by Dixon, Ruby
I take the cookie and nibble on it as he helps himself to another as well. I think about the man that showed up earlier. Harmless, Emvor says. I have to trust his judgment. “So who was he? That man?”
“His name’s Sanjurel. Old widower up the valley. Ever since his wife passed, he likes to stay busy by managing everyone else’s business.” He shrugs.
“Widower, huh? Maybe he’ll need a new bride and won’t mind if she’s not strong and kind of ugly.” I laugh nervously, but Emvor doesn’t join in. His jaw tightens and I get the impression I said something wrong.
“You’re not ugly,” he says after a moment. “You’re just human. Doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with the way you look.”
It sounds like he’s parroting my words back, and it’s nice of him. “I guess so. Are there a lot of widowers here on your planet? A lot of single men?”
His eyes narrow and he scowls, brushing crumbs off his tunic. “Why?”
Why? Isn’t it obvious? “Um, because I’m going to need to marry someone, remember?”
Emvor doesn’t say anything to that. He just moves away and shakes his head. “I need to wash up before dinner.”
I’m left alone in the living area, wondering why he’s so sensitive over something like that. I thought he wanted me to get out of his hair? If so, shouldn’t I ask about the locals? See who might need a wife? Who might be amenable to a human? Why does he act like he’s offended?
I sigh to myself and take a halfhearted bite of cookie. Perhaps he thinks I’m being too pushy. He said he’d take me to the gathering. I’ll meet someone there and I won’t worry about it until then. I’ve got a few days to relax before I have to worry about husband hunting. Emvor says I’m safe here. Might as well not borrow trouble until I have to.
* * *
Despite the warmth of the day, the night is surprisingly cold, and after dinner, I’m happy when Emvor moves to the stove and starts a fire.
“You’re too fragile to endure the cold,” he tells me, and then I’m less happy about the fire.
“Humans are surprisingly hardy,” I can’t help but retort. “If we were as fragile as you say, no one would steal us. We’d die of fright the moment we got a look at your alien faces.”
I’m rewarded with a reluctant, almost rusty chuckle, and it breaks the tension between us.
“Do you play sticks?” I ask after a moment. “I found a set when I was straightening things.”
Emvor looks over at me, surprised. “You play?”
Is that pleasure I hear in his voice? I nod, trying not to sound too eager. “Leandra taught me. She loved to play. We’d spend hours most nights just tossing sticks back and forth. She could beat me every time, but I never stopped trying.”
A slow smile curves his mouth, and it seems like his whole face creases with it. My heart skips a beat. “I used to be pretty good,” he murmurs. “Haven’t played since I was a soldier, though.”
“I’ll go easy on you, then,” I tease, getting to my feet.
“Will you, now?” He sounds amused, and my heart skips another beat.
I get the box of sticks as he drags the table toward the fire and pulls his log-seat across from the only chair, which he holds out for me. I’m surprised at the small gesture and wonder if he knows it’s a chivalrous human thing to do. Probably not, but it affects me all the same. I smile brightly up at him and I’m so, so happy when he actually smiles back. It’s almost like we’re becoming friends, and I love that. I haven’t had a friend since Leandra died.
I’ve been so alone.
But here by the fire with Emvor, I don’t feel so alone, so utterly adrift in the universe. So terrified. It feels like I might have a friend and it’s the most wonderful feeling in the world. It makes my spirit feel light and free, and my heart full of joy.
I can’t tell him this, though. He’s a prickly sort and won’t like it if I gush over him when he’s trying to set me up with one of his neighbors. So I just give him my best cocky smile and take the lid off of the game. “I hope you like eating crow.”
He gives me a cool look of amusement. “What the kef is ‘crow’?”
“You’re about to see,” I tease gleefully.
5
EMVOR
Nicola’s got a sharp mind. I’m a little surprised at how good a sticks player she is. It’s a game that requires strategy and quick thinking, and no two games are ever alike. I’ve met several people in the past that were terrible players, but Nicola makes me work hard to win every round, and some of the bouts last hours on end, until they’re decided at the very last moment and leave us both breathless and laughing. She wins as many bouts as she loses, and her laughter fills the quiet, cold evening.
