Chapter 4
four
. . .
Zera
Zera didn’t give a flying fuck about soil, flowers, or plants. She cared about finding Harmonians. But after locking eyes with Calla, her mate, her soulmate … things had changed.
Now she wanted to claim her. To snap that bond into place. To feel utterly full of her.
All her life, she’d assumed her mate would be a tough barbarian like herself. Instead, she’d found a woman as soft as Calla, quiet, shy, delicate in some ways, but nothing like the warriors she knew. If Calla had been Vulcanian, the bond would have been solidified by now.
But Calla wasn’t Vulcanian. And as much as Zera wanted to clear the workbench, spread those legs, and taste her … she now knew she had to be patient. She needed Calla to want her.
Zera rolled her eyes back and groaned under her breath. Ares’ holy flame … She’d bet anything that woman tasted like the sweetest fruit in all of Rhea, that her cunt was as soft as rose petals.
Blessed be Vulcan’s hammer … Zera wanted to destroy her. Just from touching her waist, she’d felt Ares’ fire ignite inside her. She needed, fucking needed, to feel her clench around her fingers, to bury herself in her until there was no space left between them.
“Fuck…”
Instead of doing any of that, she was in Calla’s house, in a small room, scrubbing soot, sweat, and dirt from her skin. Amara had given her an extra set of clothing, nothing like her leather armor. Light, soft, airy … and she was almost cold.
The linen pants fit snug around her thighs but hung loose at her narrow waist, unlike Calla’s delicious curves. She tied a thin rope around her waist, annoyed she couldn’t hook her hatchet to it. She patted the weapon, surprised Jefa Soledad hadn’t taken it from her.
She fixed her blouse and glanced in a small mirror. She barely recognized herself.
“Vulcanian, ven!” Amara’s voice called as the older woman opened the door.
She stopped to give Zera a once-over, then nodded with approval and gave a thumbs-up.
“You look good cleaned up!” She laughed, clapping her hands once.
“Vente a comer. Food is ready.” She left the door open for Zera to follow.
Amara and Calla’s home was small and cozy, built of thick stone and wood with a clay-tile roof. A quinqué lantern lit the combined living, cooking, and eating area. Two bedrooms sat at the back, and apparently, Zera was using Amara’s, meaning the older woman was sharing with Calla.
Not that Zera was jealous.
She scoffed at herself. Calla was just pushing away the inevitable. Sooner or later, they would bond.
Her thoughts cut off the moment she saw Calla at the table.
Freshened up, her curls loose around her shoulders, her skin glowing in the quinqué’s warm light …
Zera nearly forgot how to breathe. Calla walked past her mother and sat without looking at her, focusing instead on the plates of food: crispy fried pork, white rice, stewed red beans, and thick slices of fried plantain.
A pale pink sauce made of tomato and garlic sat in a clay bowl between them. It smelled incredible.
“Nena, dale, siéntate,” Amara said, pointing at the chair next to Calla.
Zera looked at Calla. Calla looked only at the food. Zera pulled out the chair next to her and sat. The silence hung awkwardly until Amara closed her eyes and began in Florensi:
“Demeter, Rhea, blessed be your existence, for you have given us the knowledge to work the land and grow the food that feeds us. Glory be to your nurturing hands.” She finished her prayer, clapping twice over her plate and sighing contentedly.
“Glory be,” Calla echoed, rising to take her mother’s plate. She served a generous helping of pork, rice, beans, and two golden slices of plantain, then handed it back with a smile. Amara thanked her.
Calla then took Zera’s plate, serving the same portions before sliding it back across the table.
Zera frowned at the plate. “Más,” she said in her broken Florensi.
“More?”
Zera nodded, her eyes finally locking with Calla’s.
Calla turned back to the pot and began filling Zera’s plate obscenely full. When she handed it over, Zera was struck by the weight. But her Calla served this food, and she’d eat every last grain of rice or so help her Ares … because this was what it would be like every night.
Calla feeding her. Calla warming her bed.
Zera breathed deep. Vulcan take me … She wanted all of that now.
“Gracia.”
“Graciasssss,” Calla corrected, finally serving herself.
Zera watched in silence, noting exactly how much Calla put on her plate and memorizing it for the day she would cook for her. She’d keep her mate happy and full, always.
It wasn’t until Calla sat and picked up her fork that Amara and Zera began eating. But Zera couldn’t stop staring.
The way Calla picked up a piece of pork with her fingers. The way her lips moved when she chewed. The way she gathered rice and beans, lifting them to her mouth with a steady hand.
Zera was struggling to keep control. If Amara weren’t here, she wasn’t sure she’d be behaving.
Then Calla reached for a small clay cup filled with pale pink sauce. She dipped a fried plantain into it, bit down, and a smear of sauce clung to the corner of her mouth. Her tongue darted out to lick it away.
Zera’s grip on her fork tightened. Calla was doing that on purpose. She had to be. There was no way someone could be this seductive just by eating.
Calla offered her the clay cup. “Here, pa’ los tostones,” she said, waving a fried plantain between her fingers.
Tostones. Zera looked at the cup, then her plate. She picked up a slice, dunked it deep into the sauce, and bit off half.
By Ares’ fire … what was this? She’d died, skipped the eternal cycle of reincarnation, and gone straight to the Elysian Fields.
“Gods…” Zera’s eyes flew open.
“Good?” Calla asked, smiling, dimples deep.
Zera nodded enthusiastically, dunking another plantain in the sauce.
