Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I know in this very instant I would still be able to find her no matter the size of the crowd. No matter the time or place.
I would find her now that I’ve seen her.
Turning slightly to check something behind herself as she maneuvers through the room which she always comes, I’m suddenly turning and straining my neck to follow her every movement on a path closer to me.
She’s coming back to me.
The excitement and anxiety that rushes through me at the same time is almost worse than my earlier confusion and anger. Mostly because I don’t know what to do with either feeling, and just like that, I forget how I intend to check the door because Selina finally sees me, too.
Her smile is wide, and instant.
She stops to do something at the door and lights turn on everywhere. I don’t let them distract me when the vision of her coming through the doorway into the space that will leave her all but a panel of unbreakable glass away from me is far more beautiful. I’m more interested in following her path with my gaze than the container she carries in her hands, but as she stops at my prison’s door to unlock it the same way the general does through a keypad, I turn and crane my neck forward to see what she’s brought as she enters my cell, and the door closes behind her.
“Spada,” I say, unhappy with the sight of various items of sustenance. The same foods the general offered time and time again, although with a few new things, some greener than others.
Selina seems to pick up on the disappointment in my voice. “You don’t want to eat? He said you haven’t—” She shakes her head a bit, and then looks at me almost pleading. “I made everything. Well, I washed and sliced the fruit.” Her eyes brighten, and she reaches into the container to pull out something I do recognize, sealed away in its own dish like all the other items. “And this is yours, right?”
She is right.
How my mate got her hands on enough of my remaining fruit to cube a palmful is anyone’s guess, and I can’t communicate effectively in her language to ask, so I let it go. I have to. What remains of my food clearly isn’t all of it, but I can’t ask where the rest is, either.
“Bey,” I confirm to her, reaching for the container of something delicious and familiar. She hands it over, but I engulf her smaller hand with my own and hold tight. Not so much that she tries to pull away, I’m careful. In that moment, I’m able to appreciate the silkiness of her skin under my own, and how much thinner it feels compared to mine. I can feel her life beat in her wrist, each pulse a melody I plan to memorize forever. She meets my eyes and I try to soften my features when I say gratefully, “Mada.”
I nod at the container full of various things. Some may even be hot considering the condensation on the containers. I did hear what she said just fine—that she did this for me. I may not care for the poisoned taste of the food grown on this planet, but I will gladly, and with a smile, eat almost anything my mate prepares for me.
Unquestionably.
“Mada,” I repeat, softer again.
Her dark brows pucker a bit. “Thank you?”
The translator in my ear chirps back my own word—mada—at her question. Every living being in the universe shares common words in their language—confirmations and refusals, directional, and scalable. Certain others, like gratitude, depend on the species.
“Thank you,” I repeat in her language.
Selina’s smile blooms into a brilliant sight. “Do you have teas or things? Hot drinks with your food? I thought maybe I could make something. I have some different—”
“Teas?”
She laughs and I hear it.
The nerves.
“I’m sorry, that’s silly. You probably don’t even understand what I mean.”
I did pick up on her mention of hot liquid, but that’s less important to me than Selina’s jumpy gaze that skips away from mine every time they meet and the flush hue of pink to her grinning cheeks. I’d like more than anything to wrap my mate in an embrace that would assure her that being nervous is a thing she never has to suffer through with me, but I opt to flip her hand over in mine to showcase the container.
“Mada,” I tell her once more.
She tries to hide her growing smile again when I pluck the container from her hand and let her go at the same time.
“Do you want to sit?” she asks, grabbing hold of the larger container with two hands again. She nods at the table, and I scowl.
I shake my head. “Spada.”
Selina’s brow jumps at my second use of that word. “No—does that mean no? Yes, bey, no, spada?”