Chapter 19 Kendra
KENDRA
Itake my food out of the microwave, the steam carrying the scent of lemon and pepper through the kitchen.
The leftovers still look good despite spending the night in a styrofoam container, and right now, familiar food feels like the only normal thing in my life.
I sit at the table and dig in, trying to ignore how Zaki watches me from across the room like she’s taking notes.
She approaches slowly, pressing her palms flat against the table surface and leaning forward until her shadow falls across my plate. Her silver-ringed eyes track every bite. I can’t tell if she wants to snatch the plate away or rake her claws across the wooden table in frustration.
“Forgive my intrusion, majesty,” she says, the title sounding like both an honor and a weapon in her mouth.
I give her a tight smile and keep eating.
The gap between us is getting clearer by the minute.
What they don’t understand is that they need to meet me halfway.
I’m not about to surrender my entire identity to become whatever version of a Bouda queen they’ve been dreaming of. There has to be a blending somewhere.
“We’re all just getting to know each other,” I tell her, grabbing another piece of chicken. “Kojo calls me Kendra.”
Zaki’s posture shifts.
“His name is Alemayehu,” she corrects.
“I know that,” I say, “but he prefers Kojo. We talked about it last night.”
Zaki turns to her brother, who’s been standing silently across form us, watching our exchange. “You throw away your namesake?” She accuses. “What for?”
He steps back, keeping his head down.
“That’s beside the point, Zaki,” I snap, pulling her attention back to me. “What I’m getting at is my name is Kendra. Not majesty. So while we’re getting to know each other, you’ll address me by my name.”
Zaki’s eyes widen. “I will not,” she snaps.
I take another bite of chicken, letting a smug smile play across my lips as both their faces do something complicated. The expressions they’re making, you’d think I was eating roadkill instead of perfectly good takeout.
“Well, am I your queen or not?” I challenge, setting my fork down.
Zaki tries to suppress a growl but fails spectacularly. The sound that comes out of her is not human. Deep and frustrated, and I press my lips together to keep from laughing.
She sucks in a breath sharp enough that I swear I can see steam rising from her shoulders.
Her Ridge spikes, the calcified blades extending to their full length along her back, visible through the slit in her dress.
She adjusts the garment with distaste, tugging at the hemline and straightening her posture until she looks like she might snap in half.
“Very well... Kendra,” she hisses the end of my name like it physically pains her to say it.
I glance at Kojo, who’s smiling but saying nothing.
He’s so deeply entrenched in his culture that I wonder if I can get him to break from it at all.
It’s sweet that he wants to be my servant, but practically speaking, I don’t know how that works.
I’ve been handling my own business for too long to suddenly have someone doing everything for me.
The idea sounds good until I try to picture it.
Nice in theory. Uncomfortable in practice.
“What you put into your body,” Zaki continues, eyeing my chicken like it might spontaneously reanimate and attack her, “it is unhealthy.”
I look down at the meat. The breading is a little soggy from the microwave, but otherwise, it looks perfectly fine. “How so?”
Zaki moves into the kitchen without making a sound. She paces for a moment. Then she turns on the sink and washes her hands like it’s part of a checklist, leaving the water running as she pulls open the refrigerator door.
I notice for the first time that the fridge is fully stocked. Dairy on the top shelf, meat wrapped in butcher paper instead of plastic, a produce drawer crammed with color, desserts tucked in the side door.
Zaki selects several containers of fresh fruit, finds a glass bowl in one of the cabinets, then rinses each piece as she adds it to her creation. She turns off the water, rummages through a drawer, and makes a small sound of triumph.
“Found you,” she says to a fork before sticking it in the bowl.
She closes the fridge with her hip and walks back to the table, placing the bowl in front of me like she’s completing a mission. Then she grabs my styrofoam plate with disgust, pinching the edge between two fingers like touching it might contaminate her.
“This is a better meal for you, maj---“ She stops herself, jaw clenching as she visibly struggles with the correction. “Kendra.”
I stare at the plate she’s holding. There are at least three more pieces of lemon pepper chicken left that I was planning to finish.
