Page 51 of Healing His Mate

“Fortunately, that is a question I cannot answer because I cannot remember,” I tell him in a snide tone. I do not need to be called an idiot for a third time today. “Though it is certainly a mystery I wish I could solve. It makes no sense to me.”

“What will you say to him?” he asks. “When you see him.”

“I, uh, I do not know,” I admit. I have not planned anything beyond several apologies and an offer to drop to my knees and suck his cock multiple times a day for the rest of our lives. It is not a sex act the females of Trovilia engaged in, to my knowledge, but Cloh-ee told me how to do it, and I am confident Waldric will like it. Varrek does not need to know that, though. “I shall find the words in the moment.”

“I must tell you, Nalba,” Varrek starts, his voice taking on a slightly shy but excited timbre, “Cloh-ee is thrilled to have a replacement vibrator on Oluura. And I am thrilled that you were able to create one for her. We have gotten much use out of it already.”

I cannot help the smile that forms. “I am pleased to add joy to your mate’s life in any way I can. She is good.”

Varrek nods. “That she is.”

After a beat of silence, Varrek perks up in his seat. “Ah,” he says triumphantly. “The ship is in range. I will send a comm requesting to board.” He taps several buttons, and the ship responds by beeping chaotically. I spot the smaller ship not far ahead of us. Within a few heartbeats, Varrek pulls us right up next to it. A whoosh of air sounds at the door, and it slides open.

I launch myself off the chair and through the narrow tube that connects the two ships. The door to Waldric’s ship hisses open the moment I reach it, and I race onto the bridge.

There I find Bruvix manning the controls, with Waldric seated next to Vye-let.

Right.

I forgot she is here. Butwhyis she here? Has Waldric already moved on? Did he want to spend this time apart with a human female on Trovilia? She is quite pretty, I suppose. Her nose is small, almost terrifyingly small, but her mane is long, and she is not much shorter than I. And she has the same curves as all the humans I have met. The males in the clan certainly seem to enjoy them.

Perhaps, it is for the best. I am sure Vye-let would not take Waldric for granted as I have. She would pro—

“Nalba,” Waldric says, interrupting my disheartening thoughts, his gaze searching my face. “Why are you here?”

“I . . .” I begin. O fah! I should have prepared something to say. Ultimately, I blurt, “Why is she here?” as I point to Vye-let.

Vye-let seems to have trouble reading the situation because she smiles and cheerfully says, “Oh! I’m going back to Trovilia. Well, we both are. Do you wanna come too?”

That answers nothing.

Waldric spots my narrowed gaze and adds, “Vye-let is returning to Trovilia because she says she has found her mate. It is Queen Ekoya’s head guard.”

“Waldric actually looks a lot like him,” Vye-let adds with an admiring grin as she looks at my mate.

Waldric gives me a puzzled look. “Did you not read the note I left on your door?”

His question reminds me of everything I wanted to say. “Why did you leave me a note? Why did you leave, Waldric? When you said you wanted space, I did not realize it meant you wereleaving!”

He throws his hands up. “It was in the note! It was all in the note!” His eyes narrow. “You did not read it, did you?”

“Uh, do you want us to give you guys some privacy?” Vye-let asks. It is only then I realize Varrek and Bruvix are standing behind me.

“Yes,” I reply as Waldric says, “Not necessary.”

“I did read it,” I stammer, then decide to be blunt. “Your handwriting is dreadful, and I could not read most of it, but I skimmed through it enough to . . .”

He scoffs, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Very well. Truthfully, Nalba, outside of having your meals prepared and served to you by someone else, I did not think you would notice my absence.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

He shrugs.

“That is how you think I view you? As just . . . just a cook?” I ask, truly offended by what he is insinuating. I am aware I have not treated him how he deserves to be treated, but I refuse to believe it was that bad. “Some kind of lowly servant to give me my meals, and nothing more?”

“Yes,” he replies, “at least in part. Because your destiny is to create.” His tone is mocking as he steps toward me. “To thrive and to be known as the genius the planet needs. And my job is merely to prepare food for the masses, because . . .” he pauses, “if I were intelligent, I would do something else with my life, would I not?”

His tone is biting, and it hurts to have it used on me, but there is something about the words he used. Something that feels familiar. He has mentioned something like this before. The connection between being a cook and being smart. It is not the first time I have been confused about how they relate.

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