Chapter 5
MAISIE
I didn't kiss Kazan again.
I also didn't let him kiss me, which was harder than it should have been.
For three days, I kept busy. Very busy. Ridiculously busy. I worked in the cidery because that kept me away from the orchards, and away from Kazan, and Kazan kept making me want to do stupid things. Like climb him. Or kiss him. Or ask for a personal tour of his bed.
No. Absolutely not.
I hadn't come to this planet to fall into bed with a minotaur.
I hadn't come here to fall into anything.
I came here to get away from Earth, from James, from wedding plans that made my skin itch, and from a future that had started to feel more like a prison than a promise.
The cidery was a long timber building behind the main house. It smelled like apples, yeast, and the sharp bite of something fermenting. It wasn't unpleasant, exactly. But after a few hours, the scent got into the back of my throat and stayed there.
I had given myself the job of labeling bottles.
No one had asked me to do it. I just saw the stacks of unlabeled bottles and decided that was my purpose in life now. Labels. Bottles. Nice, simple work.
Peel, press, smooth. Peel, press, smooth. Again and again until my fingers ached.
It should have been impossible to think about Kazan while doing something so boring.
Ha.
My hands were busy, but the rest of me was a disaster. Every time the door opened, I froze for half a second before I could stop myself. If the steps were too light, I relaxed. If they were heavy, my stupid heart jumped right into my throat.
And if it was Kazan?
Then I pretended I hadn't noticed him.
I was very bad at pretending.
The man was seven feet tall and had horns. There was no casual way to be unaware of him. And that was before my body decided to become a traitor. I knew when he was nearby. My skin warmed and my stomach fluttered. My fingers got clumsy.
I creased another label.
"Great," I muttered, peeling it off and throwing it aside.
I had spent years learning not to want things. Wanting gave people something to grab. James had taught me that without ever saying the words. Every preference became a debate. My opinions became proof that I was difficult. Every no became something he could wear down if he stayed calm enough.
And he had always stayed calm.
That was the worst part.
James never had to shout to make me feel small.
He just looked at me like I was being unreasonable.
Like I was a problem he had already solved, and I was rude for not agreeing.
Where was I going? Who was I talking to?
Did I really think that dress was appropriate?
Did I want people to get the wrong idea?
Questions. Always questions.
But they weren't really questions.
Kazan didn't do that.
Kazan looked like the monster from a bedtime story someone told naughty children. Huge body. Maroon skin. Scars everywhere. Horns that could probably punch holes through metal. Gold eyes that should have scared me more than they did.
And he was gentle.
That made no sense.
He built steps so I could get into bed and went still if I flinched. He didn't crowd me when I needed space, even though he'd had me pinned against a tree with my whole body screaming yes, please, more, and he'd been the one to pull away.
The monster treated me like I was precious.
The polished man in the expensive suit had treated me like something he'd bought.
I didn't know what to do with that.
My heart certainly didn't know. My heart had thought James was charming once. My heart had listened when he said he loved me.
My heart had been an idiot.
So no, I wasn't trusting my heart.
Kazan had a past. A violent one. Everyone on the farm spoke around it, but they didn't need to say much. He had fought in arenas. He had killed. Maybe he had enjoyed it once. Maybe he hadn't. I didn't know.
That should have scared me.
Did it?
I pressed a label onto a bottle and stared at it for a long moment.
No.
It didn't.
Maybe that made me reckless. Maybe I had hit my head somewhere between Earth and here and no one had noticed. But I knew dangerous men. I knew how they took up a room. I knew the way they watched to see what they could use. I knew the sweet voice that came before the trap closed.
Kazan didn't feel like that.
Whatever violence lived inside him, it wasn't pointed at me.
That was a strange thing to know about someone I'd known less than a week, but I knew it anyway.
A sound came from the loading door.
I went still.
It wasn't Kazan. I knew that before I turned around. Kazan didn't sneak. He couldn't if he tried. The man was built like a wall with hooves.
This sound was careful. A soft scrape. The tiny click of someone easing a door closed and hoping no one heard.
My stomach dropped. I set the bottle down and stepped around one of the big fermentation tanks. "Hello?"
A man stood by the side entrance.
Human. Thin. Pale. Wearing a slate-gray jacket that looked too clean for a farm and too expensive for anyone who belonged here. He smiled when he saw me.
I hated that smile immediately.
"You shouldn't be back here," I said.
"Maisie Declan?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, because apparently my survival instincts had taken a short break. I should have lied. I knew I should have lied the moment the word left my mouth.
His smile widened by a fraction.
Oh, I really hated him.
He pulled a thick envelope from inside his jacket and held it out. "Read this."
I didn't move.
His eyes flicked toward the door behind him. "Now." That was the voice of a man used to being obeyed.
My fingers were icy as I took the envelope. The paper inside was thick and formal, and covered with words that made my vision blur at the edges. I recognized the crest at the top before I read a single line.
James.
Of course.
