Page 37 of Healing His Mate

What could have happened while I was in the wash box to drastically change her mood? Does she regret the food battle we had? Does she now see it a silly waste of time? Or worse . . . could she have heard me calling out her name as I stroked myself in the wash box? Is she disgusted by it?

I grab a nearby towel and start scrubbing the floors, hoping this is all in my head, and Nalba is merely focused on returning her shop to a state of tidiness. We do not speak as we continue cleaning. For a time, I hum an old battle song I learned as a warrior in training. She does not seem to notice.

When I finally finish cleaning the floors, I look up to find her in the same place, scrubbing the same spot as when I arrived.

I am not imagining it then.

“Nalba, that area is clean,” I tell her as I look over her shoulder. She has scrubbed the spot so thoroughly with cleaning solution that it is beginning to lighten the color of the wood. “You can stop.” The neck of her tunic dips down slightly in the back, and I notice a thin silver line peeking out from between her shoulder blades. Clearly a scar. But from what? I trace the edge of it with my finger. “What happened here?”

She does not answer my question. She just turns, slowly, giving me a dazed look. It is as if she has woken from an ominous dream, and I do not know that my presence is helping. I wish she would tell me what is bothering her.

“How can I fix it?” I drop my voice to a whisper and entwine my fingers with hers. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” she replies with an exasperated sigh, pulling out of my grasp. “I am fine, Waldric.”

I do not believe her words. She is not “fine,” but I cannot force her to open herself to me if she wishes to keep her heart closed. Perhaps she has grown accustomed to being alone in her shop, and my lingering presence is draining her energy. She has always highly valued her solitude––especially when it makes for a more conducive environment for her to work on her inventions.

I am happy to give her time to be alone if that is what she needs. “Krahn could use some assistance at the food hall, I am sure. I shall return for final meal,” I tell her as I drop the towel by the door and step outside.

Nalba is a very serious creature, and she requires things to be a certain way in order for her brilliance to be optimized, but really, her main goal is to help others. She wishes to make the lives of her people easier, safer, and better. Many consider her to be difficult, but I do not. She knows what she needs, and often, she does not hesitate to clearly state those needs. Which makes it all the more puzzling that she was not honest with me just now.

I ponder possible theories for this as I arrive at the food hall to find Krahn and Ann-ah laughing as they take small bites of something that is clearly too hot to eat. They wave their hands in front of their open mouths in an effort to soothe their pain.

Then I notice something else––there is no line of people waiting to be served. There are a few of the elders milling about and finishing their meals at the tables, but Elle-noor is hard at work scrubbing the dishes, and the areas around the fire pits are surprisingly clean. “I see you finished early?”

“Yup! We prepped early and had everything ready to serve by the time people arrived.” Ann-ah says enthusiastically before handing me a baked treat wrapped in petal paper. “Give that a taste for me, would ya?”

“What is it?” I ask, unwrapping the delicate paper we make out of flattened flower petals and sniffing it. It smells of spice powder and sweetness and dense batter. Saliva fills my mouth as I sink my fangs into the thick center.

“It’s a muffin!” Ann-ah exclaims with a little hop of excitement. “Well, more of a space muffin, actually, since I didn’t use most of the ingredients I normally would on Earth. I finally nailed down the measurements and I think people will like it.”

Warm syrup floods my tongue and I jerk back, surprised. “Mmm!”

Ann-ah notices my expression and nods with wide eyes. “Right? The b’fiko syrup in the center just melts in your mouth. Good right?”

I finish chewing and examine the muh-finn. It has a rounded, crust-like top that is coated in largejehliflakes. The bottom is softer but just as rich. And in the center, Ann-ah has added a significant amount of b’fiko syrup, keeping it contained inside the muh-finn as a flavorful surprise for when one bites into it.

I am speechless.

“The clan will not like it,” I say flatly. Ann-ah’s face falls and her shoulders droop. “They will love it!”

Her smile widens comically, and she pumps her fists in the air as if she has just won a hard-fought race. “Oh, yay!”

“Waldric.”

I spin on my heel to find Varrek standing behind me with a jovial-looking Vye-let by his side. She is a fascinating female to behold, this human. Her mane is dark at the top like Cloh-ee’s but fades into a light yellow at the tips. And unlike Cloh-ee’s curls, Vye-let’s mane is as straight as an arrow. She is the tallest of the human females, but her head still only reaches the middle of my chest. Her frame is similar to Kay-teh’s, in that it is round and shapely everywhere I look, just with a vertical advantage.

Each time I have seen her since she arrived here, she has looked miserable and sleep deprived. Today, however, her chin is lifted, and her expression is far less troubled.

“Have you met Vye-let yet?” he asks, gesturing to her.

“Not officially, no.” I drop my gaze to hers and bow my head. “An honor, Vye-let.”

“This is the human I told you about,” Varrek says. “Remember? After you spoke with Queen Ekoya.”

“Ah, yes,” I reply. I do remember that conversation because it raised more than a few questions.

“Really looking forward to our trip,” she says, leaning in and placing her small hand on my forearm.

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