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"My translator isn't interpreting what a pet is in Ziarian," he says, coming to my aid as I struggle. He sets aside the bowl and adjusts my pillows so I'm propped up. "Tris is my furry companion. I found her as a cub on the forest floor. I couldn't leave her to die, and though I didn't think she'd live, I hand fed her until she could eat on her own."
"That was kind of you," I say as the length of his hair brushes my skin when he leans over me. Surrounded by his intoxicating scent, a mixture of sandalwood and a spice I can't place, I can’t help but inhale deeply.
He grunts in response, as if embarrassed by my remark.
I should be terrified of him, but I'm not. His hands are surprisingly gentle as he adjusts my pillows. His bright, emerald gaze warm and gentle as it meets mine.
I have zero experience with men. A rush of emotions courses through me, and I have no idea how to handle my quickening breaths or the tingles of my girly bits at his nearness. Nothing makes sense about me feeling this way.
He offers me the bowl, but my hand shakes so badly, he decides to hold it for me, spoon feeding me as he perches on the side of the bed. He's so close, I can count the darker flecks of green sprinkled in his verdant gaze.
The irises of Ziarians are larger than those of humans, with a luminescent quality that makes them surreal. Up this close, I can't help but stare.
I inappropriately moan around my first spoonful of soup. His eyes widen, locking onto mine. Embarrassment creeps over me, and I duck my head as my face grows hot.
"That's really good soup," I nervously babble. "Did you make it yourself?"
Gawd, I say the most idiotic things when I'm nervous. Of course he made it since there doesn't seem to be anyone else here.
"Yes." He spoons another bit into my mouth. "It's bone broth from a krotin, and the chopped pieces are various root vegetables. It's high in protein and the vegetables contain healing properties."
"The taste reminds me of the chicken soup my grandma made for me when I was sick."
"Grand-maw?" He gives his head a little shake.
"My mother's mother."
"Ah," he says. "Ziarian's call them Maymina. As a young, I couldn't pronounce the word and called her Mayme."
I grin picturing this hulking male as a sweet-faced little boy with mischievous eyes and tiny horns protruding from his head.
"She used to make me a similar soup to this when I was ill," he spoons another bite into my mouth as he reminisces, "except with different vegetables not found on Zune."
I finish off the bowl of soup, curious but remaining leery of the male despite his help. I have tons of questions, but I don't want to bombard him, afraid I might piss him off.
Then again, how bad of a guy can he be with a pet squirrel and a grandma nicknamed Mayme? I mean, how cute is that?
"Drink?" He offers me a bulging leather pouch.
I sniff the lip of the pouch before tilting it back and drinking deeply of the cool liquid. Colorless and tasteless, it's a tad thicker than the water I'm used to, but it's the same stuff we've been drinking since we crashed here. I settle back against the pillows with my belly full and my head light and fuzzy.
"You need to rest," he says. "You're still healing from your head wound."
"Head wound?" I touch my head but find no bandage.
"The blast from the confinement collar knocked you unconscious when you fell to the ground."
"Oh," I rub my temple, "I don't remember that, but I remember you. You were there, helping fight Godzilla."
"Gawd-zeela?" He wrinkles his nose. "Is that what you call the lab-altered Ziarian? Before he was made into a beast by my government, his name was Gruxt."
"Drax said he used to be one of your kind."
"Drax?" He cocks his head. "You mean Draxyn? Is that the yellow-maned male?"
"Yeah, I guess. Stacy just called him Drax, but he's the one with yellow hair. He's Stacy's new alien boyfriend," I blurt and wish I hadn't when emerald eyes narrow on me.
"Alien, huh?" But then he grins with a little chuckle. "If Ziarian's are the aliens, then what does that make you, lula?"
