Chapter 3 #2
The other male hummed. “High praise indeed, boss. I suppose you’ve been enjoying the chance to spend time with your friends and brothers.”
“Yeah,” I lied.
Three of my brothers lived here on Eastshore.
I’d met their Mates and could smell their happiness, but I didn’t spend time with them.
They’d chosen a life that wasn’t for me, and being around them…
it didn’t make it easier. Mates, kitlings…
humans. I scowled. My friends, my brothers… they’d made their choices.
And those choices made me itchy just thinking of them.
Except…there was a human here. In my space. And she’d been here for a full week.
I couldn’t decide how I felt about that.
Hungry. You feel hungry.
Well, yes, there was that. I rolled my eyes at myself. It seemed like my little personal chef didn’t just make me itchy, she made me hungry. Ravenous, even. That female could cook, and I found myself already looking forward to whatever she’d make for dinner in a few hours.
If it stormed, I would sit at the other end of the table so I could watch the weather as I ate. It was better than scrolling through reports from my plant. I wondered what she would think about the storm—
No. No, you asshole, you don’t need her opinions. Being alone is safer.
On the other end of the line, Garrak cleared his throat, and I realized I’d drifted from the conversation. Abruptly straightening away from the desk, I reached for the phone.
“Just ignore the protesters, Garrak. Tell the guys to do likewise. Do not engage, and for the love of fuck, don’t give the press any reason to hate on orcs further. I’ll brainstorm.”
“Got it, boss.” The other male was calm, unruffled, in a way I could only hope to emulate. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow with the week’s numbers.”
“Right,” I murmured in distraction. “Tomorrow.”
I hung up without saying goodbye, then wondered when I’d become that kind of asshole. Had money made me like that, thinking I was better than common courtesies? Or had the humans?
Grumbling at my own stupidity, I stomped to the edge of the dais.
The architect had designed the large office so there was a sunken area in the center with the large board table and chairs, but my desk and the other seating near the window sat a little above.
This space would be perfect for board meetings with Vengeance’s shareholders…
If I ever did that sort of thing.
So why don’t you? You told yourself—and Tark—that’s why you were building this place, to be near to the shareholders. You haven’t met with them, you haven’t spent any time with your brothers… Why are you still here?
Because I was hungry.
I stalked toward the kitchen.
I knew before I arrived that my little personal chef wasn’t there. Her presence was stamped on this kitchen now—her scent, her sounds. She was always humming or mumbling to herself, apparently not realizing how good my hearing was, or she wouldn’t complain about me quite so often under her breath.
I should likely threaten her job for that, but…I don’t know. Her quiet strength impressed me. I liked that she’d gotten over her fear and stood up to me that first day. No one had ever cursed at me the way she had.
She thought I didn’t notice her, but my new chef was so determined not to make a sound when she tiptoed around the house, it was all I could hear. Hells, I even noticed when she held her breath walking past my office.
And in the last week, she’d learned my routine, learned how I took my coffee, learned which foods I liked.
In the mornings, my breakfast—something different each day, but still within the bounds of my preferences—waited for me when I entered the dining room.
Lunch and dinner were served when I was ready, but she kept her eyes down and her wit to herself.
She was no different than any other personal chef I’d had over the years, except…she was human. She’d learned my routine and my wishes and did her best to avoid me.
I didn’t like it.
Maybe that’s why I was invading her domain now, in the hopes of startling her. Except, when I entered the kitchen, she wasn’t there, as I’d suspected.
There were little changes she’d made, personal touches. An unfamiliar apron hung from a hook by the door, and there was a centerpiece—autumn leaves and gourds and a grapevine—on the table near the bay window.
The window was open, letting in the cold breeze and the rain, and I found myself tipping my head toward it, allowing the wind to caress my scars. I’d missed this.
Had I spent too long inside? Watching Malla the Beginner’s creations, instead of reveling in them?
A particularly strong gust of wind rifled through my hair, and I sucked in a breath, just as I heard a door slam down the hallway to the garage.
I recognized her footsteps—she was running—and I was turning to face the doorway when she burst through, breathless, laughing, her arms full of grocery sacks… and soaking wet.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as she carefully set the bags on the high counter. “You’re here.”
