Giving him the side-eye, I amble over to the bench to peer at the source of the smell. Right there, in black and off-white, is the fish my nose picked up, skinned, filleted, and deboned.
“It’s for me?”
What? Like he’s about to eat it? Think before you talk, Kris—Cindi.
He nods, giving me the universal “try it” look. My stomach rumbles at the thought of food. My lips press into a thin line as I grab the handle. I mean, it looks legit? Seared on both sides. A little burnt, if anything. If the waft of pepper is any indication, it’s seasoned as well. Maybe overly.
“Did you wash it?” I grill him.
Ordus hesitates. Nods.
Fuck it. I don’t care. We’ll find out later if I’m poisoning myself.
I cautiously scoop a bite into my mouth. My body’s rejection of it is instantaneous. Out of pure stupidity, or a misguided affront to make him feel good about his cooking, I swallow the salt-and-pepper-drenched fish and start hacking up air like I’m Vasz after he drinks half the ocean. I sputter and cough, eyes watering from the pepper in my eustachian tubes.
Ordus is on me in a second, clutching me to him, rubbing my back, voice panic-stricken. “Tell me what is wrong, Cindi.”
“I’m fine,” I rasp. He passes me two of theAquacups I point to, and I down a whole one in a single go.
Oh, motherfucker, I already feel my indigestion coming on.
I lean back to catch my breath. I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of what just happened. It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me that has failed so horrifically.
“Next time, less seasoning, ‘kay?” I chuckle hoarsely, glancing up at him. The corners of my lips twitch up, because his head is lowered, all bashful.
“Seasoning?” Ordus’ hand goes firm on my hip, claws grazing me over my tank top. He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck and stills, as if suddenly remembering his hair’s been braided. He drops his hand to his side, a slightly panicked look in his eyes, like he’s worried he’s ruining it.
I point at the jars and bottles on the shelf he no doubt used. Ordus takes the pan and spatula from me with his spare hand and a tentacle. He breaks off a piece only slightly bigger than I did and slowly brings it to his mouth.
Has he ever tried human food before? Maybe I should warn him what he made is lethal.
But I don’t, because I’m a sadistic bastard who wants to see how a monster reacts to over-seasoned food.
My lips curl into an excited little grin, and dare I say it, he becomes both alarmed and downright gleeful at the same time. Blue orbs glint like a misty-teal sea against a cloudless sky.
This is the most at ease I’ve felt in…in a long time. It’s foreign, not feeling compelled to check out of each window every few seconds, not feeling like there’s a gun trained on my head, or that I’m perpetually running. God, I can’t remember the last time I felt comfortable with my guard this low.
Whatever Ordus sees in me gives him a boost of confidence to take a bite. Barely two seconds pass before he’s choking and sticking his pointed tongue out.
“Vile,” he spits.
Laughter tumbles out of me. It’s absurd to watch this monstrous giant gagging over his home-cooked meal. He repeatedly swipes the back of his hand over his tongue to get rid of the taste, gagging and making pained sounds.
“It burns,” he hisses. I rip open the plastic seal of the water cup and shove it into his hand. He gurgles and gulps it down before agreeing, “No seasoning next time.”
“Less,” I correct, grinning up at him.
His eyes drop to my lips, and his own curl to match mine. “Less. Next time.”
21
Cindi
I bat a fly away from theproperlycooked fish before dipping it into sambal, letting my bad arm rest at my side. I showed Ordus how to make it properly this morning, then supervised his dinner attempt. Then he grabbed a deck chair, and we made a ten-minute trek through the forest to the beach to watch the sun set beneath the shore.
I’ve bathed, moisturized, cleaned, and de-matted my hair. My organs still feel a bit rough from the whole dehydration thing, but I’m feeling exponentially better. Refreshed—at ease.
The breeze is cooling my face, the sand soft beneath my feet, I have good food, and no human could be hiding behind any tree—I cast a brief look around to be sure.
