Page 53 of Shielded in the Shadows

Her laugh made my tail swish and wings flutter. “Ridiculous bat.” She eyed the tented fabric of my trousers. “Are you sure that will be comfortable?”

“Comfortable, perhaps not.” I smiled and flashed my fangs. “Thoroughly enjoyable, absolutely.”

“Ridiculous,” she repeated, and heaved an exaggerated sigh that didn’t match the twinkle in her eyes. “I suppose I’ll allow it, just this once.”

I settled her sideways on my lap, arranging her gown so it draped smoothly over my legs and marveling at how perfectly she fit against me. I coiled my tail loosely around her calf and exhaled in contentment.

The only other time we’d sat like this, in the emergency jump seat aboard the Nivilus during our escape from Ghira Station, I’d been much too focused on her survival to spare more than a thought for how it felt to hold my mate in my arms. Given her distrust, the prospect of a moment like this had seemed nothing more than a distant dream.

Now, she was in my lap and in my arms by choice, and I wanted for nothing.

I’d felt her weight on me before during sparring sessions when she’d ended up on my chest after putting me on the mat. Those fleeting moments were just as satisfying because I treasured all aspects of my mate, from the fierce fighter to the lovely dinner companion and everything in between. Even the grime-covered female with scraped knuckles who’d emerged yesterday from the bowels of the ship’s engineering level had made my hearts race.

One by one I removed the covers from the various dishes and set them aside to reveal our meal. Keela’s little gasps of awe turned the quiet rumble in my chest into a deep vibration.

I’d selected a menu I hoped my mate would enjoy. There were savory dumplings—with extra sauce, of course—accompanied by fresh greens, thinly sliced roast, sautéed veg, baked tubers stuffed with meats and sauces, and a perfectly prepared fish with delicate purple flesh. And for dessert, a sweet cake with one hundred layers, each only a millimeter thick.

The chef, who’d been trained by monk-gastronomists on Bacora and opened a restaurant on Trakhan at Byx’s urging, had bemoaned the “naivety” of the dishes, all of which—except the cake—she’d claimed were simplistic enough to be made by the least experienced of her assistants.

“Do you not wish to woo your mate?” she’d said, wringing all of her six-fingered hands. “You can woo no one with such provincial fare!”

Before I’d come to know Keela so well, I might have agreed. My instinctual desire to lavish my mate with the finest things was powerful. I would have demanded the chef make the most complex and awe-inspiring dishes in her repertoire, from gravity-defying towers of atomized fruit to sculptured creams atop razor-thin slices of the rarest meats. A molecular gastronomist could create true wonders, and the patrons of her restaurant demanded to experience awe with every airy bite.

Keela Wren, however, wouldn’t have gazed hungrily at a table covered in those kinds of dishes.

And so with a huff the chef promised the finest provincial meal we’d ever taste and swept back into her kitchen in a whirl of spiky head tendrils and flashing bioluminescence.

I slid a plate closer. “What would you like to try first?”

“Dumplings,” Keela said immediately, and craned her neck to give me a soft kiss on my jaw as I reached for the serving spoon. “I want my own utensils, though. Don’t even think about trying to feed me.”

“The possibility never crossed my mind,” I lied.

We ended up sharing a plate, which I kept filled between bites. The chef had been true to her word. Every dish was objectively flawless down to the last detail: the flavors complex, the spice levels ideal, the textures perfectly contrasting to maximize enjoyment. Maybe after her initial reluctance, the chef had thrown herself into the challenge of creating masterpieces from simple ingredients.

Our conversation during the meal was light. Keela told me about her shopping excursion with Felina, including her first extended interaction with an Ivarian.

“She looked so gloopy,” my mate confided in a conspiratorial whisper despite the fact we were alone. “But she didn’t leave a slime trail when she moved. I wanted to ask if I could touch her, but I decided that would probably be rude and I didn’t want to embarrass Felina.”

I chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “They are in fact very gloopy,” I confirmed. “And they do leave a very thin layer of slime as they move. It’s just hard to see. The trail gets thicker when they are in a state of heightened emotion, which is why the species focuses so much on mindfulness and maintaining emotional equilibrium. Losing too much of their mass could result in serious illness or even death.”

“Ah, yes—I forgot you are a professional collector of information as well as a medic.” She rested her head against my chest as I sliced a thick piece of cake and put it on a clean plate. “You also claimed to have impeccable taste in clothes.” She ran her fingers over the many small buttons that lined the front of my greatcoat and smiled up at me. “Is this how you plan to dress from now on? No more jumpsuit?”

“Only if my captain approves.” I tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “Do you like the look?”

Her lips twitched. “I do. It’s very…smuggler couture. Very you.”

Chest rumbling in pleasure, I risked offering her a bite of cake from my own fork.

She eyed me before opening her mouth and accepting the bite. When her lips closed around the fork, she shut her eyes and moaned. My cocks, which had been hard and lubricated since she’d touched my horn, began to throb in earnest.

Despite the impeccable quality of the rest of the food, the cake proved the most delicious creation of all. Surely each thin layer couldn’t have been a unique flavor, but it seemed possible given the symphony of tastes that exploded on my tongue.

I’d only managed one bite, though, before Keela’s hands were on my face and she was pulling my mouth down to hers.

Our first kiss in the Nivilus’s cargo bay had been a fierce demand for capitulation—one I’d gladly given in to. This kiss was far more complex, and full of everything that made Keela her wondrous self: fierce, sweet, demanding, capable, fearless, determined…and her taste made the meal we’d just finished seem as bland as the worst protein and veg the food synth on the ship could produce.

I was so lost in sensation that when the coppery tang of blood landed on my tongue, my entire body twitched.