“And you’re dripping everywhere,” I grumbled, bending to wrench open the drawer with the kitchen towels. “Here.” I tossed it to her, even as I turned away, not wanting to see the way the raindrops clung to her eyelashes. “Why didn’t you park in the garage?”
“Because the garage is for your cars,” she announced cheerfully, her voice a little muffled as she dried her hair. “I just park in the driveway.”
Another stiff breeze, and I shut my eyes, trying not to imagine what she looked like, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed, her hair sticking to her skin… Deep in my chest, my Kteer rumbled possessively.
Fuck you, she’s a human.
A human who made all my favorite dishes, yeah, but still a human. A monster capable of so much hate and violence and viciousness…
Riven hasn’t shown any of that. She doesn’t flinch from your scars.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, still breathing hard from her run in from the rain. “I’m making lamb chops tonight, but I could throw together a charcuterie board or something—”
“I can find myself a snack,” I growled, turning away to wrench open the refrigerator. “Go get dried off.”
“Oh, I’m fine now.” I could hear her moving behind me, as I pretended to study the meticulously organized fridge. “I need to get this stuff put away before I take a break.”
Yeah, she was good at that, organizing and arranging. I suppose she was used to it, but it suited me, the way everything was labeled and set in its place. The simplicity appealed to me, and I wondered if this had anything to do with the way my Kteer reacted to her.
You’re not getting a hard-on around your chef because you like the way she labels your godsdamn refrigerator shelves.
And why in all the hells was I getting a hard-on at all? She was a human. I hated humans, didn’t I? Even humans who labeled each shelf in the fridge like “condiments” or “veggies” or…
“You sure I can’t help—” she began, but I interrupted her.
“Leftovers? Why do you have a space for leftovers?” I jabbed my finger at the lidded container. “This is last night’s butternut squash ravioli with the sage brown butter, isn’t it?”
“Do you want it?” I could hear her moving toward me. “I could heat it up—”
I turned to snarl at her, “Why the shit would you worry about leftovers? Just toss it!”
I was no longer the starving kitling who gave up my dinners so my younger brothers could eat. I was no longer the headstrong young male who had to be fed broth because his broken jaw made eating impossible. I was a fucking billionaire.
But the way she’d reared back, surprise and—was that disapproval?—in her eyes had me snapping my lips together.
Then she inhaled slowly. “If I threw out the leftovers, you couldn’t eat them the next day,” she carefully explained, that green gaze meeting mine calmly.
As if she wasn’t afraid of me. As if she didn’t think I was a terrifying monster, with my scars and my claws and my anger.
This human had been like that from the first day, although only when I confronted her.
With a scowl at my own confusing response to her, I grabbed a block of cheddar from the cheese drawer—of course it was labeled—and slammed the door shut. “I don’t eat leftovers.” Any longer.
“I do,” she said quietly, turning away.
I bit into the block of cheddar to hide my irritation.
From the back, I could see how her hair had dripped rainwater down her back, causing her black shirt to stick to her skin. It outlined the curve of her spine, which absolutely should not be sensual.
It was.
This tiny female, who’d cursed at me the first time we’d met, who now tried to pretend deference, who wore the plainest black around me to stay professional, this human…she was the one my Kteer was responding to?
She’d dropped the towel on the counter when she reached for the groceries, her damp hair curling at her neck. I stared at the cloth like it was proof she’d been here—bright, infuriating, unavoidable. And I hated how much I wanted her to come back.
I swallowed angrily and took another large bite.
She was putting away the groceries, and I moved out of her way, glaring at the back of her head, daring her to say something else to piss me off. But all she said was, “That cheese is smoked and aged for quite a while. It’s fifty dollars a pound, and you’re not taking the time to enjoy it.”
My brows raised, and I pulled the cheddar back to look at it. “It’s good.”
“It should be, for that price.”
Did she not understand? I bit down again on the cheese in irritation.
I had more money than I could ever even imagine spending.
I didn’t need much, but I was damn well going to buy the fancy cheese.
It made up for a lifetime of deprivation.
Hard to believe I’d never tasted cheese before I’d come to this world.
Because this cheddar was fucking amazing.