She even makes me laugh a time or two. It feels good. Tonight, this house doesn’t feel like just a place to sleep. It feels like a home. It’s a good feeling, and I know she’s responsible for it. She’s cooked and baked like a mech on overdrive ever since she arrived, but when I chided her for it, she told me she just likes to cook and clean. She doesn’t feel obligated, she just likes staying busy. Makes the day go by faster.
I know how that is. It’s one reason I took up farming when I was discharged. I found myself with a ton of spare time and nothing to do, so I helped an old family friend out on his farm for a season and found that I liked the work. It’s hard and brutal and sometimes unforgiving, but it keeps you out of your head and bad memories. I like that, and I like the satisfaction of seeing a tall field full of grain, knowing that I grew it all myself and it’ll feed myself and my meat-stock through the long winter on Cassa. Busy hands can keep a worried mind distracted.
Of course, then it bothers me that she’s so worried she needs to constantly distract herself. I’m starting to feel oddly protective of her, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. All I can think about is when Sanjurel showed up on my doorstep, nosy and eager to see her, and the possessive anger it filled me with. The urge to protect her from him, to hide her away from his prying eyes, was overwhelming. And when I saw her shaking afterward, I had to fight back the desire to grab her and hold her against my chest.
Maybe he’ll need a new bride.
Her words from earlier still burn in my gut. She’s not wrong that Sanjurel could probably use a new wife. But the thought of young, laughing, happy Nicola with that old nosy mesakkah? It bothers me. I think of him filling her belly with a child, and it makes me want to put my fist through the table between us.
That’s a problem. I shouldn’t care if Sanjurel’s right for her. I know he’s a good enough man and he’d keep her safe. I…just don’t like the thought of Nicola in his bed. Nicola with her warm, crop-gold hair and that little dent in her cheek that shows up when she smiles wide.
Pisses me off just thinking about it.
Nicola gives a delicate yawn and hitches one of the blankets tighter around her shoulders. Her breath puffs in front of her face as she casts her final hand and I realize I’ve let the fire die while we played. It’s almost as cold inside the house as it is outside, I’d wager. So much for protecting her. I’m terrible at thinking of others, it seems.
“Cold?” I ask, my voice harder than I mean for it to be.
She looks surprised at my question—or maybe the brusqueness of it—and shakes her head even as she hugs the blanket closer to her. “I’m fine.”
But it’s not fine. Instead of arguing, though, I simply say, “It’s late, and the fire’s out so we might as well head off to bed.”
She nods and yawns again, then gets to her feet. “Can I…keep this blanket?” She looks at me with tired eyes. “The one on the bed is kind of thin.”
I’ve never thought to make extra blankets. I only have a thin one for everyday use and the one she’s got around her shoulders right now for colder nights, like tonight. “Of course.” It’ll leave me without anything to sleep, but I don’t mind. I’ve slept through worse.
The smile she gives me is grateful and she heads to the bedroom. I put a heavy log on t
he fire so it’ll give a little heat all night and then consider the floor. Wasn’t so bad outside last night, but it’ll be too cold tonight. Without any sort of blanket or softness tonight, it doesn’t look all that appealing. I move to the chair and sit down, rubbing my face. That’s fine. I can sleep here tonight. She’ll be gone soon enough.
The thought doesn’t fill me with relief like it should, though. Instead, I feel a gnawing sort of anger at myself, and frustration. And I feel damn lonely. Why couldn’t she be mesakkah? Actually, scratch that. I don’t even care that she’s that strange, pasty shade or that her face is all flat. I like things about her, like the color of her hair and that little dent in her cheek. I find her appealing.
Why couldn’t she be stronger? Doesn’t matter how charming I find her, I still need a keffing partner for my farm. I can’t expect fragile Nicola to haul me inside if I fall off the barn roof again.
She’s all wrong for me.
