Page 5 of Healing His Mate
Oh, Ahlvo. He is a good male and the warrior with the strongest thirst for blood. I am not entirely surprised that he was injured in the confrontation. Ahlvo has spent most of his days on the front lines, eager to defend his people and his homeland. It is a wonder he was not severely injured in battle until now. I am glad he survived, however. His heart is kind. “He is recovering, then?”
“He is,” Aye-vah replies with a dip of her chin. “It took a while, but he’s able to walk again, and we’re dealing with the bouts of depression as they come. But we owe you a lot, Nalba. That cane you made him gave him the hope he needed to keep trying.”
“The cane . . . I . . . made?” I ask, once again surprised by the information provided. It does not sound like a project I would typically take on. Although, being friendly with Varrek’s inara does not sound like me either.
“Yes! He loves it,” Aye-vah exclaims. “He trains with it as often as his body will allow.”
“Why would he train with a cane?” I ask, confused. I imagine it would be an effective way to bludgeon an opponent, but an odd choice for a preferred weapon.
“Because it turns into a sword! He just presses a button and boom,” she says, clapping her hands together, “he goes from limping cane-carrier to bad-ass sword wielder. It transforms him, Nalba. He instantly stands straighter. He looks stronger. You gave him that.”
“Oh” is all I can say as I swallow the lump in my throat. Praise is not a new thing for me. I get it constantly for my work. So why are Aye-vah’s words affecting me this way? It must be the head injury.
I rub my eyes, trying to absorb this new information. It is a lot to comprehend. “I think I would like to sleep.”
“Of course, dear,” Kaiva says, then looks at Varrek and Aye-vah and nods toward the door.
“Sorry, Nalba. We didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” Aye-vah says in a soft tone.
“My apologies,” Varrek adds.
I shake my head. “No, it is fine. It is just . . . a strange thing to hear about a life I have already lived, but do not remember.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Aye-vah mutters. Her expression is one of awe and genuine concern. She is good, this human. I like the idea of her with Ahlvo.
Kaiva pats my arm and heads upstairs as the others head toward the door. Before they reach it, the door swings open and a large male enters holding two plates piled high with food and a bowl lodged in the crook of his elbow. “Greetings, Nalba! I am here to deliver your evening meal!” He beams at me.
He is familiar, in a way. I have seen him before. Images flip through my head with him on Trovilia, then boarding the ship with the rest of the clan. I smile as he places one plate on my lap and the other two on the metal tray at my side. He hands me a utensil and shoots me a wink. “One of your favorites,” he says in a jovial tone as he gestures toward the pile of shredded brown meat surrounded by yellow blobs of mush.
“Many thanks,” I say with a nod. “And who are you?”
CHAPTER 3
WALDRIC
Nalba does not remember me. The female I crave, the one my heart beats for, does not know who I am. I continue to stare at her, not knowing what to say. This feels like the cruelest of jokes.
“Uh, Waldric?” Aye-vah says, grabbing my attention. “Nalba is suffering from post-traumatic amnesia and doesn’t remember the last five years. The last thing she remembers before waking up this afternoon is boarding the ship from Trovilia to Oluura.”
My mouth suddenly feels dry. I swallow and attempt to breathe normally, despite the shallow exhales that continue to rush out of my body. “You remember nothing?” I ask Nalba. She shakes her head slowly, and it is then that I realize how small she looks, lying there with a bandage covering half her scalp. How fragile. Her bones may be stronger than a human female’s, but she is not immortal.
It is quite possible she is lucky to be alive at all after being thrown against that tree.
But I cannot tell her that. Not now. She looks stricken by her diagnosis. She must have no idea what our village even looks like. The home she has built and a community she has been an integral part of––gone from her mind.
I wish to tell her all that has occurred since that day we boarded Varrek’s ship, our eyes meeting as we strapped into our seats to prepare for takeoff. The sparks that burst through my chest and behind my eyes when she smiled at me. And the many smiles she has lit up the Oluuran sky with since that day.
With the way her shoulders are hunched forward, though, it is clear that kind of information would only overwhelm her. If I am to ease the clench from her fists, I must comfort her.
“I am called Waldric,” I tell her, placing a hand over my heart. “I am the clan’s cook. And this,” I point to the plate of roastedkuhnypawith a savory b’fiko berry glaze in her lap, “is one of your favorite dishes. Well, it was. It would do me a great honor if you would taste it and confirm that has not changed.”
Her soft lips curl up on one side, forming a slight smile. I feel as victorious to win that smile as I did during my days as a warrior defeating the enemy. Nalba scoops a pile of it onto her spoon and moans with bliss the moment she closes her mouth around it.
“Mmm, so succulent, Waldric,” she says, still chewing. Once she swallows, she says, “Do you make this each day? Because I am certain I would never tire of it.”
I chuckle, dipping forward in a bow. “Many thanks for your compliments. I am pleased your tastes have not changed.” I regret my words the moment they are out because they are sure to remind her of her condition, which I was deliberately trying to avoid.
If Nalba is hurt by the reminder, she does not show it. She tilts her head to the side with a snicker. “It is the only thing that has not changed, it seems.”