Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Jeneva
She woke to the sound of something clattering in the other room.
Blinking against the dim light filtering through the window, she worked through a moment of disorientation before remembering where she was. Methic's cabin.
She had actually slept through the night—a miracle considering her usual battle with insomnia.
Her back hurt around the stabilization implants that held her spine together, but her muscles didn't ache like they usually did in the morning.
Curious, she stretched her legs as hard as she dared.
No familiar burn in her thighs. No cramps twisting through her calves.
Another clatter, followed by what sounded distinctly like a curse.
Jeneva pushed herself upright, reaching for her walking stick before remembering she had lost it. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, and was about to slip down when she saw it.
The gleam of her metal crutch leaning against the wall.
"What?" She reached for it, her throat tightening. He had gone out last night and risked encountering more predators to get this for her. Who was this man?
Grabbing the crutch, she made her way to the doorway. The scent of warm fall spice greeted her as she swept the curtain aside and turned toward the noise. A small kitchen sat tucked in the back. Methic's naked back faced her as he bent over something on the rustic wood table, mixing aggressively.
She trailed her gaze over his muscled back and the long braid swaying with the motion, then to his trim waist and the rise of his backside clad in snug black pants.
A prominent scar ran horizontally across his lower back, the healed flesh forming a thick, rough ridge.
Now that she noticed it, she realized a handful of other keloids marred his back.
Remnants of injuries he had endured and survived.
Gingerly touching the back of her neck, she grimaced as her fingers met the cool metal hardware that aligned her spine from neck to lower back. She was literally held together with metal and screws like some kind of cyborg. Looks like they both had scars.
"Good morning," she chirped softly, hoping not to startle him.
He turned sharply. For just a moment, something like surprise flickered across his features before the scowl returned. He turned back to his task.
She hobbled closer, leaning heavily on her stick. "What are you making?"
"Breakfast." He stirred the bowl more gently now.
Jeneva peered into the contents and fought to keep her expression neutral. The lumpy porridge was an unappetizing shade of gray, like wet cement mixed with gravel.
"What is it?" Maybe she didn't want to know.
"Practical food." He ladled a portion into a bowl and set it on the table. "Eat."
The contents steamed ominously as she poked it with a wooden spoon. The pleasant cinnamon scent of Methic's home gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, it would taste better than it looked. She took a tentative bite.
It tasted exactly like it looked—paste mixed with gravel.
She swallowed with effort, her eyes watering, and managed to smile. "It's very... filling."
His eyes narrowed. "You dislike it."
"That's not true..." She searched for words that wouldn't offend but came up empty.
"I do not have a synthesizer to make something more palatable for you." He took a bite of his own food without flinching. "But I am happy to prepare something if you tell me what you prefer."
"No need but thank you. This... practical food is just fine."
He grunted and turned away, but not before she caught the slight slump to his shoulders. Was he disappointed? The thought made her chest tighten unexpectedly. This gruff, massive warrior had tried to make her breakfast, and she had hurt his feelings by not liking his cement porridge.
"Methic," she said softly. "Thank you for breakfast."
He paused, his back still to her, then gave a curt nod.
Determined to salvage the moment, Jeneva took another bite and tried not to grimace. The texture was somehow both gritty and slimy. "You know, with a dash of cinnamon and maybe some clove, this would taste like fall."
"The spice you mentioned last night."
She forced down another spoonful. "Your whole house smells like it."
"What is this food that you call 'fall'?"
Despite the horrible porridge coating her mouth, Jeneva found herself smiling. "It's not food. It's a season, a time of year back on Earth. The weather gets colder, the leaves turn beautiful colors like red, orange, gold, yellow and then fall off the trees."
Methic's brow furrowed as he turned to face her fully. "Because they are dead. Your voice sounds happy while discussing death. Does it please you when the leaves fall?"
She almost laughed. He sounded like a grumpy old man, which made her own cheerfulness feel even more pronounced by contrast.
"Humans enjoy the fall colors. The trees themselves don't die. They shed their leaves, so they don't have to provide nutrients throughout the winter. They go into a sort of hibernation, and when summer comes back, they grow new leaves. The cycle begins all over again."
