Jonohkada

CHAPTER 12

I lock myself in the bathing and cleansing unit and back away from the door in a panic.

Unfortunately, the far side of the bathing and cleansing unit is not that far from the door. My wings bump into something that feels unnervingly like someone else’s wings. Dead ones.

I whirl around and my wings scrape something off of the wall, causing whatever it is to thud to the floor. My eyes dart to what I first backed my wings into; it’s some sort of alien water impermeable-looking fabric. Instead of the cleansing unit having a tempered glass front, this human-tailored unit—with a spigot set so low into the wall, it will aim its spray no higher than my chest—sports a fabric curtain that hangs suspended above the tub.

Wincing, wings clamped tightly to my body in an effort to keep them from tangling with the dead-feeling curtains a second time, I turn to see what I knocked down.

My breath leaves me in a rush when I see that it is undoubtedly a priceless painting that I thoughtlessly sent to the floor. It’s an expertly made canvas, stretched perfectly over a very precisely made wooden frame. I am not a painter, but I have just enough knowledge to know that anyone who commissions hand painted art pays dearly for it. I’m surprised Hannah owns such a piece. She has made it seem as if she is not very wealthy, by her people’s standards. But perhaps she did not purchase this incredible rendering.

“Hannah,” I call. “Was this an heirloom?” I ask with dread.

Tentatively, Hannah speaks through the wood-like composite door. “Is what an heirloom?”

Feeling deep regret right down to my DNA, I drop my rucksack of belongings on the floor and I run a hand over my face. “The stretched canvas artwork you had displayed beside the elimination basin. I’m incredibly regretful to report that I believe I’ve damaged it, and if it is an irreplaceable heirloom—”

“Nothing in this apartment is an heirloom. It’s fine, Jonoh. That picture is just a print. Are you hurt?”

Am I hurt? I’m touched that she’s asked. But the state I’m in depends on what damage I’ve done to Hannah’s print. I bend to inspect it—

And my wings topple some sort of certain to be exorbitantly expensive blown glass bowl off the back of the elimination basin’s tank’s topper, and white sticks with puffed ends scatter absolutely everywhere.

Hannah’s voice comes through fast and worried. “Jonoh?”

“I’m so sorr—”

“Stop apologizing!”

My teeth clack shut.

“Whatever fell this time is fine—really,” she’s continuing to assure me. “I’m just worried about you. Do you need help?”

“NO!” Dysregulated, I scramble to collect each lost puff stick and carefully place it into the glass bowl—which, to my utter relief, landed on top of my stuffed rucksack and appears to be unharmed—then I numbly turn to my bag of things and dig frantically for my Comm unit, which I’d deposited in it thinking I’d be bathing soon and have no need of electronics. When I locate it, I grab at it and I clutch it desperately to my chest.

And then I tip it forward and feverishly search for Methodology of Attracting a Gryfala, my somewhat outdated book from my days when I was enrolled as a student in the Academy. Back when I was a student, it was hard to believe I’d ever get the chance to use the information I was studying and the sheer number of rules and surfeit of data was overwhelming.

But here I am. Hiding in the bathing and cleansing unit adjoining my mate’s sleeping area. As I hurriedly skim the text that is supposed to prepare me for Hannah, now I’m overwhelmed at how much information my textbook left out.

Too afraid to attempt sitting anywhere—there is a frightful amount of breakables decorating this cramped space not designed for wing bearers—I stand and rapidly tap through all of my Gryfala Care and Wooing manuals, and refresh and reinforce the staunch advice they all prescribe: do not give in to a female’s advances.

The thought of Hannah making an advance on me…

I should want her to. But I’m mostly terrified. I don’t know her well enough yet that I feel secure in the knowledge that she’ll keep me. To have her use me then discard me is almost a certainty. A distressing one. She has no secure attachment to me yet—why would she keep me?

When no other female has ever wanted to keep me, will my mate see me differently? What if she doesn’t ever securely attach to me? The thought has me feeling chilled, as if I’m going numb.

My wings are shivering along their fringes, making a distracting half-wet swwwick sound. They aren’t wet; the surfaces are somewhat ‘rubbery’ to borrow a human word, and the result of the flexible membranes touching their slightly sticky surfaces together is clammy sounds.

I”m tempted to Comm Gracie for advice as she all but ordered me to do the moment I found my mate.

But… I don”t.

Because before I left for Earth my great friend Isla advised me, “When you find your mate, you”ll want to reach out to home-base with an update—”

“You mean I will be compelled to inform Gracie,”I stated.

