Chapter 14 #2
She shot me a look that was pure Rozi, equal parts irritation and intellectual challenge. “Everything has an explanation, Brody. We just haven’t discovered all of them yet.”
The use of my first name instead of Thornbern sent warmth through my chest. Another small crack in the wall she’d built between us.
“Either way,” I said, standing and brushing off my hands. “It’s warm, dry, and safe. The Fae built these places in natural energy nexus points, locations where the Ridge’s protective magic is strongest.”
“Convenient,” she said, finally shrugging off her own pack and setting it carefully beside a wooden table. “So there are more of these scattered throughout the forest?”
I nodded, moving to the kitchen area. “Seven that the Bane family has maintained since Boris purchased the land. The pack uses them as resting points during patrols.”
“This is fascinating,” she said, joining me in the kitchen, unpacking her own supplies with the methodical precision I was coming to recognize as her way of maintaining control in uncertain situations.
“That’s Black Forest Ridge for you,” I replied, starting to prepare our meal. The fully stocked refrigerator revealed treasures that would have impressed even the finest restaurants in Anchorage, premium cuts of meat, fresh vegetables, and herbs that filled the air with fragrant promises.
“Is that wagyu beef?” Rozi asked, her eyes widening as I pulled out two perfectly marbled steaks. “In a remote cabin in the middle of nowhere?”
I couldn’t help the satisfied smile that spread across my face. “The Bane pack takes hospitality seriously. Una always said food was medicine for both body and soul.” I placed the steaks on the counter with reverence. “Care to help? Or would you prefer to watch?”
The challenge in my voice was subtle but unmistakable. Her eyes narrowed, that competitive spark I remembered from our youth flaring to life.
“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent cook,” she replied, rolling up her sleeves with purposeful movements.
“Never doubted it for a second,” I said, enjoying the way her spine straightened at the implied challenge.
We moved around the kitchen with synchronicity.
She reached for the salt just as my hand moved toward it.
Instead of the collision I half expected, our movements flowed together like choreography.
She stepped left as I moved right, handed me the knife before I could ask, and anticipated my need for fresh rosemary with uncanny precision.
The mate bond, I realized, still hummed between us despite her determination to ignore it.
I watched her hands as she skillfully diced potatoes, her movements precise and efficient. Something about the domesticity of the moment made my chest ache with longing for what might have been years ago.
“You’re staring at me again,” she said without looking up, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Hard not to,” I admitted, not bothering to hide my appreciation. “You make potato dicing look like an art form.”
Her soft laugh sent heat pooling low in my belly. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Thornbern.”
“Not flattery. Observation.” I moved beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, to catch the subtle changes in her scent that betrayed her awareness of me. “Here, try this.”
I held out a spoon with a sample of the marinade I’d been preparing, garlic, herbs, and a hint of something darker, more complex.
Her eyes held mine as she leaned forward, lips closing around the spoon in a way that made my cock twitch against my jeans.
The simple act of feeding her felt more intimate than it had any right to.
“Mmm,” she murmured, her eyelids fluttering briefly closed. “That’s… unexpected. What’s in it?”
“My secret recipe,” I replied, fighting to keep my voice steady despite how bad I wanted to kiss her. “Though I might be persuaded to share it with the right person.”
Something shifted in her expression, vulnerability, perhaps, or recognition of what I was really offering. Not just a recipe, but trust. Inclusion in something that had been mine alone.
“I’ll add more herbs to the potatoes,” she said after a moment, turning back to her task. Not acceptance, but not rejection either. Progress.
I found a bottle of red wine in the pantry, a vintage that would have cost hundreds outside this magical place.
The label was handwritten in a language I didn’t recognize, the bottle dusty with age.
When I pulled the cork, the scent that emerged was intoxicating, black cherries, earth, and something wild that reminded me of the forest after rain.
“This should complement the steaks,” I said, reaching for two crystal glasses and pouring wine.
Rozi accepted the glass I offered, her fingers brushing mine in a contact that sent electricity racing up my arm. She inhaled deeply, a small sound of appreciation escaping her. “Is everything in this place impossibly perfect?”
