Hanna and the Hitman - Honey Phillips Page 0,46

hand back before she could touch the delicate silver blossoms.

“What’s the matter?” She looked at him in shock.

“The pitchat is very poisonous.”

“I wasn’t going to eat it.”

“Not just to the stomach. The oils in the flower petals will cause your skin to bubble and blister.” And eventually melt away, but he didn’t mention that part.

The color drained from her already pale skin. “I should have thought of that. Even on Earth, some plants are toxic. Just because it’s pretty doesn’t mean it’s safe.”

“Exactly.”

“Will you teach me?” she asked eagerly, and he didn’t have the heart to deny her.

Their steps slowed even more as she bombarded him with questions about almost everything they passed. He hadn’t thought about his surroundings in a long time, but he found that he remembered more of his lessons—his grandfather’s lessons—then he expected.

“So many of them are dangerous,” she said sadly.

“Pardor is a dangerous place.” His chest ached as he agreed. It was no place for a fragile human.

“Is there anything that’s just pretty?”

“A saachi flower,” he said softly as she looked up at him.

“Can I see one?”

He pointed up at one of the towering trunks. “They grow in the very tops of the trees. It’s a hard climb to get there.” She looked so disappointed that he couldn’t resist. “Perhaps one day I can take you there. Before we leave.”

Her lashes dropped, veiling the deep saachi blue of her eyes.

“And what then?”

He would take her to Sherae and make sure that she was safe, and then he would take on as many contracts as he could, putting the credits aside for her, until the sickness overcame him. But this time he would not return to Pardor.

“We’ll see the sunrise from up there,” he said, willfully misunderstanding her question. To his relief, the path opened up again and his house was waiting. Hanna’s eyes widened.

“This is very different from your grandfather’s house.”

Exactly. He had constructed the modern glass and steel building in open defiance of Pardorian tradition. They had turned their back on him, and he had chosen to turn his back on their ways. His house rose from the boulders along the riverbank on heavy metal legs—legs he had to recoat every time he returned to avoid the jungle eating them away. A sharply angled prow projected out over the river, while a corresponding metal deck at the rear cut into the jungle.

“It’s amazing,” Hanna said softly.

“And not at all Pardorian.”

“I don’t know. It’s definitely different, but the glass reflects the colors of the water and the leaves. And the legs are like tree trunks.”

Shocked at her appraisal, he took another look. He had built it so defiantly that he never really thought about it anymore, but now he could see the truth of her words. It was not a traditional Pardorian village cabin, but somehow it looked as if it belonged.

As he led her inside, he realized that even here, he had unconsciously followed the pattern of his grandfather’s house. The large, open living area, the bedrooms tucked away to one side, even the bathing room—the materials might be different, but the feeling was the same. Fuck. He couldn’t get away from who he was.

But somehow, watching Hanna dart around delightedly, stroking a cushion and admiring the view of the river, his exile did not seem as harsh as it usually did. And she looked so right here in his home, her pale skin gleaming and her long red curls warming the sterile surroundings. Only the heavy black of his shirt looked out of place.

“Shall we find you something else to wear? Unless you’d rather be naked?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Why don’t we start with clothes?”

He hunted around until he found some of the leftover barkat cloth he had used to make curtains. Woven out of fibers from the barkat vine, it was soft, lightweight, and slightly sheer.

“That’s only a little better than being naked,” she teased when he held it up and the sun shone through the thin cloth. “But the colors are so pretty. Is that natural?”

“Yes, it is an undyed fabric.”

“I think I can make it into a kind of sarong. But maybe shower first?”

He led the way to the bathing room, already anticipating her delight. Like all the rooms, it faced the river, but it projected out over a small sheltered cove. The floor was translucent glass, and it seemed as if the water was actually flowing across the floor. Sparkling glass tiles formed a curved wall behind