Page 19 of Keeping His Mate

He slowly rolls onto his side, his face caked in dirt, and shoots me a lazy, crooked smile. “They raised some valid concerns.”

“Oh did they?” I ask, incredulous. Those little bitches.

“But when they suggested I remove you from the premises, I got quite angry,” he explains, wiping the clump of soil deeper into this vest, rather than brushing it off. “I struck first, and then they hit back…” he pauses, lifting his hand close to his face and staring intently at his fingers. “And now I am here.”

I focus on him as his gaze is locked on his claws. He’s so cute like this. Carefree. Almost happy, even. Has anyone in the clan ever seen him this way? Maybe he should get high more often.

On the other hand, his grumpy, growly,I hate everyone so leave me alonevibe is also appealing in its own way.

“Come on,” I say, offering my hand to pull him up. He takes it, and I am instantly reminded of how much bigger he is as he pulls me down on top of him. I let out an “oof” as my face smacks into his hard chest, and then we’re both laughing as he wipes dirt off my cheek.

The laughter fades at some point, and I’m left staring at his wide, soft mouth. His lips are a darker gold than his skin, just a shade or two. I study the scar that cuts through the left side of his mouth, and suddenly I’m angry at whoever or whatever took it upon themselves to mar such perfectly kissable lips.

Then again, that silver slash is such a striking contrast to the dark gold that it really draws the eye. And I could stare at that crooked smile all damn day if he’d let me.

I feel myself leaning closer, my chest pressing more and more against the hard planes of his. I close my eyes just as the distance between us disappears, and I press my lips to his. He doesn’t move at first, his lips frozen against mine, but after a moment, he responds. He’s a clumsy kisser, his mouth eager to devour mine, but maybe he hasn’t kissed anyone in a while. Perhaps I caught him off guard, this rough and beautiful warrior. And maybe it’s just the berries feeding my boldness, but the urge grows to deepen the kiss, to show him with my lips and tongue just how intriguing I find him.

Then, in a heartbeat, Bruvix lifts me off him by my arms and plops me on my butt in the dirt. With a reluctant look in his eye, he releases me, and backs away until he’s leaning on his heels, his chest heaving slightly. “We cannot,” he says in a low rumble. “What would your mate say?”

My mate? What is he talking about? Then he looks down at the ring on my hand, no longer on my ring finger, and it clicks. He thinks I’m married. “I don’t have a mate,” I tell him.

“But your ring,” he protests, pointing at it now. “Aye-vah and Cloh-ee said–”

“Yeah, my grandmother’s wedding ring. I was wearing it on that finger when I was taken,” I admit. “It’s a decoy, for when I go to bars and don’t want to be harassed by creepy guys. To make it look like I’m taken.”

He furrows his brow as he tries to understand my words. “Why would you need to trick males into thinking you are not available to be courted?”

I let out a bitter chuckle. “Because they seem to respect that more than the word no.”

“I do not understand the rules of your home planet,” he replies, shaking his head.

“It’s okay. I don’t either.”

A drop lands on my forehead. Then on the tip of my nose. Soon, rain is pouring down on us as we rush to crawl to the door. We squeeze in close under the narrow cloth awning and giggle as we try to make ourselves as small as possible. The rain splashes onto my bare toes that peek out from beneath the awning, washing the dirt away. I wiggle them as they get clean, and soon I’m mesmerized by the feel of the fat, warm droplets as they hit my skin. My eyes close as I lean against Bruvix’s side, and I drift off within moments.

Much later, my eyes flutter open to find the sky several shades darker than before. I would guess it’s around dusk. I look over and find Bruvix’s body slumped down and curled into a ball with his head in my lap as he snores like a freight train.

The rain has stopped, which is good, but the plants closest to us look like they’ve grown at least three feet since we fell asleep, so we’re definitely still tripping. I am, at least.

“Thirsty,” Bruvix mumbles in his sleep, his lips smacking together. “Thirsty!” he yells this time as he snaps up to a seated position. He looks around, bewildered, until he sees me and then his eyes soften a bit. “Elle-noor,” he greets with a nod. “I have been informed that the qam shrub needs a beverage. I shall grant its wish.”

He crawls over to a bucket in the corner that’s filled with water. But before he reaches it, a deep sense of dread fills my chest, turning my stomach into knots. “No! Stop, Bruvix!”

I scurry over to him and use my arm to block him from getting any closer to the bucket.

“Elle-noor, the qam is suffering. I must care for it.”

“No. No, no, no, no.”

“What is wrong?”

I know that what’s about to come out of my mouth won’t make any sense, but I feel the truth of it in my bones. “What if we see our reflection in the water, but it’s...the old, wrinkly version of us. From the future. Are you ready to face that?”

His hands drop to his sides, and he considers this for a moment. “What if,” he begins, “it is our reflection of how we are now, but we see those who have died hovering behind us.”

That’s definitely much scarier. I want no part of that.

Simultaneously, we shake our heads and back away. After a minute, or possibly an hour, the fear of the water bucket passes, and we sit in comfortable silence as the sky grows dark. It’s hard to know how long this high will last, but I feel safer being in the garden with Bruvix than I would anywhere else.

---