early on, and saw the black soil was fragrant and shining. A sudden image of her sharing life with him right there, of her watering the crops every morning while he went out to check the traps and walk the perimeter, made his fists clench with want. A simple life. But it would be everything he dreamed of, as long as she was there.
“You were tired,” he told her, reaching forward to wrap his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her into him, leaning down to touch his forehead against hers—when only recently, he’d had his forehead pressed to stone.
It was a Luxirian embrace. The Luxirian equivalent of a human kiss, perhaps. Affection and warmth built inside him, making his heart speed, making him want too many things.
Panic built with it, but he tried to keep it controlled.
“This is nice,” she whispered. His eyes had been closed but when he opened them, he saw her watching him, so near that he saw every strand of color in her eyes. There was a strange vulnerability in her gaze, one that he felt too, but she didn’t pull away from him.
Jaxor pulled away first. He released her neck, stepping back. Avoiding her eyes, he said, “I brought polli. I think you will like them better than the kekevir.”
“Oh,” she said. Her eyes didn’t go to the polli, however—she kept her gaze on him. “Do you need help preparing them?”
“Nix,” he said, turning to go back to the fire pit, knowing she could handle the crops on her own.
He drew in a small breath and began prepping the polli. He heard Erin hesitate for a moment, the back of his neck prickling as she did, but then he heard the slide of the metal bucket as she went back to the waterfall to refill it.
After she was finished, she came to sit next to him at the fire pit. For the first time, he noticed that she was wearing a new tunic, one she’d probably found in his storage chests, and a pair of his fur-lined pants, though they hung off her and she’d tied rope around her waist to secure them.
Jaxor felt even guiltier when he saw the clothes. Shame burned in his belly, anger quickly rising with it. He should’ve known to provide her with better clothes. Just because he was used to the cold, used to the elements, it didn’t mean that she was. She deserved rich, luxurious furs, smooth silks, tunics that didn’t scratch at her delicate skin.
It was on the tip of his tongue to inform her that he’d travel to the outposts soon, that he would bring back material for her if he couldn’t find anything that would fit her properly.
Then he bit his tongue, his jaw clenching, because he couldn’t make further promises to her that he didn’t know he could keep.
“Are you okay, Jaxor?” she asked quietly, watching as he finished butchering the feathered polli.
“Tev.”
“You seem…quiet,” she observed. Then her lips quirked a little. “Well, more quiet than usual.”
Jaxor grunted, wiping his hands on a rag. He tried to think of something to say, an excuse, but couldn’t think of a good enough one.
He wasn’t good at this. Vaxa’an had always been better with females. Vaxa’an would probably know exactly what to say at that moment. But, after Sarcalla, Jaxor had very little experience that went beyond mating with females. He’d never felt that inexperience more acutely than he did at that moment.
“Does it have something to do with what happened last night?” she asked quietly, her gaze dropping down to the polli, though he was under the impression that it was only so she wouldn’t have to look at him directly.
“Last night?” he repeated, frowning.
Her face was a little red but she didn’t say anything further.
Now Jaxor was confused. Did she think his quietness meant that he hadn’t liked what had happened last night? Did she believe that she’d done something wrong?
“Nix, rixella,” he said, his brows drawing together. “Why would you think that?”
“You’re hard to read sometimes,” she confessed softly. “I worried that maybe I was pressuring you into something last night. That maybe that was why you left early this morning. That it made you…”
Bewildered, Jaxor could only stare as her words churned up the memory of last night.
Vrax, he thought, his fists clenching. Two of his claws were dulled so they didn’t prick into his flesh, as he was used to.
He was really fucking this up.
His Instinct demanded that