I managed to summon a bit of sass for her. “And what did I tell you about humans and our culture?”
Her red eyes narrowed on me, but I could see the smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. She didn’t say anything else, just went back to the stove and started carrying bowls and pans to the stone sink to clean them.
I glanced down at the plate in front of me, relieved to see that the food looked very similar to common breakfast foods on Earth. I wondered if I was technically still on Earth. Or if I was on another planet all together. Was Penumbra a parallel universe? A different plane of existence? Or something else?
I didn’t ask because I honestly worried that Bokkan’s answer would destroy my grip on my emotions. If I wasn’t prepared for what he would say, I might lose control completely. I wasn’t sure what that would look like, but I knew I didn’t want to find out. Not until I’d wrapped my head around the fact that I was no longer where I belonged.
Instead of asking questions, as Masu suggested, I picked up the strange fork sitting on my plate. It had two thick tines with only a narrow space in the center and was shaped almost like a shovel with a point on one end. I would be able to pierce my food with it or scoop it up.
Not letting myself think too hard about anything, I speared a sausage link and brought it to my mouth.
Breakfast first. Meltdown later.
As I chewed, my throat began to close, and my eyes burned.
Shit. Maybe the meltdown was coming now, whether I liked it or not.
Chapter
Eight
Bokkan
The little female was struggling. I could see it in every line of her body. Her muscles were tense. Her breathing was light and fast. And a fine tremor made the fork in her hand vibrate.
I wasn’t familiar with humans, but I’d seen reactions like this from my soldiers before. Usually after battle, when the fire in their blood was fading and they realized how close they’d come to dying. When the realities of war crashed down on them.
The tiny human had been so fierce since the moment I saw her that I assumed she wouldn’t experience the drop. Her demeanor was that of a warrior and, because of it, I’d underestimated the effect her new circumstances were having on her.
Once she drained her cup ofsziteand ate a few bites of the food on her plate, Leda laid her fork to the side and clasped her hands in her lap. I watched as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she released it, the air in her lungs seemed to sputter.
Knowing what was coming, I dropped my fork on my mostly full plate and shoved it all to the side. I’d already started to push back my chair when she released a low noise that raised chillson my skin. It was mournful and full of fear. Her hands rose to her face, fingers and palms covered her feature, hiding her expression from me. Her shoulders heaved and rounded as she sucked in more air. It sounded as though she was choking on it.
I was around the table, plucking her up into my arms, before she released the first harsh sob. The sound hurt me, slicing through my gut like a poisoned blade and leaving behind nothing but the fiery pain of a wound that would never heal properly.
Masu’s eyes were on us as I carried the small human out of the kitchen, her face set in lines of compassion. I didn’t speak as I walked through the house to the sanctum, where I prepared for battles. Where I went to center myself when I needed peace. Where I would gather my thoughts when I had a problem to puzzle my way through.
It was a place of release and path to serenity.
Daemon warriors needed both. If we needed to cry or rage, it was within the confines of our sanctum. If we needed silence, that was also where it could be found.
Most daemon homes had them, even if they were small. Witches and mages used their sanctums as a place to focus their magic, to refine their spells. Some daemons used them as a place of prayer and to connect with the gods. Others were like me—finding peace and focus in the dim quiet confines of this room. A sanctum was a place where we were truly free to be ourselves, to experience our emotions fully, so that we could face the world with a balanced heart and mind.
Leda’s body bucked against my chest as she choked on another sob. The spasms were so intense I worried she wouldn’t be able to breathe if she didn’t regain control. I hurried inside and shut the door behind me.
The room was dark, lit only by a few candles. There was one window, but it was covered by a heavy curtain to keep the light and chill out.
I moved to the cushioned corner and sat on the soft surface, crossing my legs so that Leda was sitting in the cradle of my lap. I wrapped both arms around her then, pressing her head against my chest. Her hair smelled like my soap. Like me.
The mating instincts I’d been fighting earlier reared their head, but this time I wasn’t worried about trying to chase her down and mounting her like a feral beast. Those instincts were screaming at me to soothe her, to make her feel safe.
I cupped the back of her head with one hand, cradling her face against my body, but she still bucked against me, the sounds of her sobs painful, as though they were being torn from her throat.
Desperate, I pulled her slightly away from my body and used my hold on her head to tilt her chin up so that I could see her face. Her eyes were closed but tears shone on her cheeks and the area around her eyes was swollen and red.
“Look at me,” I demanded. I tried to keep my voice gentle, soft, but knew I failed when she flinched. My chest ached as though I’d been kicked by a horse. I took a deep breath, reaching for the words I needed, hoping they would be the right ones. “Please, Leda. Look at me.”
She took a harsh breath, but her eyes opened and met mine. I wondered if humans all had different colored eyes. Daemons only had black and imps might have red or yellow, but that was it. Leda’s eyes were a tawny brown with streaks of gold spiking out around the black centers. Those golden streaks gave her gaze a piercing quality most of the time. They were beautiful, whether she was smiling or scowling. Or, like right now, crying.
