach at listening to their conversation. It is just so easy when my task does not make much noise to cover the volume of their voices. Nalba is clearly frustrated, which makes me ache. I do not like seeing her upset, and that has been her near-constant state of mind since she awoke.

“Cloh-ee,” Nalba says, moving her stool aside. I can hear her footsteps as she moves around the room. “This is refuse. It is food scraps. I see no need to keep it.”

“Me either.” Cloh-ee laughs. “I think that’s actually trash, though. You would sometimes keep a piece of bread or a clump of rice if you were testing the snack saver elixir on it, but I don’t recall you testing the elixir onpluwobs, though.”

“Snack saver?” Nalba repeats with a confused tone. “What is that?”

“That’s the stuff you’d put on the travel rations to extend their shelf life,” Cloh-ee explains. “It was a project that mainly benefitted the hunters at first, so they could pack food for long excursions and not worry about it going bad, but it was also really comforting to have on hand, you know? In case of an emergency or a storm that knocks out our power, it’s good to have that stuff.”

“I suppose you are right,” Nalba replies, her tone despondent. How could she not see her own brilliance in the execution of that project? Perhaps it is Yignnuf’s tinny and arrogant voice in her head, repeatedly telling her she is not good enough. I witnessed his cruelty more than once––yelling at his apprentices, shaming them in public for an experiment gone wrong. If he had laid a hand on Nalba in front of me, I would not have hesitated to watch the bones of his face crumple under my fist. But from what I witnessed, he tortured her only with words. When he died from the virus, I was elated.

Nalba, however, seemed lost. She was on her own creatively for the first time, and still felt the need to operate under Yignnuf’s strict rules despite his absence. Not long after that, Varrek asked her to join our clan and leave Trovilia.

If that is all fresh in her mind, I can understand why she lacks confidence. If you were to tell the old Nalba, the Nalba that existed before her head injury, how clever she is, she would agree without hesitation. I am not so sure how this new Nalba would respond to the compliment.

I find places for all my tools, then begin laying out ingredients for Nalba’s next meal. I even make extra, so I may eat with her, which is something I have not yet done.

The meals I plan to make for her are mostly original dishes using ingredients we have in abundance here on Oluura, but some are Trovilian staples I have recreated using Oluuran spices and vegetables. I am hoping the combination of new meals and familiar ones from her life on Trovilia will trigger her memories.

Cloh-ee and Nalba continue going through various items that were left out by the old Nalba, trying to determine their use. “We’ll make a new list,” I hear Cloh-ee say more than once when Nalba determines an item useful but unsure where it fits. “There!” Cloh-ee says after a long period of silence. “This list is really coming along. I have to get back to Varrek and Vahla, but we’ll pick this up tomorrow, yeah?”

“Very well,” Nalba mutters, her tone thick with disappointment.

“It’s gonna be okay, girl. I promise.” I turn to see Cloh-ee’s arms wrapped around Nalba’s shoulders, giving her a comforting pat. Cloh-ee waves good-bye to me and, suddenly, Nalba and I are alone.

I clear my throat, cutting through the heavy quiet in the room. “Your meal is almost done,” I tell her.

She looks up from a small pile of miscellaneous items and shoots me a bright smile. “Lovely!”

I put the finishing touches on her plate––placing the grilled kuhnypa strips on top of the bread slathered in viiki. Adding a fresh sprig ofdohniherb to each plate, I step back, pleased with the presentation.

I wipe off my hands and carry our plates to where Nalba sits at her table. Plopping myself on a stool across from her, I wait. She must take the first bite. I crave her approval of my dish as much as I hope the food triggers another memory. She pushes the items to the side and licks her lips as she admires her plate. “This is something I like?”

“Yes, I have made it for the clan before. I recall you enjoying it.”

Nalba does not use her utensils. She picks up the meat and breaks off little pieces with her hands. When there is a particularly tough piece, she wills her claws to grow so she can swiftly slice it. “You can use these,” I tell her, lifting my own eating utensils and showing her how. These are items we brought from Trovilia. It is unlikely she has forgotten how to use them.

“I know,” she mumbles with a mouth full of meat. “I just wanted to try it this way.”

It is peculiar, yes, but it is also . . . charming. There is viiki spread on the corner of her mouth, and the juice from the meat drips down her chin. Seeing her covered in the food I made does something to me. Something primal. Visceral. It reflects how well I am caring for her, and how much she enjoys when I do.

Everything in my body is telling me to throw these plates out the open window of her shop, tear off her leggings, and shove my face between her thighs. I want her sweet juices all over my face, just as my food is all over hers.

Since I do not know how Nalba sees me, I resist these desperate urges. Instead, I reach out, the pad of my finger swiping the viiki from the corner of her lips, and I lick it off.

Her mouth falls open as her eyes track the flick of my tongue, her pupils turning her eyes almost completely black. I hear her breath coming out in short pants.

Suddenly, she climbs onto the table on all fours, nudging the plates to the side, and puts her hands on either side of my face. Then she presses her lips to mine.

CHAPTER 8

NALBA

Waldric tastes divine. His lips are soft and thick, much like the rest of his body. The moment I kiss him, he freezes in place, but when I thread my fingers through his mane and graze his scalp with my claws, he groans and his movements turn frenzied, urgent. A gust of wind rips through the open window, causing bumps to form on my skin and my nipples to harden. I press myself closer to Waldric, seeking his warmth.

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