"Meat," I said without hesitation.
My answer made her giggle, the sound chasing away some of the tension that had settled between us. "Spoken like a true man."
"What is your favorite food?" I asked, watching the way her lips looked as she took another bite of jerky. The way they pressed together and pulled apart did something warm and fuzzy to my stomach.
"Oh, that's a hard question," she laughed. "I love so many things. Probably pizza. Or maybe tacos. But if I had to choose just one, I'd say homemade lasagna. Nothing beats comfort food,you know?" She looked wistful for a moment, her expression softened with memory.
"I like lasagna too," I told her. We had it often aboard theHistoriadue to our chef being trained by the human Pearl, founder of the Space Pearl's restaurants scattered across the cosmos.
"Seth used to make it every Sunday," Harper sighed, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. Then she shook her head, as though trying to physically dislodge the memory.
"You miss him," I said gently. Not only was Harper's heart bound for my brother, it shared space with her dead mate, divided between past and present, between what was lost and what might be.
"Every day," she admitted, her voice raw with honesty. "For the longest time, I thought I'd never survive it. The grief was... it was like drowning. Like being pulled under water, and no matter how hard I fought, I couldn't reach the surface."
She laid down the jerky, her appetite seemingly gone. Her hands twisted in her lap, fingers knotting together in a gesture of distress that made me want to reach out and still the restless movements with my touch.
"I stopped eating. Stopped sleeping. I just... existed. Barely." A tear slipped down her cheek, catching the dim light as it traced a path down her skin, and she wiped it away quickly, almost angrily. "My friends tried to help, but they were more concerned with helping me move on. They wanted me to forget, to replace him, to act like he'd never existed."
My chest tightened at her words, constricting around my heart until each beat felt labored. I wanted to reach out, to comfort her, to pull her into my arms and absorb some of that pain, but I didn't dare let myself touch her, not trusting my control.
"What changed?" I asked gently.
Her lips curved into a small smile, the first real one I'd seen since she started speaking of her lost mate. "Time. Meeting Xytol helped. He understood my grief in a way no one else did. He listened to everything—all my stories about Seth, all my pain, all my anger at the universe for taking him away. He never judged. Never told me to move on or get over it. He just... listened. And somehow, that was exactly what I needed."
She gazed up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears but also with something warmer, softer. Gratitude, maybe. Hope.
The weight of her words settled over me like a heavy cloak. My brother had done that—had given her the space to grieve, to heal, to find herself again.
And now he was gone, and I was here, wearing a false face, keeping secrets that could shatter the fragile peace she'd found and wanting her so badly I could taste it.
Her expression shifted, becoming contemplative, her brow furrowing as she drew her lower lip between her teeth—a gesture I was beginning to recognize as her thinking face. The magazine lay forgotten at her side. "I wish I knew why he thought I'm in danger," she said, her voice carrying a note of frustration mixed with confusion. Her eyes searched mine, seeking answers I didn't have, looking for reassurance I could barely provide.
"I know." On impulse—driven by an overwhelming need to comfort her, I let my hand slip forward across the small space separating us. I didn't presume to hold her hand, not yet, but simply let my fingers rest against where hers splayed across her knee. The moment our skin connected, a tingling sensation raced over my flesh, making every nerve ending sing with awareness. "No matter his reasons, Xytol truly believed you were at risk."
Her eyes lifted to meet mine, her gaze so bright and trusting that it knocked the breath from my chest. "I promise I'll keep you safe," I added, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. My fingers shifted, sliding more fully against her own, the warmth of her skin seeping into mine, anchoring me to this moment, to her.
"I know," Harper whispered, her voice carrying a breathless quality that made something in my chest tighten and expand simultaneously. She turned her hand over and deliberately interlaced her fingers with mine. The gesture was so trusting, so intimate, it nearly undid me. "I trust you, Xabat."
My chest constricted painfully, a mixture of pride and shame warring inside me with such intensity I could barely breathe. Pride that this strong, resilient female saw something in me worthy of her faith. Shame because I was basically lying to her with every breath I took, every word I spoke, every moment I maintained this false human face and wanted her knowing she belonged to my brother.
Her fingers were warm against mine, delicate but firm, her grip steady and sure. The touch sent sparks racing up my arm, igniting that constant tingle in my spine into something more intense, more profound.
I didn't deserve her trust. Not when I wore a mask crafted of lies. Not when my body screamed for her in ways that had nothing to do with duty or honor, in ways that made my blood run hot, and my control slip like sand through desperate fingers.
But goddess help me, I wanted to be worthy of it.
I wanted to be the male she believed me to be. I wanted to earn that soft look in her eyes. The way her gaze gentled when she spoke my name, the way her thumb now traced small, unconscious circles against the back of my hand. She probably didn't even realize she was doing it, the absent caress that was driving me slowly mad with want.
"Harper," I started, my voice gravelly with emotion and desire I couldn't quite suppress. I should tell her. Right now. Show her my true face, lay all my secrets bare before her like an offering.
But the words died in my throat when she smiled at me. That sad, hopeful smile that made my heart ache with its fragile beauty, that made me want to promise her things I had no right to promise.
Not yet. I couldn't risk losing this moment. Soon, I promised myself, the vow settling heavy in my chest. When we were safe. When the storm had passed and I could get her to the shuttle, to theHistoria, where she'd be safe.
Soon.
And I could only pray to the goddess that her trust would survive it.
