Page 54 of Healing His Mate

I lift her wrist to my lips, pressing a kiss to her skin. If Nalba considers her mind to be her greatest asset, then her hands are second in line. They are always busy––designing, building, creating. They are always directly in her line of sight. Therefore, my mark will be visible to her at all times, reminding her that I am with her. Blood coats my tongue the moment I bite down, and I swallow it. I lick the area once I know I have gone deep enough, cleaning her wound.

We break apart, our chests heaving, our bodies slick with sweat and come. She kisses my forehead, the tenderness of it causing tears to fill my eyes. But just as quickly, the mate bond begins to work its magic, sending a heaviness and exhausted ache through my limbs.

Briefly, I consider carrying Nalba to my quarters, so she may rest on a proper bed, but the distance is too great. We roll together and land on our sides, my cock still nestled in her channel. I take her hand and bring it to my lips. “Sleep deep, inara. When we wake, our minds will be one.”

“I cannot wait,” she says with a smile as her eyelids flutter closed.

I wake before her. I do not know how much time has passed. All that I know is our ship has not crashed, and Nalba is officially mine. I am quite blessed.

As I gaze upon her, I cannot help but recall the many moments I wanted this to happen but was sure it never would. The embarrassing attempts at trying to woo her. The compliments I showered her with that made no sense. Could I have won her heart many years ago by merely telling her she is beautiful and offering to cook for her? I suppose it does not matter. I have her now. I will have her always.

Her eyes blink open and I feel her mind as it comes alive with awareness.

Hello, inara,I send.

She smiles sleepily, but then her eyes widen with distress. For a frightening moment, I do not know what is happening, or how to help her. But then I feel it. Her emotions dip and peak as she registers my memories, as she sees my love for her grow over time.

Then . . . something else occurs.

A pulling sensation.

No.

A gnawing.

Then a flood of images, so many that my head hurts. Wait, it is not my pain I feel. It is hers. Memories.

It is her memories. They are returning. Seeing mine must have triggered hers.

Nalba’s face is impossible to look away from. Her features scrunch up tightly one moment, then relax in repose the next. Then a flash of elation. Then sadness. Then irritation. Eventually, her face settles into something more neutral as five years of memories continue to fill her mind.

I can do nothing but hold her hand and stroke her back. Then something truly wretched occurs to me. Old Nalba. With the memories comes her return. Old Nalba did not see me as anything more than a member of her clan. The cook.

Will her feelings for me change now that she has her memories? Will my failed attempts to win her heart over the years cloud the favorable image she has of me?

No, you sweet fool, she sends.Old Nalba was a miserable crone.

My mate squeezes my hand. When I look down, she shoots me a wink. Her pain, the overwhelming onslaught of imagery, the confusion––all have subsided, I realize.

It was you,she says.When she senses my confusion, she shows me a memory. Through her eyes, I watch a young Ekoya race ahead of her through the thickets and bushes that separate Oovahr City from the sea. Her black mane floats around her like a cloud as she breaks through the clearing, and trips on an errant lace from her boot. I feel Nalba’s fear as Ekoya flies forward and lands with her face in the sand––it is visceral and suffocating. And it only intensifies when Ekoya rises to her feet and wraps her small hands around her throat as she struggles to cough. Varrek, baby-faced and lanky as he maneuvers his growing body, races over and clasps his hands together as he thrusts them into Ekoya’s ribs.

I know what happens next but seeing it through Nalba’s eyes is breathtaking.

I enter the scene, my mane tangled and wet from a day of swimming. Seeing Varrek incorrectly attempt the safety move we learned that very day makes me cringe. But a young Waldric steps in and shows him how to do it, and young Varrek listens.

The food that was lodged in Ekoya’s throat flies across the sand, and I can remember how relief washed over me at that moment. I feel it even now.

It was you,she repeats.

It was me,I reply.

She tilts her head, giving me an indecipherable look.I pity Old Nalba,she sends. She had everything standing right in front of her, handing her extra slices of bread.

I laugh at the absurdity of assuming extra bread would be enough to win her over.

She nods.It is quite silly when you think about it.

What?I ask.The extra bread?

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