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Cedra
My dreams were filled with a deep floral-iron scent, a fog through which I was wading with no intention to escape.
I wanted to frolic in it, drown in it, let it consume me.
As the first rooster crowed and I opened my eyes to the break of dawn, I realized that the scent was no dream. I was enveloped in an old throw that smelled too much like...her. The runaway. Twyla.
I wanted to throw the covers off me but I lingered, bringing them closer to my face.
Gods, she had a beautiful scent. It had been so long since I’d smelled something so luscious in my bed.
The more I mulled over it, the more I couldn’t understand my actions. My brain had clearly told me it would be trouble to keep her here. Surely her parents were rich enough to hire the best hunters to track her. Yet there was something about the little runaway that strummed at my heart.
Perhaps it was those large brown eyes that widened expressively with fear and desperation. Or those full berry-pink lips that quivered when I told her she couldn’t stay. Or maybe it was that feeling—that intense need that rose above everything—that wanted to protect this girl from anyone who tried to harm her. I’d felt the weird pull in my gut as she’d pleaded with me, triggering a base need to shelter and nourish.
Now, wasn’t that just crazy? This person was literally a stranger.
Caught in the whirlwind of my thoughts, I only belatedly realized I wasn’t in bed. I was sprawled on the couch like a drunk student, still dressed in last night’s clothes. And my head was starting to throb.
I groaned as I pushed myself upright, peeling my skin apart from the warm synthi-leather with some effort. My bare toes sank into the carpet as I tried to collect myself.
Without much effort, I could recall going to the Feast, but feeling uncomfortable with the new presence in my home. Ana’id had handed me a bottle of homemade rum and...the last thing I remember was laughter. A lot of it.
When did I even get home?
My boots were standing by the door, although I hadn’t remembered taking them off.
When I bent to pick them up, I froze. There were a pair of bejeweled black slippers there as well, propped neatly next to my boots as though they belonged there. The large decorative rocks caught the low morning light and winked at me.
I frowned at the easy domesticity those slippers presented and jammed my feet into my boots instead.
As I stood looking for my work shirt, the sound of low voices and the smell of freshly fried eggs lured me to the kitchen. It wasn’t often that I heard others in my house; I tended to keep my doors closed save for Ella and Ana’id. It was just better that way.
A frown creased the skin between my brows as I entered the kitchen to find Twyla preparing my breakfast and Ella seemingly “supervising” the work. I hadn’t wanted anyone to know about Twyla before I could figure out what to do with her. But it seemed as though she’d made herself at home despite my misgivings.
I cleared my throat and two women swiveled in my direction.
I’d intended to keep my frown up, to tell Twyla without words that what she’d done was not okay. But when her eyes locked with mine, I found that I couldn’t turn away.
She looked...softer than the night before. Her bare shoulders were illuminated by the rising sun, casting a gorgeous golden glow on her dark skin. Her curls were in a haphazard braid, as though she hadn’t bothered to straighten it after a long nap.
When she took a step towards me and extended a plate, I realized she’d been speaking to me.
“...breakfast.”
I took the plate from her with a grunt of thanks and sat at the small kitchen table, keenly aware of the two sets of eyes watching me. I gestured for Ella to sit, worried she might tip over with the extra weight.
She rubbed her belly as she took the only chair opposite mine.
“Technology is such a marvel these days,” she commented as she sat back against the chair a little more comfortably. “I admit, I didn’t think you were serious when you said you were buying a bot to do the chores. But this is, well...incredible!”
I looked back at Twyla, who was now busy sanitizing the frying pan. So, she’d sold Ella the “Servana” lie? Well, at least that saved me the trouble of explaining her presence in my home. I felt the frown easing off my face.
“Yes, it’s very convenient,” I muttered, raising a slice of toast to my lips. “How are you feeling today?”
Ella sighed, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. “I’m tired, Cee. My ankles are permanently swollen and I’m eating everything in sight, and I’ve still got sixteen weeks left!”
“You should rest,” I said automatically. It was the only piece of advice I could give her—I didn’t know anything about babies anyway. “You deserve a break.”