Isla licked her lips. “That”s what I mean. And I”m telling you this with all the love in the world, with all the love for your future mate: when you find her—don”t call home. Focus on your girl. Just you and her, okay?”

I was touched at Isla’s optimism.

Now I heed her advice.

I brush my teeth. I manage to approach the elimination basin to urinate without causing damage to the bathing and cleansing unit. I change into nightwear—without damaging more of Hannah’s bathing and cleansing unit with this task either, to my overwhelming relief. My nightwear consists of loose fitted sleeping pants paired with a rather tight sleeping shirt that sports wing slits. The clothing is of my design, although the top is not quite as comfortable as it was originally. It wouldn’t have been my choice to wear a shirt this form-fitting to bed. I’m forced to though because one of my female friends accidentally shrunk half my wardrobe in the drying unit right before my departure to Earth.

Once dressed, I’m reluctant to leave the safety of the bathing and cleansing unit. But I can’t linger here forever.

“Jonoh?” Hannah asks from the other side of the door. “Is everything okay in there?”

“Yes, of course!” I reply quickly—then grimace at the way my voice is strung tight with panic.

“All right…” Hannah says, the word hesitant.

I hang my head. If only I were Rakhii. They nearly always act with confidence—they’re brimming with it. Countless times I’ve witnessed the way females are helplessly attracted to this.

Desperately, I wish there were a source for purchasing confidence. Unfortunately, there is no way to produce it artificially.

Swallowing hard, I raise my head and look at my reflection in the mirror glass.

I appear terrified.

Frustrated with my fears and failings, I tighten my jaw.

And for a brief moment, my face looks… different.

I look almost dangerous.

I don’t resemble a male who fearfully and subserviently follows all orders. If I had worn this expression in the Academy I’m absolutely certain that my instructor would have beaten me for insubordination. It’s a Rakhii sort of look, not a hob’s. Startled, I square my shoulders.

The effect is even more striking.

I unclasp my wing talons, which have frozen, no longer worrying each other as they’re prone to do, constantly. With my talons separated, my wings look like they sit higher.

Although this could be because my shoulders are simply sitting higher. Somehow this makes me look surprisingly assertive.

“Jonoh?” Hannah calls, sounding tentative. And worried.

Adopting a fierce expression, one I’ve seen innumerable Rakhii wearing, I reach for the cleansing unit’s door handle, twist it—

It wrenches farther than I anticipate, and cracks.

I drop my gaze to my hand as I step into Hannah’s room and watch in horror as the door handle follows me. I’ve broken it off.

“Did the door handle just break?” Hannah asks in disbelief.

“I am so sorry!” I utter in unadulterated shame.

“It’s not your fault,” says Hannah.

Most uncomfortably, I know that the damage is in fact entirely due to my misapplication of strength. Wings cringing behind me, I raise my eyes to Hannah’s—

Or I try. Before my eyes can connect with hers, my gaze gets caught on her body.

Bathed in unbelievably soft lighting care of an intricate-looking bedside lamp, spread out on the bed like a heavenly recumbent vision, is Hannah.

My core temperature ratchets up by thousands of degrees. This instantly results in my brain facing the grave danger of melting. “You are beautiful,” I breathe.

She huffs a little laugh and begins to absently pick at the blanket she’s lying on with slender, unadorned fingers, her eyes instantly downcast as if she can’t quite accept the praise. Which strikes me as indescribably wrong. Because it means that my mate doesn’t believe she is beautiful—and what in this world could have led her to doubt her beauty?

I look around for help, and I’m surprised anew at Hannah’s room. Whereas the rest of the rookery is blinding white, Hannah’s room is full of warmth and color. The walls and ceiling are still white; Hannah explained that their landlord won’t allow them to paint the walls, thus her proclivity to affix items to the wall in order to brighten up her space.

(I find it troubling that Hannah’s rookery is rented out to her by a landlord who forbids her from so much as changing the color of her private sleeping area, but that is a concern for another time.)

“Hannah,” I start—and then I spy something further in her room, tucked off to the side of her open-faced, very compact closet space. “Is that a dress form? Oh! Is that an Earthen sewing machine?” I ask in wonder.

Hannah gives me a strange look before she sits up on the bed, chuckling. “Yes to both. And I’ve gotta tell you, I’ve never had anyone so excited to see them before.” She looks me up and down. “Certainly never a guy.”

