He nodded absently, his attention back on Kira. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
She arched a brow. “Every time I came here, I did. Didn’t you notice?”
Hell, he had. He was always aware of her. Just not with what she was doing in the kitchen.
Man, he couldn’t wait. That quack, Lore, who doubled as a shrink—as if Týr would ever spill to the know-it-all angel about his past—would probably tell him food was a temporary fix to seal up the abyss inside him or some such shit. True or not, he didn’t care. His mate cooked! Thank fuck.
“So, what’s all this?” Týr asked, going around the island counter to where Kira worked near the stove. He stroked her back.
“I’m making a chocolate cake.” She pointed to the cooling, spongy brown slab on the surface near the window. “It still needs to be iced. That’s for dessert.”
Okay, that would account for the white and brown dust on the counter.
“And I’m making chicken tikka. It’ll be wonderful for this cold weather. Hedori said he’d do the garlic naan. Taste.” She held out a spoon filled with chicken pieces congealing in a thickened, orangey-red sauce. Her gorgeous face flushed either from the heat or excitement.
He took the ladle between his lipsaaandhis mind shut down at heat exploding in his mouth.
“What the—?”Fuuuuck!He gasped, eyes watering. A chair dragged somewhere.
Echo hurried to where Hedori worked at the counter opposite the stove, marinating steaks. They both frantically shook their heads at Týr from behind Kira’s back. The females seated at the dining table eyed him with wry sympathy.
He swallowed the hot-as-fuck, tasteless mess instead of spitting it out.
“You don’t like it?” At her small voice, he glanced at Kira, hoping like hell he still had taste buds left after that fiery detonation in his mouth.
“Did you even taste this?” He struggled not to growl, but it came out as a gasp anyway. Damn, he badly needed water, so sure all the seasoning in the cupboards of the scorching variety were in the chicken. But something had him staying put and not bolting for the faucet.
“I’m a vegetarian, remember?”
“Figures.”
She glared at him. Tossing the spoon onto the counter, she took off, the door slamming shut behind her.
Hedori shook his head. “Silence is always good, sire. I would have rescued it.”
And then Týr realized why all the other females sat there with pity on their faces. He, dumbass that he was, didn’t even wonder. Hell, why would he suspect that his own mate would try to kill him with food?
He went after her.
Tracking her vibe of ire, he found her in their room, pulling on her fleece-lined jacket. She didn’t look at him. “I’m going to see Gran.”
“Kira—”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Baby—”
“No.”
“Dammit, listen to me. I’m sorry, I guess my palate’s not used to…” Fuck, how to save this catastrophe. “Er, all the chili seasoning.”
She blinked. “Is that what it was? It did look a tad red. I thought it was mild curry spices.”
“In the future, please ask Hedori if you’re not sure, okay?”
After an endlessly long minute of fiddling with a button on her jacket and biting her lower lip, she looked up. “I’m not very good, am I?”
Hell. He rubbed a hand over his jaw. How did he answer? Mess up again, and the sleep-on-the-fucking-couch-for-the-foreseeable-future would be set in stone for him.
Then, she laughed, a deep, bellyaching sound that made his lips kick up in response. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad anymore. But my friends eat everything I make. Every. Time. Even Hedori. God, I love them!”
His heart turned to mush. Hell, he didn’t care that she couldn’t cook. He cupped her face in his palms. Needing to taste some of her laughter, he kissed her mouth. “No, they love you, it’s why they accept the torture.”
“But not you.” She cut him a gimlet glare.
“Sweetheart, I ate that, didn’t I? I even swallowed. If that doesn’t prove my fervent adoration, I don’t know what will.”
“Har-dee-har!” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll get it right, and you will taste for me again.”
Shit. “On that note of anticipation…” And sheer dread, he drew her into his arms and kissed her brow, unable to stop his smile. He was so fucking happy. “Let’s go. Your grandmother must be anxious to see you.”
