her voice, he realized.
Liked.
The warrior couldn’t recall the last time he felt preference for anything. He wasn’t programmed to prefer.
To feel.
He gave a slight nod, holding her gaze.
Immediately, she brought a glass of water to his mouth and helped him drink half of it down in three large gulps.
“That’s enough for now,” she said. “Your stomach isn’t used to taking in so much. I don’t want it to rebel. I’ll give you more later, okay? Just tell me when you’re thirsty.”
He liked her face, he realized next. Not because it was beautiful, though its relative symmetry equated to beauty by most standards.
He liked it because of the expressions she wore when she looked at him. The feelings reflected in her eyes that made them glisten. The way her mouth softened when she wanted him.
He shifted his hands as much as the bindings around his wrists and forearms would allow. His fingers tingled with the need to touch her.
“You look hungry,” she whispered, her eyes big and warm as she stared into his.
Yes, for food, he thought. But also for the other. He was already hard and aching beneath the covering across his lap.
“Feed me,” he repeated with a tinge of impatience, though he didn’t understand why.
He wasn’t on a timetable. He had orders to carry out, and now that his mind was fully functional again, he was clear about what he had to do. He would methodically go about getting it done. Impatience didn’t factor in.
And yet, the tension building within his body couldn’t be suppressed or denied.
Need her. Need her. Need her.
She went to a nearby table where a number of dishes were laid out, ladled something in a large bowl and came back to sit beside him on the bed.
“Beef stew,” she said, “the meat is really tender. I think you’ll like it.”
He had taste buds, and like his other senses, his taste was hyper-developed too. But he wasn’t programmed to “like” food. It was all the same to him if it provided the nutrients his body needed.
She began to feed him with a soup spoon, giving him the perfect mouthful every time.
“Soft boiled eggs,” she murmured in an apparent non sequitur, “that’s the way you like them cooked. Just like me and Val. You like lamb meat most out of all the meats, spiced with garlic, cumin, nutmeg and cloves.”
His mouth watered as she spoke. The beef stew was satisfying, but the lamb she described made him even hungrier.
“I’ll ask Mama Bear to make some. I’d make some myself, but I’m afraid cooking has never been and probably never will be my forte. I’m not sure what exactly my forte is, besides mass destruction or inspiration…”
She trailed off with a shrug and brought another spoonful to his mouth.
“I guess I’m good with languages, but Eveline is a genius with them. I can now defend myself in combat, but I’m certainly never going to be warrior-class.”
Her eyes lit up suddenly with a thought.
“Hey, I know! I’m great at horseback riding. Maybe not in this body, but when I used to be Kira, I beat you in a race. Do you remember?”
Yes, the shard of memory was in his brain, but he didn’t see the significance of it. Why would it be worth mentioning? It was simply something that happened a very long time ago. In another life.
“Well, I sort of cheated,” she said with a twist of her full lips.
It filled her face with mischief.
“Your stallion was the faster horse by far, the beautiful beast. But he couldn’t resist the temptation of my mare, which is really not my fault. So, technically, I still won.”
She paused in feeding him, the soup spoon suspended between them.
“Do you remember, Dalair?”
He did. But he didn’t want to.
A part of his consciousness or subconsciousness tried to bury these memories every time they surfaced. They weren’t relevant to his mission. They didn’t help him carry out his orders. All they did was cause confusion and…
Pain.
A conflagration of agony exploded through his body, making the warrior blanche and gasp, his eyes involuntarily squeezing shut, his jaws clenching tight.
“What is it, Dalair? Are you—”
“No more,” he rasped out, prying his eyes open a sliver to spear her with his pain-filled gaze.
She put the almost empty bowl away and stopped talking.
Good. She understood him. He was no longer hungry, and he didn’t want her to surface more memories.
He clenched and unclenched his hands, his body tensing hard within its unyielding shackles.
“Free me,” he ordered her in