“We can cook it like this.”
“Yes, exactly, Zan,” she says, some of the grin disappearing from her face, but she lights back up as she approaches the platters of meat that have replaced the animal lying on the ground. “Right, I’m starving. Do you know how to barbecue?”
“I could learn to barr-be-cute for you,” I tell her, trying out the strange word. She has not spoken to me this much in days.
A good sign.
An excellent sign.
“Right.” A deep sigh makes her chest move in interesting ways. “Okay, well, I do, so let’s figure out what is in those totes.” She marches over to the pans laden with white and pink meat and picks one up. The muscles in her arms flex as she carries it over and sets it on the picnic table. She points an elegant finger at the metal contraption. “That’s a grill.”
“I don’t know if you—we cook meat where I come from too,” I tell her gently.
“Oh,” she says. “Of course you do. I didn’t mean to…”
I smile at her slowly. I haven’t seen her flustered before.
“I didn’t mean to imply that you ate food raw,” she finally finishes, rubbing the back of her neck. Her gaze meets mine for a brief second, and I can hardly breathe for the openness in her eyes, for once.
“You came back for me,” she says, then purses her lips as if regretting letting the words out at all.
“Of course I did,” I say, shrugging. I want so badly to draw her close to me, to tell her that I would never abandon her andthat she can count on me and that I will always kill cock for her, but I don’t.
At this point I know better than to presume that she wants me to do anything. I’d hoped to wear her down by annoying her until the heat was too much, but at this point I’ll settle for her grudging alliance.
But I hate that she’s in pain and suffering, that is what the Draegon heat does to a female.
“You should eat,” I say. “Sit down and I will cook for you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she tells me, stubborn set to her eyes and mouth that I’ve come to know better than the shape of the talons on my own hand.
“I know I don’t have to,” I tell her, confused. “I want to do it. You’re tired. You’ve been hanging by your foot for hours because I left you, and I have the means to make you food, to create a meal for you while you rest.”
Her eyes narrow further, creases in her brow showing up alongside new freckles that I swear were not there merely days ago.
“Why do you fight me on this?” I ask her, genuinely intrigued. “Does it mean something in your culture for a male to cook for his female?”
She opens her mouth, and I can tell that I’ve misspoken, so I hold a hand up. “A female,” I say. “I’m not claiming you as my own. I know that you do not like that.”
It is a lie, and a bad one a that.
I am absolutely claiming her as my own. But it’s a lot easier to claim her if she’s not arguing with me about every single time I slip up and make it clear that I think of her as mine already.
She throws up her hands, sighing, exasperated, before nodding in agreement.
“Fine,” she says. “If you don’t want me to help cook, I will sit here and let you do it all.”
“Good,” I tell her, nodding in agreement. “I am happy to serve you this meal.”
She gives me a long look, then bends over and begins sorting through the nearest tub.
I keep an eye on her as I start the fire in the grate with the provided fuel source. There are all kinds of spices and sauces and vegetables in the totes, and it takes me no time at all to sniff out the ones I think my small human will like best.
Before long, the grill is full of sizzling meats and vegetables, and my little human has her face cradled in her arms as she watches me from where she’s half-asleep on the table. It fills my heart with a gladness I don’t think I’ve ever felt to see her calm in my presence and to know that I will be the one to make sure she has sustenance this night.
The chicken behind us squawks, and we both startle, having forgotten she was there.
“I thought she’d wander off by now,” Lily tells me, then seems to remember that she’s speaking to me and clamps her mouth shut before narrowing her eyes again.
