She pokes at one of the claw wounds on her arm and winces slightly.
Even if she does not desire me, I can at least be a good mate and care for her. “Here.” I hold out the roots I have gathered. “I have brought something to heal your wounds.”
She takes it from my hand, biting her lower lip as she studies it curiously. “What am I supposed to do with this? Eat it?”
I gasp and quickly take it back from her. “You cannot eat that. It will make you sick.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” She gives me a withering look. “Okay, genius, what do I do with it, then?”
Genius? She believes I am exceptionally smart? This is good. Many females have chosen their mates based on intellect alone. I should know—my grandparents met that way. My grandfather is not a handsome male by any measure, but my grandmother is stunningly beautiful. She said it was his sharp and intelligent mind that attracted her.
This is something I can work with. My hearts soar. All is not lost.
I smile. “Please, sit, so I may treat your wound.”
She takes a seat on the floor, staring up at me expectantly.
Popping one of the caza roots into my mouth, I begin chewing it thoroughly.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to eat it?”
I hold up a hand, gesturing for her to wait patiently while I chew the medicine into a fine paste. When I’m satisfied with the consistency, I spit the ball into my free hand and reach for her wound.
She jerks away violently. “What the hell are you doing?”
Even as she pulls away, it doesn’t escape me that she’s still holding my other arm firmly so that we can communicate. “I’m trying to treat your wound.”
“I don’t think so.” Her eyes are wide as I chase her in a circle.
“You need caza root to make sure your wound does not become infected.”
We continue to spin in a circle. I struggle to catch her flailing, injured arm. She twists away from me.
“It most certainly will become infected if you slather it with alien spit,” she retorts. “I would rather take a chance eating the root than having you place your paste on me.”
“Alien spit? This is a medicinal paste,” I correct her. “Now, stop moving and stay still so I can treat you.”
“No way!”
A low growl of frustration rumbles up from my throat. “I will not have you dying of infection on my watch, female.”
She goes still and all the color drains from her face. “The germs are that bad here?”
Recognizing the opportunity that has been presented to me, I nod. “Yes.”
It is yet another half-truth, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that it is not a complete lie. And… it is for her own good. Only the Gods know, what would be a simple fever for my kind might be deadly to hers.
I must be diligent in attending to her needs.
She glares up at me. If this isn’t a test from the gods, then I don’t know what is.
Reluctantly, she holds out her arm and allows me to apply the medicinal paste, all the while wrinkling her nose and grimacing. If she feels so strongly about my saliva, I cannot imagine the disgust she would feel if I ever brought up the idea of mating.
With a heavy sigh, I imagine myself alone in my chambers, staring up at the ceiling until the end of my days. I will die alone, never knowing the pleasures of sharing my bed with a mate.
After I finish applying the paste, she studies the wound a moment then looks up at me. “So… what do you do? Are you a doctor?”
“Doctor?”
“Um… you know, healing people and such?”
“Ah,” I reply, finally understanding. “You mean a Healer.”
She nods.
“No, I am not a Healer.”
“Well then, what do you do?”
I’m about to tell her I’m the Prince of the Fire Clan, but luckily catch myself before the words leave my mouth. I want to know if it is possible for my fated one to like me for who I am instead of my status among my people. Unable to think of a quick lie, I reply a bit awkwardly. “I… don’t really do anything.”
This is actually quite close to truth. Until I am king, my duties are light and my days are often filled with boredom.
“So, you’re unemployed?” she asks a bit hesitantly.
Offended by her tone, I tilt up my chin. “Like all members of my Clan, I am a warrior.” Narrowing my eyes, I tip my head to the side as I regard her. “What do you do?”
“I’m a botanist,” she answers, studying one of the caza roots intensely. “And I have the perfect name for it.”
“How so?”
“Well, Lilliana sounds like a lily.”
“What is a lily?”
“A beautiful flower on my home world—Earth.”
My gaze drifts to her petal-soft skin. The name does suit her well. She is as beautiful and delicate as a flower. However, I am sorry that fate has seen fit to bring her to my Clan. A botanist in a desert is less than ideal. She would have been better suited to mate a member of the Earth Clan, living in their rich territory teeming with vegetation.
Yet, even as this thought enters my mind, fierce possessiveness rushes through me. She is mine and I cannot bear the thought of her with another. I force myself to stifle the growl threatening to rise in my throat. I study her hand on my arm. She is growing accustomed to me, I think. Perhaps, in time, she will even come to like me.
Regardless, I am unwilling to give her up to a member of the Earth Clan. I will endeavor to be the best mate that I can so that, hopefully, it will make up for that fact that choosing a life with me means living in the Fire Clan territory.
Earth. The name of her home world drifts through my
