The low temperature convinced me the food Rivven had left last night would probably be fine to eat as well. The sliced bread was stale now, but still good, and I had to stop myself from moaning at the bright, sweet, tartness of whatever fruit preserve he’d smeared on top. And…Holy hills of Terra…Was that butter as well?
When was the last time I’d had real fruit and butter?
Probably some Christmas morning when Daddy was still alive.
I chewed vigorously and swallowed hard, forcing the food past the new lump in my throat. I hadn’t planned to eat everything – I wanted to give my stomach a little time to settle after last night – but it was so tasty I cleared the plate entirely. Then, I drained my water.
So far, so good.
Encouraged by the way that my body was reacting, I slowly eased my feet off the bed and into my boots. I almost kicked something over – the bucket. Which made me aware of the fullness of my bladder.
He really was offering to deal with my bodily fluids…
Very sweet. Also very gross. And not something I ever planned to actually let happen.
Putting my jacket on over yesterday’s clothes, I ventured out in search of a bathroom.
Outside the bedroom door was a small landing, then a set of stairs that led down into what looked to be a kitchen of some sort.
And in that kitchen stood a man.
A beautiful man. A man with skin the precise, aching shade of the sky that had called me here. Long, deep blue hair was tied neatly behind him as he worked over what appeared to be a wood-burning stove. Deliciously rich and savoury scents drifted up to me from where I watched him.
Unlike the warden yesterday, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I told myself that they were the appreciative eyes of a painter (and not those of a pervert) that I now let rove over the exquisite musculature of his torso. His back was to me, his head bent forwards over a pan, his shoulders moving, muscles along his spine bunching. His arms were thick with tautly corded flesh, flexing with the criss-crossing matrix of veins. His left hand gripped the pan’s handle, moving the heavy object with ease as he swirled whatever was in there. His right hand, I realized now, was not there. The forearm ended in a blunt line at his wrist.
This didn’t seem to hinder him in the kitchen. I remained up on the landing, watching in fascination as he commanded the room. Whenever he needed more fingers than he had, his slender, ropy tail snapped up, prehensile and powerful, gripping, grabbing, and swiping.
And he still used his right arm, too, his forearm supporting when needed and, at one point, becoming a sort of hook for a dish towel he draped over it.
I noticed another hook, too. On the back of his belt. When his tail wasn’t doing something to assist him, it coiled there, like looped rope hanging from a nail on a wall.
This had to be Rivven.
I took a small step forward, still on the landing, leaning towards the stairs to get a better look at him. The floorboard beneath my boot creaked. Just a tiny bit.
But Rivven whirled at the sound at once.
Right away, I noticed three things about him.
One: His eyes were deep, brilliant blue – phthalo blue – until they weren’t. The moment they locked on me, they surged with bright light from the centres, until they glowed entirely white.
Two: He had big, round, velvety-looking ears on the top of his head. Absolutely adorable, and providing a nearly cartoonish contrast with the unrelentingly hard lines of the rest of his body.
Three: He was handsome. Just like I’d thought he might be after hearing his voice. He looked like he might be a little younger than the warden, though it was difficult to tell. I didn’t know enough about Zabrian faces.
But I knew enough to know that I liked this one. I liked the sharp, clean line of his jaw, the angled hollows of his cheeks, the thick, dark blue brows (phthalo blue again, I thought, with the slightest edge of black).
OK. Scratch that. I didn’t just notice three things in that moment.
Four: The man movedfast.
Already, he was bounding up the stairs towards me, his boots heavy but quick on the steps.
“Are you alright?” he asked when he’d reached the step below the landing. Even down one step from me, he towered, seven-foot-something male of alien proportions. “Do you need help?”
“No, thank you. I’m feeling a lot better this morning.” I said the words slowly, testing them, tasting them for truth. But I found that I really was still feeling better. The sleep and the pain medication were – at least for now – keeping me upright and functioning. I’d definitely still needed to take it easy today, but I was feeling more and more optimistic every moment.
“Good.” His reply came out with the gentle rasp of an exhale. There was relief in it, I was certain. His bright white eyes hadn’t left my face. This time, especially with the morning light coming in through the windows below, the odd brightness of his gaze didn’t bother me.
