Chapter 8
EIGHT
Broxen groaned. He wasn’t sure if the sound of it had woken him or if he’d made it because he’d woken, but he knew it was too damned early in the morning to care.
Releasing a heavy breath through his nostrils, he straightened his legs, stretching them out with his tail beside them.
His feet were sticking out of the blanket, which was bunched and twisted around his waist, and his hair was in his face.
But he felt…good despite sleeping on a couch that was too short for him.
That feeling was complicated a moment later when his grogginess faded just enough for the events of the prior night to rush to mind.
“Gur’osh brakhan,” he muttered.
“What does gurush brakkin mean?”
He opened his eyes and snapped his head up. Through the dark curtain of his hair, he saw a tiny human sitting on the floor in front of the couch, staring up at him. The shirt she was wearing looked big enough for her to use as a tent.
“What language is it?” Ana asked. “Is it Russian? Are you from Russia? My abuelita is from Colombia, and she speaks Spanish. So does my mom, but not very often. She taught me how, too.”
With a grunt, Broxen propped himself up on an elbow and scooted his ass back to sit up.
He lifted his hand, meaning to sweep his hair back from his face, but froze with his palm upon the root of his horn.
Clenching his jaw, he lowered his hand to glance at it; his skin appeared that pale color common to so many humans, and his claws were invisible.
He let out a relieved sigh and tucked his hair back. His holoshroud had deactivated during his sleep a couple times when he’d first been growing accustomed to it, and he’d been concerned about it happening again ever since.
It would’ve been especially troublesome had it deactivated last night.
If she’d seen the real me, she wouldn’t be calmly sitting on the floor.
Ana tilted her head to the side. “Are you okay?”
Broxen’s brow furrowed. “I’m fine. Just…”
“Still waking up? Mom says she’s not awake until she has her coffee. Did you know you growl sometimes in your sleep?”
Broxen swung his feet onto the floor and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He shifted his tail—which was still rendered invisible by the holoshroud—slowly, wrapping it around his waist so it was out of the way. “Don’t a lot of people snore?”
“Yeah, but you weren’t snoring. Snoring sounds like this.” She breathed in, making a loud, rattling, snorting sound.
The corner of Broxen’s mouth tilted up. “And what’d I sound like?”
“Kiiiind of like a wolf. Like this.” She bared her teeth, scrunched her nose, and let loose a rolling growl from the back of her throat. Her expression was made more adorable by the gaps where her mini, human fangs should’ve been.
Broxen laughed and shook his head. “I don’t sound like that.”
“Yeah, you do,” she replied, brows falling low. “Just, you know, deeper and quieter.”
Amusing as this was, he couldn’t ignore the implication of her being there—he’d lost his edge.
In the past, he never would’ve slept deeply enough for anyone, especially this little girl, to get so close to him without waking.
He never would’ve been caught off guard.
He needed to do better now that he had these females under his protection.
He ran his tongue over his teeth and glanced up at the clock on the wall.
It was one of those circular clocks with arms, leftover from the previous owners of the house, and he’d seen no reason to take it down—but he still wasn’t accustomed to using it.
His lips moved as he soundlessly counted off the tick marks between the numbers.
Seven sixteen. That explained the faint gray light outside that was struggling to penetrate the blinds.
Were it a school day—and were things normal—Broxen would’ve been waiting at that window now to get a glimpse of Gabriela as she went out to start her car.
“Where is your mother, Ana?”
“She’s still sleeping.”
My mate is in my bed.
A growl built deep in his chest at that reminder, but he held it back. Instead, he cleared his throat, looking down at Ana. “You hungry?”
She sagged. “Starving.”
He chuckled, flattened his hands on his knees, and pushed himself up. “I’m sure you are. Give me a minute and we’ll get some breakfast going.”
Ana stood up and tilted her head back to keep her eyes on him. “Can I help?”
“Can you make toast without burning it?”
Ana gave him a flat look. “I’m nine and a half. I know how to use the toaster.”
Broxen lifted his hands, displaying his palms in surrender. “My mistake. I shouldn’t doubt your toasting skills. I’ll be back.”
“You sound like the robot in that movie when you say that,” she said with a smirk.
“What robot in what movie?”
“The Terminator. It’s a very grown-up movie, and I’ve seen it. Mom let me watch it. It’s one of her favorite movies. I love it, too.”
Broxen walked toward the guest bathroom in the hallway. “Oh? Guess I’ll have to watch it sometime.”
“I should warn you. It has kissing.”
