I stare at the ceiling, listening to the water running in the bathroom. I can feel myself drifting off, but my eyes snap open when the shower stops. I hear Kojo moving around, followed by a light tearing sound that I know is coming from his ridge as he pulls on his shirt. The bathroom door opens, and he turns off the light, stepping out in a cloud of steam.
“I will rise early to clean the bathroom for you,” he says, his voice low.
I open my mouth and lose the words when he moves closer. He stops at the edge of the bed and just stands there, and my brain supplies: oh shit. His hands remain at his sides, his arms impossibly big in the t-shirt that’s stretched across his chest. The sweatpants hang low on his hips, I can’t help giving him a half smile. He’s a lot to look at, and I’m not about to pretend otherwise.
“May I sleep with you tonight?” he asks, his voice dropping on the last.
“What?”
He points at the space beside the bed. “I can sleep here. The floor does not bother me. I have slept on worse.”
“No,” I say firmly, more shocked by his suggestion than anything else. “You can’t sleep on the floor, Kojo. This is supposed to be our home.”
“Temporary,” he corrects me.
I sigh. “That’s beside the point. What I’m saying is you need to be comfortable here. Not just me.” I glance around the room. “There’s probably another...” He’s already talking.
“I want to be close to my mate,” he interrupts, and there’s something open in his. “I will be quiet.”
I shake my head. All of this is happening too fast. I scoot to the far side of the bed and pat the open space.
“Keep your hands to yourself.” He doesn’t move. I roll my eyes. “You can share the bed. It’s not going to be the floor.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He immediately pulls back the sheets and climbs in, his weight making the mattress dip. I watch his ridge poking through his shirt go completely flat as he relaxes against the mattress, his body heat immediately warming the space between us. He lies on his back, hands folded across his chest, careful to keep to his side of the bed.
“You call yourself Kojo,” I say suddenly, curiosity getting the better of me, “but Zaki calls you something else.”
He goes very still, staring at the ceiling like he can see through it. “I was named Alemayehu at birth,” he says after a long pause. “When my Matriarch was killed and my village was burned, I decided my name died with them. When Aiden found me months later, digging through trash for food, I gave myself a new name. Kojo. It means born on Monday.”
“That’s a nice name to choose,” I tell him, “were you born on Monday?”
My Bouda laughs. “No,” he says. “But the name comes from the Akan people of Ghana. It is simple, strong. It does not carry the weight of my past. It allows me to honor my continent while still becoming someone new.” His voice softens. “Someone who can survive when everyone else is gone.”
“Can I call you Alemayehu?” I butcher the pronunciation completely, and I know it.
He smiles. “You may call me whatever you wish, majesty.”
“I’ll just call you Kojo for now,” I say, “until I learn how to say your name correctly.”
I shift to my side, facing him. “What’s next for us?” I ask aloud. “We’re fated, so that means I’m going to be with you for the rest of our lives. That much I know.” I pause, trying to organize my thoughts. “How does that work?”
“The same way it works for humans who have chosen it by tradition,” he says, eyes on the ceiling. “I will be your provider.”
His breathing remains steady as he continues. “I will take care of you. I will ensure you have a safe home, that you never want for anything. I will hunt for you, protect you, build you shelter that keeps out the cold. I will be a good mate to you.” He finally turns his head to meet my eyes, and I believe him. “My life is yours to direct, Kendra. My Bouda will see to it that you never doubt this.”
I reach out, placing my hand over his where it rests on his chest and curling my fingers around his. I don’t know why I’mdoing it. I just do. He returns the gesture by gently stroking my fingers with his thumb, the calluses on his skin rough against mine.
“I don’t want that,” I say softly.
He furrows his brow, and I scoot closer.
“I don’t want you to live to serve me,” I explain. “I want us to learn about each other, to build something together. I don’t need a servant. I need a partner. At least, I think I do.” I have no idea why I said that.
“May I hold you tonight and keep you warm?” he asks.
I smile and pull my hand away, then scoot closer until our bodies are nearly touching. He lifts his arm and wraps it around me as I rest my head against his chest.
“You are warmer than the sheet cover anyway,” I murmur, already feeling sleep pulling at me.
He gently strokes my arm, his touch light but secure, and as I quickly drift off, feeling safer than I have in so long, I’m mostly asleep when I hear him say, “I will be your servant, Kendra. In time you will understand. You are queen and will be treated as such.”
But I’m too tired to protest. Fuck it. I’ll deal with that tomorrow.
