The Alien's Equal (Drixonian Warrior #7) - Ella Maven Page 0,9

eggs were terrible. I was surprised even Luna ate them. But Justine had given me enough of the other food to fill me up until all but the eggs were left and I’d downed half the pula.

“Do you need something?” I asked. “Is there a problem with the feeder?”

“Yes,” she said quickly and then shook her head. “I mean, no. There’s no problem. It’s great. Bazel loves it.”

“Not that I mind you being here, but is there a reason?”

She hesitated and then eyed me for a moment before slipping the leather bundle off her back. She opened the top, which was cinched with a drawstring. “Yes, there’s a reason. I, um, wanted to thank you for making the feeder.”

“You already thanked me,” I rose to my feet and took a step toward her.

“Well, yeah, but with words. Since you gave me a gift, I wanted to give you a gift in return.” She pulled out a square plank of flat wood. Her eyes roamed the front of it before she took a deep breath and turned it around. “I made you a drawing.”

My lungs constricted in my chest and my cora stuttered. A roaring filled my ears as my head spun. I felt like I’d tumbled back in time one hundred and fifty cycles because I currently stared at my mother’s face. My knees buckled, and I would have hit the ground if I didn’t grab the back of my chair for balance. I tried to speak, but my tongue suddenly felt thick and uncoordinated.

Justine’s pale face appeared over the top. “Is this okay?” she winced as she took in my state. “Shit, I’m sorry. You mentioned your mother the other day, so I thought…” she let out a shaky breath and lowered the painting to wrap it again in the bundle.

I snatched it out of her hands before she could cover it up.

She let out a little squeak, but otherwise didn’t say a word.

I swallowed as I stared at it. Silence surrounded us until a few shouts from warriors training outside seeped through my walls and brought me out of my stupor. “How did you...?”

“Shep,” she whispered. “He knew your mother and described her to me.”

The resemblance was uncanny, from my mother’s warm eyes to her gray hair which she kept tightly braided on each side of her head. She wore decorative scalp jewelry down her center part, and a neck cuff. Her cheeks were pierced with shining black stones.

Justine had even drawn her eyes lined in black which she never left our home without. My mother had been beautiful, but her greatest accomplishment was advocating for warrior family benefits and raising her children to have lofty dreams.

“I have never received a gift like this in all my life.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “She looks just as I remember her.”

“So, you like it?”

I lowered the painting to gaze at Justine, who watched me with an expectant vulnerability I’d never seen from her. I nodded. “It’s now my most prized possession.”

She beamed, that genuine Justine smile I now craved. “Oh good.” She blew out a breath and her shoulders relaxed. “I worried I was overstepping. Shep had assured me portraits like this weren’t going against any of your beliefs or anything, but I was still unsure…” She blew out a breath. “I’ll stop babbling now.”

“I don’t mind your babbling.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Well, you’d probably be the only one.”

I sat the portrait on my desk with the intention of finding a place to hang it later. “I wouldn’t mind you delivering me breakfast every morning and babbling, as you say.”

She eyed me. “You’d get sick of me.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Everyone gets sick of me,” she retorted and as soon as the words were out, her eyes clouded over. The wrinkle between her brows returned, and she pressed her lips into a thin line. “Whatever,” she fluttered her hands away and started for the door.

I disliked her anger because I didn’t understand the cause. I knew it wasn’t me, but I also knew it was something that stood between us, a barrier I’d have to crash through if I intended to make any headway with my mate. “Justine.”

She stopped and turned, her expression closed off.

I strode toward her until my chest brushed her crossed arms. “I will tolerate anything from you. Your anger and your sadness. Your fears and your dreams. But I won’t tolerate you telling me how I feel.” With a knuckle, I lifted her chin, so