“Not everything,” I replied, holding her gaze for a beat longer than necessary. “Some things are still works in progress.”
The double meaning wasn’t lost on her. She took a sip of wine instead of responding, but I caught the slight hitch in her breath, the way her pupils dilated ever so slightly.
The steaks sizzled as they hit the hot pan, filling the cabin with a rich, savory aroma that made my wolf rumble with approval.
Rozi moved beside me, sliding the potatoes into the oven with practiced ease.
Our arms brushed. A contact so brief it might have been accidental if not for the way her scent spiked with awareness.
“The salad’s ready,” she said, her voice slightly huskier than before. She’d found greens and vegetables I hadn’t even noticed, arranging them with the same precision she probably brought to her laboratory experiments.
“Perfect timing,” I replied, lifting the steaks onto a wooden board to rest. “The table by the fire seems like the best spot.”
The small table tucked into an alcove near the hearth seemed designed for intimate conversation, its surface inlaid with the same luminescent stones that decorated the walls. Two chairs faced each other, close enough that our knees would touch beneath the table.
I watched Rozi as she arranged our plates, noting the care she took with the presentation. For all her pragmatism, she had an artist’s eye for beauty. The firelight caught in her hair, transforming the caramel-blond curls into a halo of gold and amber. My throat went dry at the sight.
“Sparkling water?” I offered, finding a bottle that was cool to the touch despite having no refrigeration.
“Please,” she said, settling into one of the chairs. “This looks… amazing.”
We sat across from each other, the table small enough that I could feel the heat of her legs near mine and could catch every subtle shift in her expression as she cut into the perfectly cooked steak.
The first bite drew a sound from her throat that went straight to my groin, a low, appreciative moan that was pure sensual pleasure.
“God, that’s good,” she said, eyes closing briefly. When they opened again, they held a warmth I hadn’t seen since Kenya. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“The forest takes it out of you,” I replied, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the way her enjoyment of the food affected me.
There was something profoundly satisfying about providing for her, about seeing her take pleasure in something I’d helped create.
My wolf preened with primitive satisfaction.
“Especially when you’re navigating Fae pathways. ”
Our conversation flowed more easily with each bite, each sip of wine.
The barriers between us didn’t disappear, but they softened and became more permeable.
We talked about neutral topics at first, the unique properties of the Ridge, theories about Fae architecture, the strangeness of the plants we’d encountered on our hike.
But gradually, as our plates emptied and our glasses were refilled, we moved to the sofa in front of the fire and the conversation shifted to more personal ground.
“How many times have you visited the COL?” she asked.
“This will be my second time. The first time, I came here with Quinn and Mack.”
“Only once? Why?” she asked.
“Between pack duties and running the Brewstillery, there isn’t enough time for me to make this arduous trek. Besides, the last time I came here, I took enough of the COL water to make my tonic.”
She took off her shoes, tucking her legs under her for a snug and intimate position on the couch. “So it’s not the quantity of the COL water, which means it’s very potent.”
I nodded. “Exactly. On my last trip, I filled two flasks, and I still have plenty for my tonic. The problem has never been how much water I have.”
“It’s finding what Una was missing,” Rozi said thoughtfully. “The plants that grow in symbiosis with the spring.”
“Without them, the effects remain temporary,” I agreed, absently rubbing my left hand where the tremors had been getting worse. “The water opens the pathways, but without the right botanical stabilizers…”
“The neural connections collapse again,” she finished. “That’s why we need to collect samples of everything growing near the COL tomorrow. The answer has to be there.”
“Una knew it intuitively,” I said. “But you’ll be able to identify exactly which compounds create the stabilizing effect.”
Rozi nodded, her expression determined. “And once we know that, we can modify the formula to enhance those specific elements.” The firelight caught the gold flecks in her eyes as she looked at me. “We’re close, Brody. Closer than either of us has ever been to a real solution.”
“I’m so happy you’re here, Rozi. It’s kismet.”
“Yes, well…” Something shifted in her expression. “Thank you for sharing the COL secret with me.”