Page 23 of Healing His Mate

The silence that fills the space between us is so loud, I almost wince. Crouching to her level, I extend my hand. “Come.”

She scrutinizes my hand, then meets my eyes. “What do you want? I can find my own food. I no longer need you.”

Her words feel like a slap, but I should have expected as much.

“Come,” I say again. I was given the opportunity to intimately care for the female I have dreamt about for years and I ruined everything in moments. Nalba needs me. She needs what I can offer. I will give it to her, and I will expect nothing in return.

Eventually, she places her hand in mine and I help her rise to her feet. Before she lets go, she says, “The rihlmeal was revolting.”

A laugh escapes me at her words. I should not find her coldness funny, but her ability to state her feelings so plainly is one of the things that drew me to her in the first place. “Well, it is meant to be eaten hot, not cold.”

She shakes free of my grasp, and strides over to the far corner of the room, lifting something into her hands. Leggings. She puts them on slowly and shoots me a glare when she finds me watching. I turn around and begin cleaning my workstation. The rihlmeal, the syrup––it is all just as I left it.

“I shall make you something better,” I say over my shoulder.

“I should hope so,” she slurs under her breath as she sits at the table.

Emptying the bowls and pots, I put them aside knowing I will drop them at the dish station once Nalba has eaten. “It is true, there is not much worse than cold rihlmeal. I have eaten it many times when I failed to feed myself at the food hall. It made me queasy.”

After a long moment, Nalba asks, “Why would you do that to yourself?” Her tone is not as curt.

“I do not need to eat first. The clan’s needs are more important than my own.” I pull out a deeper pot, typically used for stews, and fill it with water. As I place it over the fire pit, still burning from this morning’s meal, I add, “I will enjoy the meal much more knowing their bellies are full.”

We do not speak much after that. I face my station and the wall my station is pressed against, and Nalba remains quiet. Leaning into my routines, I begin to hum a familiar tune while I cook.

Once thesinaksare peeled and chopped, I toss them into the water, adding a pinch ofhaalju, a spice that adds flavor. Then I spin on my heel and place a mug full of water in front of Nalba. Her forehead was resting on her arms, and she jumps at the sound of the mug. “Drink,” I tell her.

She bares her fangs for a moment before lifting the mug to her lips. I hear her gulping it down as I stir the sinaks. She places the empty mug down as I spin around and refill it. The look she gives me would make most males wither, but I am unfazed. I know how frustrated she will be if the ale makes her sick and bedridden tomorrow, leaving her unable to work.

“You will feel better. You know this.”

Without verbal complaint, she continues to drink.

Once the sinaks are soft, I drain most of the water from the pot and begin pressing my wooden spoon into them until they turn into a whipped mass of beige. I sprinkle a bit ofgroxiflakes on top and scoop a large heap onto Nalba’s plate, then my own. Then I place a handful of grilled kuhnypa cubes beside it.

She offers me a tight smile and begins eating right away.

About halfway through the meal, the quiet becomes too much. Too intense. I drop my utensil and sigh. “I must apologize for my behavior. It was unacceptable.”

Nalba chews slowly as her eyes search mine. They drop to my lips, pausing there, before lifting back to my eyes. Then she looks down at her plate, her cheeks darkening. “Why did you leave?”

Because I am a coward.

“It is hard to explain.”

She huffs a breath. “Try.”

I was feeling too many things at once. So close to taking you exactly as I have imagined. But I still do not know how you see me. I do not know if you think I am an unintelligent failure as a male.

I open my mouth, but the words do not come. Eventually, I say, “I had a memory of my own, and it shook me.”

Her face softens as if she understands. Of course, she does. “I did not realize how powerful memories could be until I lost so many of them. They are quite jarring when they arrive without warning and without context.”

I grunt in agreement, not knowing if words will provide comfort.

We finish the meal in silence. Nalba lets out a yawn as I take her plate away and brew some water over the fire pit for tea. The sky is darkening outside, but she has had a . . . unique day, and it would be best if she ended it now to rest.

Handing her a mug once the tea is ready, I say, “Your body is craving sleep. Will you listen?”

---