Before I can protest, she makes sure I see her toss the container in the trash, the lid snapping shut.
I suck in a breath, then look down at the bowl of mixed fruit she’s prepared.
Fresh strawberries, blueberries, slices of cantaloupe and pineapple, all wet from rinsing, arranged better than I’d have bothered.
Zaki returns to the kitchen, wiping down the counter and putting away the remaining fruit while I stare at the bowl.
When she comes back, she’s carrying a tall glass of ice water with a slice of lemon floating on top.
She sets it beside my bowl and goes to stand proudly next to Kojo.
Both of them look at me with the proudest smiles that I almost laugh again.
“But...” I don’t finish. I know where Zaki is going with this. Yes, this is the healthier option, but the lemon pepper chicken tasted better, and I was actually enjoying it. Having my food choices policed by shifters I met last night is its own special kind of irritating, even when they mean well.
“As queen of the Bouda Clan, you must be mindful of what you put into your body,” Zaki says. “And I have not seen you drink water since our arrival.”
“That’s because we were living out of an action film with you jumping on helicopters and making them crash onto the freeway,” I mutter.
Zaki’s lips twitch, almost smiling. She looks to Kojo and gives him a nudge with her elbow. He clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable being drawn into our little standoff.
“It is good that you eat healthy, Kendra,” he says softly.
I sigh, looking between them. This is clearly a battle I’m not going to win. “Well, since you suggested it so nicely, I’ll do it.”
I pick up the fork and spear a strawberry, lifting it to my mouth.
It’s a little tart. It reminds me of how health-conscious I used to be before I lost my tech job, when I could afford to care about things like organic produce and balanced nutrition.
A small box of strawberries cost five dollars in Detroit, and when you’re counting pennies, you make choices based on calories per dollar, not nutritional value.
It’s easier to stay healthy when you have money.
People who’ve always had it don’t think about that.
I eat the fruit bowl quietly and drink the water. The flavors blend pleasantly, and I have to admit it’s refreshing after the heavy, salty chicken. Every time my glass gets half-empty, Zaki appears at my elbow to refill it.
“You don’t have to serve me,” I tell her, but she ignores me completely, pouring more water without looking at me.
Why bother fighting it? They’re clearly happy doing these things, and I’m starting to realize that pushing back against every aspect of their culture is exhausting for all of us. I finish my breakfast and push the empty bowl away.
“I must go out and collect wood for the night,” Kojo announces. “You winced when your feet touched the cold floor this morning. I am afraid our furnace,” he glances at Zaki before continuing, “is not enough.”
“Go, brother,” Zaki says with a nod. “I will stay with her.”
“How long will you be gone?” I ask, and it’s ridiculous because he’s probably just going around the house, but here I am feeling a flutter of anxiety at the thought of him leaving. I don’t understand why his absence should matter to me at all, yet it does.
“I will not be gone long,” Kojo assures me, his voice gentle. Zaki shoves my glass toward me. “More water.”
Lord, Zaki is going to drive me nuts with this hydration campaign.
Kojo, of course, can’t walk away without bowing his head, which he does before heading to the door.
No coat, just a shirt, sweatpants, and bare feet.
I have to remind myself they run hot. Temperatures that would give me frostbite in ten minutes don’t register for them.
When he opens the door, I feel a rush of winter air that makes me shiver. Then he’s gone, and I’m left looking at Zaki, who grins at me the moment the door closes behind him, all teeth.
* * *
An hour of Zaki’s village stories and I retreated to the small sofa by the window. Her stories of communal hunts and moonlit ceremonies were fascinating at first, but her constant asides about how “westernized humans have lost their connection to true living” wore on me until I needed a break.
I stare out the window while Zaki moves around the kitchen, opening cabinets and making disapproving noises at their contents. She hisses at something in the refrigerator, and I can hear her mumbling about preservatives and processed ingredients like they’re personal insults.
Well, I’m not a homemaker from the 1920s.
I’m not chopping up fresh meat that they’ve hunted, nor am I baking bread from scratch or churning my own butter.
And what’s wrong with being a city girl anyway?