“Thanks to Calla, we’ve had plentiful harvests and, not to mention, herbs to season all our food. Everything except the pork was grown here,” Amara said, her voice full of pride.
Calla shifted in her seat, not uncomfortable, but visibly happy under the praise. Those dimples again, softening her whole face.
Zera took note of everything. Calla liked being praised. She took pride in her work. She loved flowers, plants, and soil. Above all, she carried the knowledge that she was the reason her people were fed.
Good. Zera would remember it all.
She dug into her food like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, tearing into the pork, shoveling rice and beans into her mouth. She felt both Calla and Amara watching, but the food was too good for her to care if she looked like a barbarian.
“Mira pa’ allá!” Amara laughed. “I love a person with a good appetite!”
Zera looked up, cheeks full, and grinned. She turned to Calla, swallowed, and pointed to herself. “Mami approved.”
“Ay, por favor,” Calla scoffed, but Zera caught the flicker of amusement … and maybe even happiness that her mother did approve.
Pride filled Zera’s chest. Of course, Amara approved of her. Any mate, male or female, would be lucky to have someone like her at their side. Strong. Smart. Passionate.
She nodded to herself, grinned at Calla, who shook her head and went back to her food.
“Is this your first time in Rhea?” Amara asked, biting into a piece of pork.
Zera shook her head and held out two fingers.
“Why were you here the first time?” Calla asked.
Zera took a drink of water and shrugged. “Don’t remember. I was small.”
“How long are you staying?” Amara pressed, and beside her, Calla shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t know,” Zera answered simply.
“Well, I hope you’ll stay at least a while,” Amara said warmly. “We could use the extra help.”
Zera grinned, lifting a brow at Calla like she was daring her to disagree. She jabbed a thumb toward her own chest. “I help.”
Calla’s foot shot out under the table, catching Zera in the shin. Zera’s eyes went wide and then narrowed. The hiss of Arevulcan spilled from her mouth, low and sharp. Gods, this woman. Acting like nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t just kicked a Vulcanian warrior under the table.
Instead, Calla reached for the small clay cup of sauce and slid it toward her. “Toma,” she murmured.
Their fingers brushed as Zera took it. The air hitched. So did Calla’s breath. She yanked her hand back like she’d been burned, turning quickly to her plate, but Zera didn’t miss the way her fingers rubbed against the linen of her white pants, restless.
“Zera, what do you eat in Vulcan?” Amara asked, her tone warm, blissfully oblivious to the storm brewing between them.
Zera blinked, forcing herself back into the conversation.
“Bland rice. Protein. Meat. Always meat.” She patted one shoulder with a proud smirk.
“We are strong.” And it was true. Every Vulcanian was raised for war, every meal built for battle.
She couldn’t remember a time she’d gone a day without meat.
“We eat a lot of tubers here,” Amara said. “Maybe tomorrow you can try mashed name and batata.” She glanced at Calla, who was very pointedly focused on her plate. “Any traditions?”
Zera’s mouth curved slow and dangerous. “We share food at bonding feasts.”
“Bonding feasts?”
“Yes.” Her voice dropped, deep and deliberate. “Before the bond is made. When two match, they eat together. Drink together. First night … always fire. Always heat.” Her gaze cut to Calla, heavy with meaning. “Makes the bond stronger.”
She didn’t say that in her head. Calla was in Vulcanian ceremonial garb, draped in leather straps and furs, sitting across her lap, feeding her thick cuts of meat with a smile that showed those damn dimples.
She didn’t say she wanted to taste those lips after, to devour her until Calla couldn’t walk without remembering her.
“We don’t have anything like that here,” Amara said, dabbing her mouth with a cloth. “Here, when two find each other, they build trust, and off they go hasta que cante el gallo.”
As if summoned, a rooster crowed from the window ledge. Amara groaned and muttered curses under her breath, shooing the bird away until it flapped off in a noisy fuss.
And then Calla laughed. Not the polite, half-smiles Zera had seen before. No … this was loud, unrestrained, warm enough to burn through Zera’s bones. Gods, that laugh. It made her chest tight, made her want to hear it again and again until it was the only sound in the world.
Zera leaned back in her chair, letting herself drink it in. Every rise and fall of it, the little gasp before it subsided. When Calla finally calmed, she rested her chin in her hand, eyes hooded as they found Zera’s.
“Bella…” Zera said in Florensi, her voice gone rough.
Calla blinked once. Twice. And exhaled.
“I’m going to clean up,” Amara said, gathering her plate and the empty dishes from the tostones and pork. The door to the kitchen shut behind her.
Time thickened.
“Any other traditions we should know?” Calla asked, her tone light but something darker curling underneath.
Zera leaned forward. “When find mate, we go home. No question. No waiting.” Her next words came low, almost a growl. “We fuck, bond, and fuck again.”
Calla’s smile vanished. She stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor, and gathered her plate along with Zera’s. She didn’t look at her until Zera’s hand closed around her forearm.
Calla’s breath caught, her eyes snapping to Zera’s with sharp annoyance. “Suéltame.”
“We mates, Calla,” Zera said, low but certain. “We bond.”
Her frown deepened. “Let. Go.”
The order was firm enough to cut. Zera’s grip loosened instantly, and Calla turned away, walking out without a glance back.
Zera stared at the space where she’d stood, her jaw tight. In Vulcan, you claimed what was yours the moment you knew. If she wanted Calla in her bed, she’d have to earn her in her heart first. And Zera had never lost a battle she truly wanted to win.