My only consolation was that the Raas hadn’t been around to witness me crying in my sleep. Although I wouldn’t exactly call it a consolation that I hadn’t seen Raas Vassim since we’d returned from the visit to Qualynn, it did make it easier to fulfill my end of the deal. There was zero chance of me becoming his mate if I never saw him.
It felt longer since I was alone in his quarters, but it probably hadn’t been more than a day since we’d parted at the door. He’d claimed he needed to return to his command deck, but I could tell he’d been shaken by what the witch had told him.
Still, he hadn’t returned, and I’d finally drifted off to sleep, awoken to find food set out on the low table, eaten, and fallen back asleep. The throaty rumble of the warship’s engines had an impressive ability to lull me to sleep, although I was starting to dread my tumultuous dreams.
I crossed my legs in front of me and tugged the skirt of my dress over my knees, glancing over at the fire that burned without kindling. The fake blue flames cavorted in the air, sending shadows dancing across the floor. Something was different. I leaned over and placed a hand on the floor to feel for vibrations. There were none. The ship had stopped moving.
I swung my head toward the wall of glass. Stars no longer streaked past in the distance as we flew at speeds faster than my brain could process. We appeared to hover in space, but I saw no other ships around us. Then I remembered that Vandar hordes used invisibility shielding. There could be an entire fleet of their warbirds outside the window, and I’d never know. The thought made me look away and tug my skirt even lower.
How did the Vandar survive in space like this? It was so cold and lonely. Of course, I probably felt like that because I was the only woman and only human on a raider ship filled with dangerous warriors. For them, it was all they’d known. They weren’t used to watching the suns rise each morning, the pink light peeking over shards of rock. They didn’t breathe in the scent of salt water, or even the warm, yeasty aroma of baking bread. Their existence was comprised of dark spaceships and the smell of warriors fresh from battle.
I thought of the Raas before he’d bathed, his bronze skin flecked with blood and slick with sweat. I wasn’t used to males who showed so much skin, and despite my shock, I’d longed to drag my fingers across the inky marks on his skin.
“Honestly, Juliette,” I scolded myself, as heat filled my cheeks and pulsed between my legs. “You do not want him.”
That’s a lie, a little voice whispered in the back of my mind. You shouldn’t want him, but you do.
I shook my head vigorously, as if the movement could shake the desire from me. Raas Vassim was nothing like the husband I’d always imagined I’d have—handsome and kind, a steady provider who never missed a day of work, or was late when returning home for supper. Even though there hadn’t been a particular man on Kimithion III I thought would fit this bill, I’d always envisioned him being human. Not once had I dreamed of an alien mate who wore only a kilt and terrorized the empire as a feared warlord of the Vandar. Until the Vandar exile, Corvak, had come to our planet, I’d barely known anything about the violent species. Except that they were wild creatures who flew in hordes and were ruled by warlords. It was all I’d ever needed to know.
But now here I was, living on a Vandar warbird. I wasn’t even being held against my will anymore. I’d made a deal with the Vandar. The easiest deal I’d ever made in my life, I reminded myself. All I had to do was run out the clock without succumbing to his charms, and he would have to return me to my home planet.
“Piece of frambolgi cake,” I said, the memory of my favorite fruity dessert making my stomach growl. I couldn’t exactly fall for a guy who was never around, and so far, Raas Vassim was a shadow.
Standing up, I walked over to the low table. Domes covered the plates that had been switched out while I slept, fragrant steam billowing up as I lifted first one and then another. It wasn’t frambolgi cake, but the savory smells made my mouth water, nonetheless. I found a basket of warm rolls, biting into one and closing my eyes as I chewed. They weren’t as sweet as the ones I made, but they were still bread. And if there was one thing I loved about almost all else, it was bread.
I missed baking more than I even missed eating my creations. The measured order of mixing up dough and rolling it onto a floured surface had always calmed me and provided a steadiness to my life, even in the midst of pain or loneliness. I’d never felt lost or alone when I was baking, and I longed to be in a kitchen and feel the heat of the ovens. I’d be back home in my kitchen soon, I reminded myself as I swallowed the Vandar bread.
I polished off two rolls before tearing off a bite of bread and dipping it into one of the stew-like dishes. The flavor was stronger than I was accustomed to—and there was no fish base to