But a sudden realization had me pulling it away once more. “Was this for something? A recipe?”
She shot me a glance over her shoulder as she stood at the pantry, her lips curled just slightly. “It was for you to snack on. Now that I know you like it, and you don’t mind the price, I’ll order more.”
I frowned.
That was…kind. She was being kind. Not just doing her job but being kind. She’d learned my schedule, made food she knew I’d like, and how was I repaying her? By eating her cheese.
When she turned to pick up something else from the grocery sack, I stepped forward and slammed the half-eaten block of cheddar on top of the glass container of last night’s pie. “There. Now it’s with the rest of the leftovers. Don’t throw out the cheese though.”
Her smile was soft and, yes dammit, kind when she turned back to the fridge. “I wasn’t going to throw out the butternut ravioli either, Abydos. You might not eat it, but I made a double batch so I could eat it.”
“That’s stupid, female. You eat what I eat.”
Those dark wing-link brows of hers took flight, and I saw irritation flash in her green eyes. “My name is Riven.”
Shit. “Riven,” I grumbled, crossing my arms. “You’re a good cook.” There, that compliment didn’t hurt too much. “Just eat whatever you’re making for me. We don’t have to eat together to share the food.”
Her little huff of exasperation was almost…
cute? She—Riven—shook her head as she crossed back to the fridge, her hips swaying too close to me as she passed.
“I do eat the same things, Abydos. I just don’t like lamb, so I was planning on leftover ravioli tonight.
You like lamb chops, you said, so I’m making them. ”
My frown deepened. She was making me something that she didn’t like to eat? “That’s stupid,” I muttered again.
And this time she whirled on me, her hands slapping against her hips, the open refrigerator outlining her frustration. “How is that stupid? Cooking for you—making you food you like—is my job! I want to keep my job! I’m making you what you like!”
Her wet hair had dripped dark spots across her shirt, and I wished she’d held onto the towel so I didn’t have to see the cotton sticking to her skin. Didn’t have to listen to my Kteer purr at the sight of her ire.
She should’ve looked ridiculous. Instead, she looked alive, and I hated how much I noticed.
I shook my head in disgust, mostly at myself. “Yeah, but you don’t like it. You have to eat this food too, so you should make what you like—”
“Oh, forget it,” she mumbled, using her hip and elbow to close the fridge door, as her gaze dropped to the tile floor. “My preferences don’t matter here.”
But they should.
Why?
Why should her preferences matter? Riven was just my chef. She was here to cater to my preferences. It wasn’t like she sat with me in the dining room to watch the storm as we ate, enjoying the way the flavors melted together as we talked about our days.
But in that moment, that vision in my mind…I knew that was what I wanted.
That’s how meals—simple meals, with not enough food to go around—looked like in the village where I grew up.
We might’ve gone to bed hungry, but we ate together as a family, as brothers.
I had Aswan and Memnon and Simbel and the others with me, keeping them together, protecting them, making sure they were fed.
Had it really been so long since I’d felt that sense of satisfaction? I’d built an empire here in the human world, trying to beat them at their own game. And what did I get out of it? Really expensive cheese.
And no one to share it with.
You don’t want to share it with anyone. You’re happier being alone.
Wasn’t I?
Deep inside, my Kteer rumbled, and I pressed my claws against my chest to drown it out with the pain. My tongue flicked against my broken tusk, the sharp aching stab reminding me who I was and what I’d beaten to be here today.
I didn’t need to share my meals with anyone, not anymore.
With a low growl, I turned away from the refrigerator, only for the wet breeze coming in through the window to catch my hair again, reminding me of my old life. When I would live in the storm instead of just watching it.
When I would protect the land, rather than scarring it.
The storm, wild, bold, powerful…it smelled of Riven. Or she smelled of the storm. I glanced at the crumpled towel she’d used to dry herself, and wondered if she needed anything else.
She can take care of herself. You pay her to take care of you, remember?
Right. Yeah.
Shaking my head in disgust at myself, I stalked from the kitchen. But before I could leave, she spoke.
“I’ll make you a snack before I begin on the lamb chops, and bring it to your office.”
Why did I suspect she—Riven was the only snack I wanted?