The night sounds seemed louder without him. The rustling in the underbrush that probably came from some small animal. The distant cry of a hunting bird. The crackle and pop of the fire as it consumed its fuel.
And beneath all of it, the soft, unsettling whisper of the drying sunvines.
She tried not to listen too closely to that last sound. She focused instead on the practical matters—how she would spin the processed fibers, what technique she would use to weave them, and most of all, whether she could create a cloth small enough to satisfy Gerhard’s immediate demands while convincing him that larger quantities would take time.
Time.That was what she needed. Time to find a way out of this trap and protect Dani from their uncle’s machinations without sacrificing everything their mother had built.
Some bargain,she thought bitterly.Trading one uncertain debt for another.
She thought about Tarek’s price—the unnamed favor he could call upon at any time. She should be terrified of what he might ask for. The Vultor were known for their cruelty and their disregard for human life.
And yet…
He’d healed her hand. He’d slowed his pace when she couldn’t keep up. He’d been gruff and taciturn, yes, but not cruel. Not even close.
Maybe the stories are wrong,she thought.Or maybe he’s just different.
Or maybe she was a fool who saw kindness where there was only calculation.
A branch snapped somewhere in the darkness, and she jerked upright, her heart hammering. But a moment later, Tarek emerged from the shadows, and she sagged with relief.
He carried a rabbit in one hand, already cleaned and ready for cooking. He speared it on a sharpened stick and arranged itbetween two other branches so that it was suspended over the fire, then settled on the ground across from her.
“You’re frightened,” he observed.
“I’m fine.”
“Your heart is racing.”
Damn Vultor senses.“It was dark. I heard a noise. It’s nothing.”
He studied her for a long moment, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he saw far more than she wanted him to. But he didn’t press the issue, just turned his attention to the cooking rabbit.
“What do you call that?” she asked suddenly.
“A cottma. Why?”
“We call it a rabbit because it resembles an Earth creature with that name. We do that with a lot of things here on Cresca. It’s as if we’re pretending we’re still on Earth.”
He was studying her face again.
“Do you remember your home planet?”
“No. I was born here. Do you remember yours?”
“Yes,” he said after a long pause, and focused on the fire again.
The smell of roasting meat filled the small camp, and her stomach growled loudly. She blushed, but he didn’t comment. He just handed her the first portion when it was ready and watched with apparent satisfaction as she devoured it.
“When did you last eat?” he asked.
“This morning. Before I left the village.”
“That was foolish.”
“I was in a hurry.”
He made a low sound that might have been disapproval or might have been amusement. It was hard to tell with him.