Doesn’t mean I’m not aching with want at the thought of touching her, though. But she’s not mine to touch. Not if I’m not keeping her.
I stare into the coals of the fire for a long time.
Eventually, I hear a clattering noise that drags my attention away. It’s coming from the bedroom, and when I get to my feet and step forward, I realize what it is. I can hear her teeth chattering, even from across the house.
“Nicola?” I ask, heading toward the bedroom as if drawn. I shouldn’t go. I should just stoke the fire and ignore her chill and let the heat that will eventually come from the flame take care of things. But…I don’t do that. I move toward the bedroom, gazing in through the darkness at the small, huddled form of her under both blankets. “You okay?”
“I’m f-f-fine,” she chatters. “J-just a little chillier than I’m u-used t-to.”
Stoke the fire, idiot, I tell myself. Go throw a few more logs on there and get the house to boiling. You don’t have to touch her.
I don’t listen to that voice, though. I strip off my tunic and kick off my boots, leaving only my trou, and I head for the bed. “Move over.”
She sits up in my bed, her hair disheveled and tumbling about her head wildly. “What—”
“It’s a cold night and I don’t have enough blankets,” I explain, climbing into bed next to her. She feels slight next to me, but good. I’m not entirely surprised to see that she’s still wearing her layers of clothing from earlier this night. “We’re going to share body heat.”
“We are?” Nicola’s voice is shaky with surprise—or the chatter of her teeth.
“We are,” I say firmly. It’s decided. “Nothing more.”
“Oh.”
I can’t tell if she’s disappointed from that one syllable. She says nothing else, though, lying back down in the bed with her back to me. Her slim body quakes with cold and so I hook one arm around her waist and pull her back against me. She stiffens, but after a moment, she relaxes and curls up against me. Cold feet push between my calves and she burrows backward, seeking my warmth. I relax and try to sleep, now that her shivering has stopped.
Sleep, ha.
I’m acutely aware of her slender body against mine, the way she fits, tucked against me just perfectly. Her hair tickles my chin and it smells clean and fresh. Her skin isn’t touching mine, but my hand is still on her waist and I can feel each breath that she takes, the hammering beat of her heart.
Hammering? Is she nervous? Excited?
My mouth goes dry.
Wouldn’t take much to turn her over, caress her cheek, and then pull up her tunic. Expose those fascinatingly bouncy breasts and all that pale skin. Touch her between her thighs and push my cock into her cunt. Fill her with my seed and give her my child, just the way I’d imagined…
But everything’s different since she’s a human. If I claim her, it doesn’t solve any of my problems. Instead of getting a helper and a partner, I’ll just have another mouth to feed. I bite back the curse rising in my throat, because I want nothing more than to bury my face against her soft neck and breathe in her scent, possess her body. Claim her as my own.
I can’t, though. It’d be wrong to take her and then hand her off to someone else in a few days. I might be a keffing cold bastard, but I can’t do that to her. It isn’t right.
So I remain perfectly still, holding her close enough to share my warmth but nothing else. Eventually, her racing heart slows and her breathing becomes soft and even. She falls asleep in my arms, warm and cared for.
And I wish again that she was stronger, because then I could make her mine.
* * *
As days pass, it becomes harder and harder to ignore her presence. Nicola’s like a burst of sunshine that’s come into my life, and her smile warms me every time I see it. Turns out the cute little dent in her cheek is called a dimple, and I live for its appearance. There’s nothing that makes my day better than seeing Nicola grin so wide that she dimples up. She’s been smiling a lot more lately, too, and most of them are directed at me.
Makes my heart ache fiercely.
Truth be told, I love her company. She’s smart, funny, and she’s always keeping busy. She doesn’t like being bored, she tells me, and one day when it’s raining so heavily that there’s nothing to be done in the fields but wait for the storm to pass, she makes little hard cakes and calls them “dominos” and then teaches me how to play a human game with them. We play all afternoon until I eat too many pieces for the game to be fair, and then we spend the evening by the fire, talking sticks strategies, about my ornery bull, or even about my time in the wars. She’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and I find myself telling her more than I probably should.
