“What the hell is that?” She points in disgust to her meal.
I blink several times, dumbstruck. “It is a delicacy. Hakaret are hard to find and even more difficult to kill because of their sharp teeth, but I have brought one back for you.” I tip my chin up and puff out my chest, waiting for her adoration and praise.
“It’s raw!” She grimaces.
“Yes,” I reply, not understanding the problem. “It was recently killed. Hurry, let us eat. It is best when consumed fresh.”
“You can’t expect me to eat that,” she says incredulously.
My chest deflates. This is not going as well as I expected. She does not seem pleased. “Why not?”
“I’ll get sick, that’s why. I can’t eat meat unless it’s cooked.”
“Cooked? You mean… flamed?”
My brows shoot up to my forehead. Scorching the meat would ruin its fresh taste. No Drakarian would ever think to do this to such a glorious meal. But as my gaze travels up and down her form, I remind myself that she is an alien; her physiology and ways are different from mine.
She nods. “Yes. Do you have anything we can use to make a fire?”
Now I’m even more shocked. I hadn’t expected her to be able to breathe flame like my people, but to hear that she cannot even make a simple fire is concerning. “Your race has not discovered yet how to make fire?”
Her head jerks back. “What?”
I sigh heavily. Oh, these poor humans. How did they ever manage to master space travel? Or survive at all, for that matter? Fire is a basic necessity for any civilization.
Perhaps that is why the Gods paired this one with me—they want me to keep her alive. Well, I will do so gladly. From her reaction, I assume that she is unable to properly prepare her own food, so I will help her. Who knows? Perhaps this simple act will impress her enough that she’ll eagerly fall into my arms and insist upon our first mating.
Kneeling before my kill, I extend my sharp claws and proceed to skin the creature. Her eyes are wide as she watches me. I cut several chunks of meat from the bones. Recalling her flat, white teeth, I choose the softest, juiciest bits for her while setting aside the tougher pieces for myself.
When I am finished, I turn to her. “Stand back.” I wait until she is several paces away. Then I turn and breathe fire on the meat I reserved for her.
She gasps in what I hope is wonder at what a capable male I am, preparing a meal the way my mate likes.
Using my claws to spear each chunk, I cook it thoroughly. When I’m finished, I hold it out to her.
She shakes her head and I stare at her in confusion before offering her the chunk again. “This is yours,” I say, realizing only now that I am not touching her, so she does not understand my words. I place a hand on her forearm.
“It’s too hot,” she says.
My jaw drops. First, she complained the meat was raw and now she finds it too hot?
“I apologize,” I begin. “I thought you wanted it flamed.”
She smiles. “I did, but it needs to cool before I eat, or else it might burn my tongue.”
Ah. “Easily fixed.” I nod and place her pieces on a smooth, flat stone. “This will allow it to cool.”
As I work, I eye her discreetly. Her home world must have been quite the temperate, mild planet for her to be so sensitive to slight variations in temperature.
“Thanks.” She smiles up at me and I notice a charming indentation in her left cheek while I allow my gaze to travel over her face. She really is the most captivating female. Her long hair is the color of flame, reminding me of the vast desert plains.
“How long have your people been stranded here?” I ask, curious to know how long they’ve been able to survive in the desert.
“About a week.”
I regard her with newfound respect, brushing my thumb across the petal-soft skin where I grip her forearm. Although she appears delicate, her people must be heartier than I first believed if they survived without a permanent shelter for so long. The desert is as unforgiving as the vast oceans that border the Water Clan’s lands. It is not easy to make a life in this place, even for my own species.
I tip my head to the side, studying her through an entirely new lens. My linaya is stronger than I realized. This is good.
As we chew our food, I notice the wounds on her forearm. Her bath has washed away the medicinal paste. Eyeing the caza root against the far wall, I gesture at her injuries. “We need to reapply your medicine.”
“You mean alien spit, don’t you?” She grins.
A smile quirks my lips at her teasing.
“Yes.” I narrow my eyes. “Though, technically, you are the alien here. You realize that, do you not?”
She lifts her shoulders to her ears in that strange gesture again. “I guess you’re right.” She smiles again. “Let’s finish eating first and then you can spit on me.”
I nod. I like my female’s sense of humor. “As you wish.”
Carefully holding her arm with one hand, I apply the medicinal paste with the other. It does not escape my notice that she neither grimaces nor wrinkles her nose in disgust as she did earlier. Perhaps she feels more at ease around me now, more accepting of our differences. We’re making progress, I think.
The storm still rages outside as the winds pick up. I’m not certain how much longer it will last, but I worry about nightfall. The air has cooled, and I notice her slight shiver as she curls into a ball, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs with her back against the cave wall.
Fierce protectiveness fills me. I
