I laughed, surprised, and the sound startled a small creature from the silver trees, something like a bird, but with iridescent scales instead of feathers. It shot into the sky and caught the last of the amber light before vanishing. Pip, sitting on the garden blanket between us, turned to watch it go with hands outstretched, a look of wonder on her face.
“She likes the flying ones,” I said.
“She’s always liked them,” Andrek said. “Even as an infant. Her mother,” he stopped. “Her mother had a garden, and many creatures like that one lived in it.”
He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t push.
Mornings in the garden were Pip’s favorite and therefore became non-negotiable. She’d toddle along the paths between the silver trees that made her look like a miniature scientist when she paused to examine rocks and fallen leaves. If a creature crossed her path, they also became a subject to study. I followed three steps behind, close enough to be felt through the bond, far enough to give him the autonomy Andrek said was essential for healthy Yxian development.
“They need to explore,” Andrek had explained. “The instinct is deep. A young Yxian kept too close to their caregivers becomes anxious and dependent in ways that are hard to undo. Let her wander.”
“While staying close enough that she doesn’t panic when she looks up.”
“You got it. It’s a balance.”
“You make that sound simple.”
“Nothing about this is simple,” he said, “but you’re learning.”
Afternoons became lesson time for both Pip and me. I took notes and asked questions till Andrek told me to stop because I was overthinking. I made mistakes and corrected them.
But the evenings turned into something I hadn’t expected.
The evenings were mine.
Pip’s dinner and bath became my favorite part of the day. I loved the way she slapped the water with all her hands and looked up at me with an expression of absolute glee. After the bedtime harmonics, which I was improving at, I’d put her down for the night. After all of that, Andrek and I would find ourselves in the kitchen together.
It had just happened the first few nights, both of us gravitating toward the same space at the same hour, and then continued happening until it became our routine.
Most nights, he cooked. He found cooking meditative. I’d grown up in a world of nutritional supplements and automated meal dispensaries. Ingredient-based cooking was still foreign to me, but thanks to Andrek’s infinite patience, I was learning. I stood at the counter while he walked me through the steps. His hands moved with effortless precision.
And oh, those hands. The first time I noticed them was during the fourth evening in the kitchen, when he showed me how to break down his favorite vegetable. It looked and tasted like a pomegranate mixed with a parsnip. Its shell required a technique to open without losing the juice inside. His hands were large and capable; fingers longer than human proportions, and they moved with such careful sureness that I stopped paying attention to the vegetable.
“Dani.”
At a shortened version of my name, I looked up to find him watching me with an unreadable expression.
“You’re not watching my hands.”
“I am,” I said, which wasn’t a complete lie. I was watching them, but my mind wandered elsewhere.
He held my gaze for a moment too long, then looked back down at the vegetable.
After that, I was more careful about where I looked.
Though not always successful. Andrek enjoyed rolling up his sleeves to display powerful forearms. I’m pretty sure he didn’t know what he was doing to me.
Living alongside Andrek was different from working for him. In our quiet moments together after the day ended, I noticed things about him, and my body reacted. Late at night, I practiced wrapping the gauze around my thoughts and practiced a forbidden ritual on Earth. I touched myself in the most intimate places and thought of Andrek, wishing it was his hands on me instead of my own.
Not only did I appreciate strong arms, but his wings. Oh, his wings.
I’d been aware of them since our first meeting. It was difficult to be unaware of them, given the sheer scale, but in the early days on the estate, my attention focused more on Pip and my own failures to pay attention to those sexy wings. Now, the bond settled, and with a tentative peace established in the house; they were back on my radar.
Andrek kept them mostly folded against his back indoors, a practical consideration given the ceiling heights. But in the garden he’d sometimes extend them, and when the afternoon light caught the membrane, it did something extraordinary. The surface appeared dark at rest, a deep charcoal, nearly black. In the right angle of light, they revealed themselves to be layered with color. Violet beneath the charcoal. Iridescent green at the leading edge.
I’d been watching Pip who tried to catch a scaled bird for the better part of twenty minutes, finally gave up and threw herself onto the garden blanket in a dramatic imitation of defeat. I felt her frustration through the bond and smothered a laugh. When I looked up, Andrek was watching me.
Not Pip. Me.