He watched her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression, then moved to the counter. When he returned, he carried two steaming mugs. A rich scent like fresh ground coffee filled the air, and her mouth watered instantly. She hadn't had coffee—real coffee—in longer than she could remember.
She accepted the mug with both hands, sucking in a soft, quick breath as their fingers brushed. His skin was surprisingly warm, almost hot.
"Asemsa has no seasons like you describe.
" He quickly moved away and resumed his seat, but she noticed how his eyes lingered on her hands wrapped around the mug.
"The trees inside the Nexxus change color, but they do not lose their leaves unless they are dying.
When they shed, I must cull the tree so the sapling it left behind can take its place.
It is a delicate balance. Without help from a Majaki, the Nexxus forest would die. "
Her eyes strayed to the massive axe resting against the far wall. The blade gleamed even in the dim kitchen light.
"So you're a lumberjack." She sipped the brew and couldn't suppress a soft moan. The coffee tasted so real, so perfect. She wasn't going to ask what it really was—better not to know.
He watched her take another sip, his gaze intense on her lips before he turned away. "A lumberjack is..."
"Someone who cuts down trees," she offered, then added with a small smile, "Usually while wearing flannel and looking ruggedly handsome."
His head tilted slightly. "Flannel?"
Her wrist com suddenly beeped, shattering the moment. Her stomach flipped. Rusik. He was probably furious that she hadn't answered him.
Methic's eyes tracked to the device, then to her face. His entire demeanor shifted, becoming predatory. "You fear the one who hails you."
"Section Leader Rusik." She pressed her hand over the device, muffling another beep. "He's not a nice man. I'm supposed to answer him."
"Yet you do not."
Her fingers tightened around the warm mug. "He just wants to lock me up before putting me back on the—"
Cold chills raced over her scalp. What did it matter? Why was she about to spill her sob story to this alien she had just met? Yet something about Methic made her want to keep telling him everything.
"It doesn't matter."
Methic's entire body went rigid, his hands curling into fists. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as his expression darkened into something genuinely dangerous. "He imprisoned you."
"I broke the rules."
The amber of his eyes darkened to molten gold. "There is nothing you could do that would warrant imprisonment."
Her heart stuttered. He didn't even ask what she had done.
He was ready to defend her without knowing why.
The intensity of his reaction, the immediate protectiveness—it should have frightened her.
Instead, warmth bloomed in her chest even as dread overshadowed it. She couldn't hide from Rusik forever.
"You mentioned taking me back to the colony. I should go."
A muscle jumped in Methic's jaw. "I will not allow him to imprison you."
The conviction in his voice made her breath catch. "That's... that's sweet, but I'm supposed to be on the transport ship leaving for Regulan Z today."
He rose abruptly from his seat and went to the cupboards, flinging one open to rummage inside.
"That is an ice planet, too far from the suns to be habitable."
Her lips pressed into a grim line. "Wrong. It's where the human asylum is, where I've been for the past three years."
Whatever he was holding slammed onto the counter with enough force to rattle the dishes. "I do not understand."
She opened her mouth to explain, but he spun around with absolute fire in his eyes. "There is a colony of humans on the ice planet?"
Jeneva nodded, transfixed by the fury in his expression. Why did this affect him so much? Why did he care?
"It's called an asylum because, a long time ago on Earth, that's where people who weren't physically or mentally strong went. It's like a special facility for the sick and injured, but most never get better, and the majority never leave."
He shook his head slowly, his braid swaying with the motion. "The Majaki care for their own no matter the issue. All the advancements you humans have made, and yet you still cannot accept each other as you are."
Without another word, he returned to whatever he was doing at the counter, his shoulders tense with barely contained anger. She sipped her almost-coffee and watched the rigid line of his back as he worked. He wasn't wrong about humans and their treatment of the "imperfect."
When he finally turned back to the table, he set a plate of what looked like berries in front of her. They were deep purple, almost black, and glistened like jewels. "Eat this. The berries are sweet."