“I adore sewing,” I tell her. “It’s one of my few talents, if I may claim it as such. I work on designs for humanwear, where I’m from.”

“‘Humanwear,’” Hannah repeats, clearly amused.

I gasp as I spy something else and move forward, hand outstretched. “May I touch this?”

Hannah looks from me to the gossamer gown I’m indicating. Shyly she shrugs. “Sure.”

Swiftly I move to it, my wings tightly clamped to my back. I’ve been hyper aware this day today of how cramped the dimensions of my mate’s dwelling is; compared to the bachelor rookery where I’ve lived for solars, Hannah’s home is claustrophobia-inducing, not only due to the confined space but all the breakable items within harm’s way of my wingspan.

Let’s not forget my handspan,I muse darkly, feeling the weight of the broken door handle in my palm.

Very little is breakable where I normally reside. Back on my homeland, my room at the bachelor rookery is sturdy and spartan. Devoid of things that could be knocked down by wings, but also devoid of personality. Hannah, meanwhile, has items placed everywhere, from the walls to tiny delicate-looking tables with a myriad of delicate, breakable-looking things, and I want to take utmost care.

I must also take care with my wings not to brush my mate accidentally. As I warned her and Julie earlier, if Hannah touches the wrong side of my wing surfaces, she will be overwhelmed with an inner mating frenzy that I must admit to myself that I’m not prepared to satisfy.

I want to satisfy her. I simply doubt my ability. I detrimentally doubt my ability.

Clearing my throat, I refocus on the dress, which I’m standing in front of now. My free hand glides over the fabric with near-reverence. “Oh my Creator. It’s soft as a cloud. And it sparkles like sunshine on the surface of a clear lake.”

Hannah joins me at the closet, biting her lower lip. “My mom started that dress. I finished it a few months ago.”

There’s a sad quality to her voice that has me turning my attention from the incredible garment to my incredible mate. “Your dam started, but didn’t finish this piece?”

Hannah shakes her head sadly. “She got cancer. This was the last one she made before…” She shakes her head. “It took me three years before I could take it out of the garment bag, let alone work on it.”

“Oh, Hannah,” I say with a welling of sympathy.

She looks up at me, and I look down at her, and everything in me wants to wrap her up in my arms and my wings until this heartbroken scent she’s emitting is eased.

But would she welcome this from me, so soon? Should I ask her permission to comfort her in a physical sense, or are we too new to each other for me to presume such a liberty?

While I contemplate our relationship boundaries, her lips press together, and my hearts crack into helpless fragments when I spy her chin wobbling ever so slightly.

Before I give in to the impulse to hold her, she dashes her fingers over her eyes and shakes herself, stepping around me. When I spin to follow her, she’s trying to don a polite smile as she makes her way around her bed.

Imperceptibly, I sigh. Gracie’s words play in my head from a conversation we had. One of many, really. You hesitate, Jonoh. That’s your problem. You have to start going with your gut and just ignore your overactive brain. Otherwise it’s going to keep over-thinking on you and you’re going to miss out on opportunities you know you should have leaped on.

I should leap on Hannah. Well, not literally—

Yeah, literally! I can almost hear my friend Isla say. I believe this is precisely what she would say if she were here.

My extensive training in the Academy taught me the opposite. That females should be handled with caution. Because if you allow one to seduce you, she is more likely to lose interest in you. Females don”t value males who are easily seduced. Yet we”re also told not to deny the female we desire too much, or she”ll move on to a more-willing male.

The conflicting advice is maddening.

I glance over at Hannah to find her positioned on her bed, under the first layer of covers. This time when she notices me watching her, she gives me a smile that appears only happy on the surface.

My hearts stop. Hannah looks… sad. Yes, she’s technically smiling, but I know well about how quietly sadness can lurk underneath.

She musters more brightness. “You’re so tall you’re going to have to sleep curled up so that your legs don’t hang off the end, but… ready to join me?” she asks.

Everything in me stills.

I swallow, and nod… but my silent agreement feels like a lie. Because I am not ready.

I’m terrified.

I’m in Hannah’s bedroom with Hannah and she”s inviting me to her bed. I may be hyperventilating.

Of course I want my mate. Of course I want to curl up with my mate in her bed.

But since I can”t let my mate have her way with me, I must deny her.

Denial may disappoint her.

As I already recalled, hobs who obey this wise advice struggle to keep a princess’s interest when other males are willing to give in to her wish to mate. In order for this withholding method to work, the princess must be absolutely smitten with the hard-to-obtain hob, so smitten she doesn’t distract herself with easier target hobs. Ultimately, a princess must possess and exercise some self-control. Unfortunately, exercising self-control isn’t something princesses are known for.

