Page 41 of Haze

Revecca said the Ardelean gifts are all very real, and while I’ve been on the receiving end of hers, I never thought much about the rest of the bloodline, but the way Lena’s eyes have fogged over is very telling. What is my mate’s gift?

I assume there’s nothing I can do about it anyway, so while she’s lost in whatever landscape her gift is giving her, I get to work caring for my mate. Given her stance that fried cheese is a meal, I assumed I would find less nutritional contents in her fridge. Opening the door, I’m taken aback at the highly organized variety.

From my experience, I’ve at most a couple of hours before she’s completely unhinged in lust again. She’s been sated, for now, but I need to get her fuel to burn. I’ll be damned if I let her burn off any of those luscious curves.

Pulling out ingredients, I put together a balanced dish.

“You’re a Dominant.” Lena’s voice is hoarse and heavy.

Her words catch me as I set the pans I’d located on the stove, and I freeze. What sort of statement is that? From our time in bed together or her gift?

Starting a pot with rice, I let her statement hang in the air. It wasn’t a question, but I take a moment to answer anyway.

“That surprise you, faolan?” Lena doesn’t answer my question. I start opening cupboards before finally answering her question. “I am. I’ve been lifestyle for well, that’s not important.”

My question doesn’t stop her from placing her blanket on a stool and unwrapping the plastic around the roses. She doesn’t look at me but is zoned in on them, squeezing their heads.

Finding utensils and a cutting board, I take to cooking. I’m over living in a hotel and eating out. Knowing what’s in my food has been a missing luxury. Magnus kept me traveling fairly regularly, and the last week has been much of the same: restaurant food and deli sandwiches.

More than my desire to eat a full meal, I want to care for Lena and have her feel all the adoration I hold for her. If I can care for her at all, I’ve begun my job as her mate and Dominant.

She submits so beautifully, my wolf admires, thinking back to how, without question, she fought back her orgasm for us.

I begin slicing the veggies I found in the fridge. Standing at the island, I watch her from the corner of my eye. I’m drawn to her movements as she finds a vase from under the sink and washes it, completely unfazed by my presence.

“Funeral flowers? Did you kill someone?” Lena accuses as she cuts the flowers’ leaves and thorns and trims the stems.

The corner of her mouth turns up into a smile.

“There should be a dozen.” I stop what I’m doing to turn and look at her. I suppose I never expected to have to count the stems from a florist. Cade said red and classics. Though, perhaps he set me up? “Would it bother you if I had?”

We could kill for her. My wolf pictures Brayden. It’s tempting.

“Flowers in even numbers are for funerals,” Lena explains.

“I’ll make a note. Would you rather eleven or a baker’s dozen?” I ask, returning to the cutting board and continuing to dice through the stems of the asparagus.

Lena doesn’t say anything, and when I turn to look at her, her eyes are white again. I need to know more about her gift. How often does this happen to her? What is she seeing?

I know she’s come out of it when I hear her moving again. She fills the vase with water and pours a concoction in before heading to the refrigerator. Retrieving a lemon, she looks at me hesitantly.

As she’s turning away from me, I offer my hand out. “Would you like that cut?”

Her mouth opens to say something, but she closes it again. With a delicate touch, she hands it to me.

Not knowing Lena for long, I’m not sure which version of her is real. Is it the fire and sharp tongue with a strong backbone? The side that dares me to test her limits. Or is it this softer side she’s showing right now? Is this who she is when there’s no one around to see her walls fall? Logically, I know it’s both. But which one does she want to be more?

After slicing her lemon, I’m enthralled watching her finish her flowers. Expert hands slice the stems and slide them into the vase until they’re just so. When done, she smiles at them.

“Sit and rest.” I point at the stool, on the other side of the kitchen island, with the tip of the knife.

The more I think I’m figuring her out, the more I realize I know nothing about Lena.

Wrapping her blanket around her, she studies me for a few moments. Tenderly, she sits on the stool. She winces and inhales a sharp breath.

“Did I take you too hard?” I can faintly feel her pain in our forming bond.

She certainly enjoyed it while we were in the thick of it, but I’ve done this, us and sex, all backward.

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