Page 29 of Keeping His Mate
Balancing two heaping dishes in one hand as I open the front door, I am immediately hit with a foul odor the moment I am inside, and almost drop Elle-noor’s food. Placing the plates on the shelf by the spigot, I remove my boots and trot up the stairs to my bedroom. I find Elle-noor fast asleep with her mouth hanging open and drool soaking my pillow. She is sprawled on her back with her face turned toward me while one leg dangles off the side, almost touching the floor, the other is extended across the width of the bed.
The pup is on the floor, wide awake and gnawing away on a pair of my pants. He wags his bushy tail when he sees me, and then immediately returns to his chew. I notice that his horns are starting to come in. Currently, they are nothing more than short white nubs that meet the length of his black fur.
Next to his empty bed is a pile of his stool, which is the obvious source of the odor. I was certain anger would be the most dominant emotion I would feel upon discovering this, but all I feel is relief, and a bit of pride, because his stool is no longer a watery puddle. It is more solid and dry. He is healing.
Quietly, I pull a dirty rag from my pocket and use that to dispose of his waste outside. When I return, I lift the pup in my arms and carry him into the washroom on the first floor. I wipe his bottom with a clean rag and grab a makeshift bottle from the shelf as I pass by it. We return to my bedroom, and I take a seat in the chair by the window. I shift the pup so he is lying on his back in my arms, and I hold the bottle above his mouth, just like I have seen Elle-noor do.
At first, he jerks his head away from the bottle. “I know it is not the same as a teat but this is all we have, Stahn-lee,” I whisper to him. “There you go,” I encourage as he begins slurping at the bottle, trying to pull the liquid from it faster. I gently pat his rounded belly as he eats and lean back against the wall as the light breeze tickles my neck through the open window.
At some point, the pup’s bright red eyes meet mine as he feeds, and my heart skips in response. This tiny creature was so helpless. Still is, in fact. He is strong enough to walk on his own, but his feet are much bigger than the rest of him, and a slow trot around the outside of my dwelling often turns into a clumsy gallop with him landing face-first into a puddle.
How he finds the deepest puddle to fall into every single time, I will never know.
“Wow,” I hear a sleepy Elle-noor mumble from across the room. She still lies in bed, but on her side, watching us with warmth in her eyes. “I want this image tattooed in my brain.”
“What image?” I ask, feigning ignorance as I sit up taller and flex my arms around the pup.
She giggles, the sound light and full of joy. “Oh, you know exactly how beautiful you are right now, sir.”
I can understand the objective appeal of a large creature caring for a small one, but beautiful? Me? That word has never been used to describe me. Not once. “You did not eat another vakopurri berry while I was gone, did you?”
“You think I’d have to be high to find you attractive?” she asks with a chuckle. “Have you never looked in a mirror before?”
I tip the bottle up slightly, so the pup can finish the rest of the contents, and I wait for the humorous ending of the joke. But she says nothing. She merely sits up on the bed with her lips pursed, waiting for my response. “I am quite aware of how I look,” I finally reply.
Is she saying she finds my face and body appealing? Because that would make me feel like I was granted immortality. But I am not sure if that is what she is trying to communicate.
“The desire to look different? I get it,” she says as she flops onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “I was constantly pressured to lose weight as a kid. And far into adulthood. Or to lighten my skin, so I looked more like my mom than my dad. Body: too fat, skin: too dark, butt: too big, blah, blah, blah.”
I jerk my head back at her words because they do not make sense to me. She is not “too” anything. She is exactly as she is supposed to be. Perfect, from her head to her toes.
“Eventually, I learned to tune it out,” she says, turning her head to look at me. “The words still play in my mind, but I regret the time I wasted trying to make other people happy.”
I nod, a deep, visceral understanding passing between us.
She yawns and stretches as she rises from bed and comes to me with her arms outstretched. “I can take him,” she offers.
I do not hand him over, though. “I do not mind, Elle-noor,” I tell her. “Your morning meal is downstairs. Go eat.”
“You sure?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips, clearly suspicious of me.
“I am sure,” I vow, using the rag draped on my shoulder to wipe dribbled formula from his chin.
“My hero,” she croons as she runs a hand through my hair, fluffing it on the top. I bite back a groan that threatens to escape at the feel of her fingers caressing my scalp. Every touch from Elle-noor makes me greedy and desperate for the next.
I listen as she skips down the steps and the sound of clinking dishes fills the air. Once the bottle is empty, I take it and the pup downstairs with me as I rinse the fluid bag and the inside of the bottle top. By the sound of it, Elle-noor is in the washroom using the wash box, and while she continues to ready for herself for the day, I take the pup outside to relieve himself.
He stays close to my legs, tripping over my feet a few times before letting his nose guide him a short distance away. Sniffing plant after plant, he finally finds a dying yiopix bush to mark with his urine.
When I bring him back inside, Elle-noor is standing by the spigot with my plate of food in hand. “Don’t forget about your breakfast, mister!” she scolds playfully. Her mane is wet and shiny as it brushes the tops of her shoulders. I clench my fist behind my back, resisting the urge to run my fingers through it. Taking the plate from her hand, I distract myself by shoveling bread and berries into my mouth at an almost undignified pace.
“So, I’m running a bit late today,” she says as she shoves her feet into her boots while securing her mane with a tie at the back of her neck, “but I’ll be home as soon as I’m done with dish duty.”
Home.
This is the first time she has referred to my home as hers. I wonder if she realizes that. I will certainly never forget it.
“That is fine. I can skip the next training session. Varrek will not mind,” I lie. He is starting to wonder why I must leave early from each session. I tell him it is to help Elle-noor review tr’gory recordings, but I am not sure how much longer that excuse will work.