They make it feel like growing up in Detroit is some kind of character flaw rather than just a different way of living.
Through the window, Kojo is already at work in the yard.
The snow has started again, fat flakes drifting lazily around him as he arranges logs on what looks like a chopping block.
He’s gathered an impressive pile of wood already, stacked neatly.
He grabs an axe leaning against a nearby tree, tests its weight in his hand, then lifts it high and brings it down in a clean, powerful arc that splits the log in two.
His shirt moves with each swing, steam coming off his bare arms in the cold. He doesn’t look up once. I can’t look away.
Behind me, Zaki paces with her hands on her hips. She seems deep in thought, her ridge occasionally spiking when she turns too quickly, the blades rising and then dropping back.
“Is something on your mind?” I ask, still watching Kojo through the window as he splits another log, the wood falling away cleanly from his blade. The snow is coming down harder now, creating a curtain of white around him.
“I am strategizing,” Zaki says, stopping her pacing momentarily. “We must always be ready for what is coming next.”
That pulls me around to look at her. Her eyes are somewhere I’m not.
“There are more of us, Bouda,” she continues, her voice softer than I’ve heard it before. “We are not all dead. I know it.”
The vulnerability in her tone catches me off guard. Behind all that rigidity, there’s something raw. Pain and hope.
“Do you want to go looking for them?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. Then she catches herself. “Well, with your approval of course, maj---I mean, Kendra.” She looks frustrated that she has to correct herself, her jaw tightening around my name.
I smirk and turn back to Kojo in the yard.
I think about how he lifted my car at the gas station and threw it at the clerk like it weighed nothing.
I was furious at the time, but thinking about it now with my thoughts back to normal, I can admit it was impressive.
The memory sits somewhere low and warm, and I look away before my face gives me away.
“You don’t need my approval to save the Bouda people,” I tell her, trying to sound casual.
“You mean your people,” Zaki corrects immediately.
I don’t respond to that. I’m not ready to claim an entire species I just learned existed a day ago.
“I do not understand you, Kendra,” Zaki says, coming to stand beside me at the window. She follows my gaze to Kojo, who’s now stacking the split logs into neat piles. “If you want my brother, go get him.”
I look up at her, startled. “What are you talking about?”
“You are aroused for him.” She says it so matter-of-factly, that I nearly choke on my own breath. “Go get him and command Alemayehu to take care of that ache. You have a mate, there is no reason for you to be yearning.”
My mouth drops open and my stomach plummets to somewhere around my ankles. Heat floods my face so fast I feel dizzy with it. How the hell does she know what I’m feeling? And could she possibly be any less awkward about it? Jesus.
Zaki places her hands on her hips and gives me a look.
“Your mood can be detected in your scent,” she explains. “You want my brother to do things to you, and I am tired of smelling it. Go tell him to take care of it.”
I get off the sofa. My face is on fire. My legs are unsteady as I walk to the door, grabbing my boots and shoving my feet into them with jerky movements. I snatch my coat from the hook, desperate to escape this conversation and the knowing look in Zaki’s eyes.
“I’m gonna go sit on the porch for a little while,” I say.
“Fine by me,” Zaki says with a dismissive wave. “Maybe the cool air will calm you down since you will not ask my brother to handle it.”
I hurry out the door, shutting it quickly behind me before she can say anything else mortifying. The cold air hits my flushed skin, and I breathe through it. Kojo stops chopping immediately and looks over at me, the axe still in his hand, reading me.
“I’m fine!” I call out, waving him back to work. “Keep going!”
He watches me for a moment longer, his eyes scanning me for signs of distress, before nodding and turning back to his task. I walk over to one of the chairs on the porch that isn’t covered in snow and brush away the few flakes that have landed on the seat before sitting down.
From here, I have a perfect view of Kojo working.
This is unnerving. It’s not just the different customs or the expectations they have of me as their “queen.” It’s how they operate.
I smile despite my lingering embarrassment. All men have limits and I’m certain that’s the case for Kojo. I’m sitting here, watching him working thinking about what will happen when I push those limits. The thought sends another rush of heat through my body, and I shift in my seat.