Adding to this struggle, it pains me to disappoint someone. It’s particularly painful if I crave the person’s approval. I know without having denied Hannah yet that disappointing my mate will be exquisitely painful.

Hannah smiles and eases her shoulders against the bed’s headboard. “You don’t look like you’re ready to join me.”

Caught, I stammer, “I—Well—”

She smiles more, softer. “Don’t worry. I know what Julie expects us to be doing in here, but despite what she thinks, I didn’t invite you into my room to take your virtue.”

“Then… why did you invite me…”

“The couch is cruel and uncomfortable. That”s all. But you’re welcome to it,” she adds, fresh concern for me flickering in her gaze—

But I also have the strong impression that she wonders if I don”t want to sleep in her bed.

And this leads me to suspect that what she”s really wondering is if I”m rejecting her.

As if I could. As if I would ever want to. I nearly scoff.

Hannah.

My mate.

NEVER.

Muscles rigid with tension, I silently decline her offer to flee and instead I approach the bed. Hannah’s smile grows at my admittedly timid advance, and with a jolt, I remember my private vow.

I harden my expression and square my stance.

Most unexpectedly, the moment I do, trepidation enters Hannah’s eyes.

This makes me halt. My wings lower as I stare at her in concern. “Would you feel more comfortable if I did not sleep in here tonight?” I ask.

Hannah’s eyes search me, her expression turning confused. But after a moment, whatever she sees makes her smile relax, turning it less stiff. “Would you be more comfortable?”

I open my mouth—

“Answer me honestly,” she adds.

I blurt out, “Yes. My preference is to sleep on the tri-seat even if it cripples me.”

Hannah laughs—and relaxes even more. “All right. I totally get it. If it were me, I wouldn’t get into a complete stranger’s bed either,” she says ruefully. Then her attention drops to what I’m still cupping in my hands. “Oh. Just set that on the bedside table. I’ll fix it later.”

“I will attempt to repair it,” I vow to her, swiftly placing the broken doorknob on the small tabletop positioned beside the bed because she ordered me to.

She turns and takes one of the larger pillows up in her hands in an indicating manner. “This one is yours. If you wake up half crippled in a few hours and feel adventurous enough to come back in here… you can. Unlike other strangers who crash here, you’re so… civilized. It’s pretty nice that I feel safe enough with you to invite you to sleep next to me.” She eyes me carefully, still wearing a slight smile on her face. But she’s watchful.

She’s trusting me to be as safe and civilized as I appear.

Safe. Civilized.

The infinitesimal gathering of confidence I’ve managed to accumulate over my lifespan dwindles into dust. Right along with my hope that I will be able to satisfy my mate. Because unfortunately, her impression of me is an entirely accurate one. Despite it being in my blood to pleasure princesses, I am utterly docile and safe and civilized. Too much so. Males of my line have been bringing princesses to their knees by showing them servant’s hearts by day, and confidence and capable dominance by night, knowing that when a woman of power retires to bed, no princess wants safe and civilized.

Despite my heritage, let alone my training at the Academy, where I was rigorously tested in courtship scenario drills, all I desire is to escape the tension of nervous expectation that’s charging the air. Swallowing, I simultaneously reach for the pillow Hannah is offering while easing my weight back a step, intent on escape.

Saphkarra emerges from under the bed like an alien cave creature and attacks my feet.

With a yelped exclamation, I stumble.

And very inelegantly I crash onto the bed. The firmly padded mattress bucks, Hannah and I bounce—and I’m heavy enough that when I come back down, I hit the mattress surface with enough force to send Hannah tumbling against me. She squeaks in shock.

“TOLD YOU he was a squealer! You owe me five dollars!” Julie calls through the wall. “And ugh. Did I or did I not tell you to move the bed?That’s one headboard bang, and you’re gonna pony up a dollar for every time it meets the wall, dammit!”

Hannah is snickering. She pushes away from me and clambers off the mattress. “Come on. Help me pull the bed away from the wall.”

Dutifully, I follow her to assist. “I sincerely apologize,” I exclaim, horrified. “I didn’t mean to cost you betting money. I’ll cover the fee. I have this region’s tender—”

“It’s fine, Jonoh,” Hannah stresses. “That was funny and worth five bucks. Here, pull your side.”