Nicola tells me about her life as a “pet,” too. That’s what she calls it. She wasn’t really a slave, because she was treated well enough by Lady Leandra, her old mistress. But she wasn’t considered smart, either. Leandra would teach her something like sticks…and then swat her if she felt her human was misbehaving. Kind of makes me hate that old rich bitch, even if she cared for Nicola enough to worry about her future and plan the deception of being my bride.
Even that doesn’t make me angry anymore. I’m just…frustrated. Frustrated that Nicola’s almost perfect, except she’s fragile and I worry life out here will be too tough for her.
She loves the farm, though. Loves the animals and I’ve caught her naming my meat-stock, even though that’s a bad idea. Can’t have her getting attached if they’re going to be slaughtered. She sticks to naming the mousers in the barn after that, though, telling me they remind her of something called a “cat” back on Earth. On days that the weather’s good, she does her mending outside in the sun, even when it turns her face bright red. She likes it, though, she tells me. Lady Leandra wouldn’t let her outside because she was afraid Nicola would run off. Nicola jokes about being an “indoor cat,” but I don’t find it very funny. All I can think of is her face, turned up to the sun and enjoying the warmth until it makes her skin pink…and cold Lady Leandra who wouldn’t let her outside to do just that.
Can’t say I’ve got fond feelings for that old bitch at all.
Days with Nicola are beyond pleasant, though. She cooks and cleans and hums as she works. I keep telling her to relax and be my guest, but she gets bored and then bakes me something new. I’m getting fat off of her good food, and I love our games of sticks. Days are wonderful…but nights are my favorite. Each night, to share warmth and the blankets, we get into bed together. I keep my trou on and Nicola wears her tunic, but she tucks herself into my arms and I hold her close and we sleep, wrapped in each other’s scents. At least, she sleeps. I mostly stay awake, fascinated by the feel of her and the delicate smell of her skin.
And I imagine what it’d be like to have her naked under me.
The day of the big gathering dawns clear and the skies are a perfect blue.
Pisses me off. I hate the thought of going to the gathering, even more than I normally would. Hate the thought of taking Nicola out there and having them all s
tare at her, and then trying to find her a good husband that won’t treat her like Lady Leandra did. She needs someone kind but intelligent. Someone who’ll love her the way she deserves to be loved. Not Sanjurel, because he loved his wife, and Nicola deserves to be first in someone’s heart.
Plus, I want to break Sanjurel’s fingers at the thought of him touching her.
6
NICOLA
The day of the big gathering arrives, and I feel like crying when I wake up that morning. After years of being a human “pet,” I’ve learned not to want things, because it just hurts more when they’re taken away from you.
But oh, I want to stay. I want to stay so badly that I feel like screaming and crying all at once. I want to wake up every morning like this morning, safe in Emvor’s arms, sharing his body heat. I want to stay in this cozy house. I want to stay on this lovely farm where the sky is wide open and I can walk wherever I want on this land without being stared at or swatted like a misbehaving dog. More than anything, I want to stay with Emvor. In the short time we’ve been together, I’ve learned to crave his slow, reluctant smiles. The way he brightens at the first taste of my food and then sneaks seconds or thirds when he thinks I’m not paying attention. The gleam in his eye when we play sticks. His hand on my waist as we sleep, as if even then, he’s protecting me from the outside world.
I want to be his wife so badly in all ways…but I know it won’t happen. He hasn’t changed his mind. So today, we’re going to go to the gathering, and he’s going to try and help me find someone willing to take on a human as a wife, knowing that I’ll be that freakish oddity amongst the others. Knowing that any children I have will be half-human and equally odd. Knowing that I’m too “weak” to help out around the farm and that someone like me will be considered “illegal goods” for as long as I live. Emvor seems to think no one here is going to have a problem with that. Maybe he’s right, but I’m going to worry anyhow. It’s my life that changes this day, and it’s never felt particularly steady. I’m always dependent on someone else’s goodwill.