He paused as he opened the bathroom door and looked back at Ana, lifting his brows high and widening his eyes. “But it’s still a good movie?”
“It’s awesome!”
Smiling, he stepped into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and closed the door. He unwound his tail, letting it flow freely behind him. This was likely the last time he could have it out until tonight. After emptying his bladder, he washed his hands and glanced at himself in the mirror.
His hair was a tangled mess. Not unusual for having just woken, but with his mate in the house, he couldn’t leave it like that. He ran his claws through it quickly, tugging it all back and working out the knots. The result was still a bit unruly, but it was decidedly better than how it had started.
He would’ve preferred to brush both his hair and his teeth, but his toiletries were in his bathroom, and he dared not disturb Gabriela. If anyone needed rest, it was her.
Broxen washed his face with cool water before seeing to his tail, tucking it into his sweatpants and coiling it around his leg. Though the position was never comfortable, it was necessary, and he’d grown accustomed to having to do it all the time.
Someday I won’t have to hide it. When she knows what I am. When she accepts it—when she accepts me.
For now, he needed to prepare food and feed his humans.
He rejoined Ana, who was more than eager to follow him into the kitchen and get to work on breakfast, practically skipping along behind him.
“Hand first,” Broxen said as he took the first aid kit down off the fridge and set it on the counter. “How is it?”
“Doesn’t hurt anymore,” Ana replied.
Broxen crouched before her, holding one of his hands out to her, palm up. She placed her bandaged hand atop his, and he delicately peeled away the bandages. When her hand was exposed, he lifted it toward his face, examining her wounds.
Last night, her palm had been blistered and red—almost as red as his natural skin color. But the calathas had done its job. All that remained of her wounds were a few tiny bumps and a little patch of flesh that looked pink and slightly raw.
After applying a bit more calathas, Broxen bandaged her palm, able to use a few smaller adhesive bandages instead of a full-hand wrap. “It’ll be healed, soon, kit.”
Ana smiled at him. “Muchas gracias, Mason.”
He couldn’t help but return that smile. “Ah, so you do speak Spanish.”
Her smile only seemed to widen. “Do you?”
Broxen stood upright and closed the first aid kit. “I…understand it. Don’t think it’d sound good coming from me, though.”
“It’s easy. Someone says gracias, and you say con mucho gusto.”
With much pleasure.
Now it was Broxen’s smile that widened. He returned the first aid kit to its place, faced her fully, and said, “Con mucho gusto, Ana.”
“See, you got it. We’ll have to work on your accent a little, but you show promise.”
Laughing, he plucked the loaf of bread off the counter and handed it to her before taking some plates from the cupboard and setting them on the counter next to the toaster.
“Do you have strawberry jam?” she asked while opening the bag.
“I have jelly,” he replied as he opened the fridge.
“What kind?”
“Jelly.” Broxen grabbed the jar from inside the refrigerator and placed it on the counter before grabbing the carton of eggs on the top shelf.
Ana peered closer at the jar and nodded. “Grape. That’ll do.”
Broxen arched a brow at her. “That’ll do?”
She grinned as she put four slices of bread into the toaster. “I approve of your taste.”
He set the eggs on the counter beside the stove and opened the cabinet where he kept his pots and pans. “Because I have grape jelly?”
“Yes. Strawberry’s better, but grape is still good. But the best kind is Mom’s homemade huckleberry jam. We go and pick the berries every year to make it.”
Broxen hummed thoughtfully and dug out one of his frying pans. He’d seen signs in town about huckleberries, and was aware they were popular in the region, but he hadn’t tasted anything made with them yet. “Hopefully I get to try it some time.”
“You can pick them with us next year!”
“Maybe.”
He’d make sure of it. Next year, and the year after that, and the year after that.
He slid open one of the drawers and dug out his spatula. He’d slacked in cooking other things, but breakfast foods, especially eggs, were something simple to make, versatile, and delicious. “How do you like your eggs?”
The toaster popped.
“Scrambled.” Ana carefully plucked the toast out of the toaster one slice at a time to place them delicately atop a plate.
Broxen turned on the burner and set to work. Though it was easy to cook a bunch of scrambled eggs, he was nonetheless grateful for Ana’s help; he hadn’t mastered multitasking in the kitchen, even when all he had to do was turn on the toaster and make sure the eggs didn’t burn.
“Did you like the cookies?” Ana asked a little while later.
Broxen flipped the semi-cooked eggs with the spatula. “Best cookies I ever had.”
“You didn’t want to eat the bear?”