Odin (Alien Adoption Agency #5) - Tasha Black Page 0,12

room with light, and its ceiling was vaulted, giving the hillside house an airy feel.

“Amazing,” she said, her shoes ringing out on the wood plank floor as she inspected the pottery tiles surrounding the wood stove.

Odin was silent as she explored the open living space. She wondered if he approved of the home. But she was too delighted to worry about it.

The kitchen was well-stocked and spacious, with a thick slab of wood as the countertop. Soft lighting in the ceilings seemed to sense her and follow her as she walked. She wondered if there were solar cells on that mountaintop as well as the stove vent.

Despite the glaring differences, the huge space honestly reminded her of her childhood home. Her parents had owned a massive edifice in one of the practically identical upper-class developments on Terra-6.

But instead of feeling cold and cavernous like her parents’ house, this place was warm and quirky with art tiles, colorful rag rugs, and simple wooden furnishings.

Liberty found that she felt instantly at home.

“What do you think?” Odin asked, his voice lacking all expression.

“I love it,” she told him. “Don’t you?”

“I like it too,” he told her, his voice warmer now.

“Did you think I wouldn’t like it?” she asked, turning to him.

“I thought you might be used to more elegant surroundings,” he said, shrugging without making eye contact.

“Why would you think that?” she asked. She wore simple clothing, she had no jewelry. She hadn’t told him about her past.

He looked a little embarrassed and ran his hand through his hair, as if he were trying to compose his thoughts.

His hair…

“It’s my hair, isn’t it?” she asked, instinctively putting her hands to her head as if she could cover it. “I still don’t know why my parents chose to do this. I’ve tried to get other coloring, but nothing really hides it.”

“It’s lovely,” he told her. “Why would you hide it?”

“Because I’m not that person anymore,” she said.

“What person?”

“The person whose parents define me,” she said. “The person who can only see the world from that closed-minded position of privilege.”

“So you’re not close with your parents?” he asked.

“Not since they disowned me for marrying beneath my station,” she said.

“Beneath your station?” he echoed in disbelief.

“My husband was a doctor,” she told him. “But he was in the Physician’s Brigade, using his gifts to help everyone in the system - not just the ones who could afford high end care and genetic modifications.”

“That’s very noble,” Odin said.

She glanced up at him.

He wasn’t being sarcastic. As a matter of fact, she didn’t think he’d made a single sarcastic remark since she’d met him.

“He was noble,” she said, her voice breaking on the word.

“It makes me furious,” Odin said.

She smiled at him.

“Is that the wrong reaction?” he asked. “I know I can be kind of intense sometimes. But it steams me up that the only people who die young seem to be the best ones.”

“It makes me furious too,” she admitted. “Livid, actually. People don’t expect that. They expect me to be sad all the time. They say they’re sorry.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me at first?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Honestly, it’s part of why I enjoy traveling. Strangers don’t know, so they don’t look at me with all that weird sympathy.”

Colton whimpered in her arms, and she remembered why they had come inside in the first place.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” she told him. “Let’s get you changed and fed.”

Odin had warmed up a cell of milk before she had Colton’s diaper changed.

“Look at you, baby,” she told the little one. “You’ve got a whole team.”

He latched onto the cell the moment she offered it to him, and for a long time she watched him eat, his little jaw working hard, eyelashes kissing his chubby cheeks.

“He eats like you’re going to take it away,” Odin said softly.

“Has he ever not had enough?” she asked worriedly.

“No,” Odin chuckled. “He’s been in my care since he came out of his pod and he has never wanted for anything. At least not for more than a minute or two.”

The pride in the big warrior’s voice was evident. And it wasn’t the pride of a protector, or even a guardian.

That was paternal pride, real and true.

She looked up at Odin, who was studying his son’s little face with a tenderness she hadn’t seen before.

“He’s so lucky to have you,” she murmured.

“No, I’m the lucky one,” Odin said, his voice soft and awed. “You probably won’t believe this, but he calms me. I had