My hearts thump faster to know that I amused her, even accidentally. Before she can attempt to tug the bed’s frame herself, I brush her aside and easily shift the entire bed a safe distance from the wall.

“Wow,” Hannah murmurs.

When I glance at her, I watch her eyes bounce from my arms to my face. “You’re really strong,” she says admiringly.

My wings fire to bright yellow.

Hannah grins.

Nervously, I snatch my pillow and turn to—

“Jonoh?” Hannah ventures softly.

I freeze. Eyes wide, folded wings fused against my spine, I crane my head to eye her warily over my shoulder.

“See you in the morning,” she says. And I could very well be mistaken, but there’s a note in her voice that leads me to think she’s concerned I will disappear in the middle of the night.

I can’t force my vocal cords to respond. So I simply nod. Body strung tight, I watch as she smiles at me shyly and lifts the covers on the left side of her mattress, slipping under them. At her side is an empty expanse of bed.

I can’t leave my mate alone and worried that I won’t return to her.

System humming, I start moving for the bed like I’m on a gallows march.

Worse—when I join her on the bed, I ease myself beside her, castigating my overactive nerves. I must not treat her as if I expect her to attack me.

Except that I’ve been conditioned to expect females to attack me, I’m afraid of Hannah, and I have an instinctual urge to purr at her.

And not a mating-inducing purr.

Purring is also a protective mechanism. Or it can be.

I would know. I’ve employed it many times.

It’s a shameful secret I’ve divulged to no one.

Hannah reaches for the lamp on her bedside table next to the door handle and flicks the light off, throwing the room into darkness. I can still see her, of course, care of my night vision. This helps me to relax, now that she’s essentially blind. But the sense of security is false: blind hardly means harmless. In fact, in my experience, human females become emboldened when night blindness strikes their senses. It’s as if blunting their sight causes them to shed all their inhibitions. Psychologically, I’m aware they experience a lowering of insecurities and this is what brings on their change in behavior. So although the darkness has me relaxing with Hannah, I’m still watching her intently—and a little fearfully. And perhaps I’m not as relaxed as I assumed because when she rolls to me, whispering softly, “Jonoh? Will you please h—”

I don’t give her the chance to finish her order, no matter how softly it’s given.

I panic.

She reaches for me and I react like I have every time a female has reached for me: I protect myself.

I release the quality of purr that will send her into the deepest realms of unconsciousness.

She crumples like a puppet with cut strings. Her eyes have dropped closed like slammed shutters. Her mouth is parted slightly. Wincing, I reach out and carefully place a fingertip under her jaw. I gently press upward until her mouth is no longer slack and she appears more naturally asleep.

Exhaling a silent breath, I stare down at her, her outstretched arm limp. I hoped that with my mate, I wouldn’t instinctively do this. Purring her unconscious, I mean. After all, I welcome intimacy with my mate.

…Don’t I?

…Won’t I?

Frustration builds in my hearts and I groan into my hands. I must learn to deal with the discomfort of nerves. After all, some anxiety is to be expected. I simply need to build trust with Hannah so that I can relax and allow myself to be vulnerable with her.

Exhaling a breath, I drop my hands from my face. Direness of my action aside, now that she’s neutralized, my instantaneous flare of panic is settling.

But my hearts feel a terrible heaviness. I shift, sighing despondently.

The bed lights up.

Blinking, I ease back, causing the cell phone unit that I’m lying on to become visible.

The cell phone unit that is mere increments from Hannah’s limp hand.

“Oh my Eternal,” I say, stunned.

Because I wonder if Hannah wasn’t about to order me to service her but instead… was going to ask me to please pass her her cell phone.

When I raise my gaze in horror, my eyes collide with Saphkarra’s narrowed eyes. She’s perched atop the nightstand beside the bed, giving me a reproachful look I feel in my soul. Her whiskers, long and graceful, stick out as she purses her feline mouth as if with disgust.

Chagrined, I bring the broad side of my wing against the back of my head hard enough to make my skull rattle, just like my instructors used to do for infractions. I’m lucky they aren’t observing me now to witness the worst infraction I’ve managed yet by far.

Carefully I take Hannah’s limb and adjust her so that she will be comfortable in sleep. When I have her settled, she’s facing the opposite direction. Guiltily, I move to curl up behind her.

She”s so warm. And soft. And she smells like a fevered dream.

Wholly asleep and unable to make advances on me, she isn’t intimidating at all. Hannah is just warm and reassuring and safe, and I’m ashamed to say that although this is massively wrong, it is the best sleep I’ve ever had.