Of course, he couldn't just let me go. Of course, the universe couldn't give me one full week before he reached across the stars and tried to drag me back.
The letter said I was in breach of promise. It said I had unlawfully abandoned my engagement obligations. It said James had authorized his representative to escort me home.
Escort.
That was a pleasant word.
A pretty word.
A lie.
My name appeared over and over in cold black print, like they could trap me on the page if they used it enough.
Maisie Declan.
Bride.
Asset.
Problem.
No. No, no, no.
"I'm not going with you." My voice shook, but at least it came out. "I'm not marrying him. I'm not his property."
The man's expression barely changed. "Mr. Varrick anticipated resistance."
Of course he did. James anticipated everything except me having a spine.
"Good for him." I shoved the papers back at the man. "You can tell Mr. Varrick to choke on his breach of promise."
That finally made the man's smile slip. It was satisfying for about one second.
Then he moved.
He was faster than he looked. His hand snapped around my wrist, fingers digging in hard enough that pain shot up my arm. I tried to jerk away, but he yanked me toward him.
"Let go of me!" I shouted.
He didn't.
I twisted and shoved at his chest. He dragged me another step toward the door. I planted my feet, but the floor was smooth, and my boots slid. The envelope fell, papers spilling everywhere.
I clawed at his face with my free hand. My nails caught skin, and he hissed.
Good.
Then he shook me hard enough that my teeth clicked together.
Not good.
Panic burst through me, hot and ugly. I kicked, aiming for anything that would make him regret having hands. I missed and slammed my heel into the side of a tank instead. Pain sparked up my leg, but I didn't stop fighting.
He got an arm around my waist from behind and lifted.
My feet left the floor.
No.
That was the only thought in my head. No, no, no.
A shelf of empty bottles crashed down as I grabbed for it. Glass exploded across the floor. I screamed, loud enough to hurt my throat.
The cidery door slammed open, and Kazan roared.
The sound hit the room like a storm. It went through my bones. For one frozen second, the man holding me stopped moving.
Then he dropped me.
I hit the floor hard. Glass bit into my palms, and I scrambled backward until my spine hit the cold curve of a tank.
The man reached for something at his hip, a weapon. He got it out. He even got off two shots.
Kazan didn't pause.
The shots hit him. Or maybe one hit and one missed. I couldn't tell. There was a sharp smell in the air and a flash of light, and Kazan's head jerked a little, but he kept coming.
The man swung the weapon like a club when Kazan reached him.
It cracked against Kazan's jaw.
Kazan didn't even flinch.
Oh.
Oh, hell.
I had seen Kazan gentle. I had seen him careful. I had seen him hold a basket of glow-fruit like it was treasure.
This was not that Kazan.
This was the arena monster, the gladiator.
He caught the man's wrist, and the weapon clattered across the floor. The man threw a punch. Kazan let it land on his shoulder like it meant nothing, then fisted one huge hand in the front of the gray jacket and lifted him clean off the ground.
The man's boots kicked uselessly.
I would have laughed if I hadn't been trying to remember how breathing worked.
Kazan carried him across the cidery in three strides. The big walk-in cooler stood open near the back wall, propped with a crate.
Kazan kicked the crate away and threw the man inside.
Not pushed.
Threw.
The man hit the floor and rolled into a shelf. Something inside the cooler clanged.
Before he could get up, Kazan slammed the door shut and dropped the locking bar into place. The sound echoed through the building. For a moment, no one moved.
Well, the man in the cooler probably moved. I hoped he was uncomfortable.
Kazan turned back to me.
His chest rose and fell hard, and gold eyes were bright, too bright. Blood ran from a cut along his cheek. His jaw was clenched, and his hands were still curled like he wanted to break something.
Then he looked at me.
Everything in him changed.
The violence drained away so fast I almost didn't believe I'd seen it. His face went still, but not cold. Careful. Worried.
"Maisie," he said.
I tried to answer. Nothing came out.
My hands were shaking. Then my arms. Then all of me. I was sitting on the floor with broken glass around me and blood on my palms, and my body had decided we were back on Earth. Back in the apartment. Back with hands on me and no way out.
It wasn't Kazan.
I knew that.
My body didn't care.
Kazan took one step toward me, and I flinched.
He stopped immediately. That almost made me cry harder than if he'd kept coming. Slowly, he crouched. He was still huge. Crouching didn't fix that. But he made himself smaller anyway, or tried to. He held out one hand, palm up.
He didn't tell me to calm down.
He didn't tell me that I was safe.
He didn't touch me without permission.
He just waited.
My breath came in short, ugly little gasps. I stared at his hands. Big. Scarred. Strong enough to throw a man into a cooler like he weighed nothing.
Gentle enough to wait for me.
My throat burned. I put my shaking hand in his.
His fingers curled around mine with impossible care. He didn't pull. Not at first. He just held on, warm and steady, until I moved toward him.
Then he drew me close, an inch at a time. I could have stopped him. I knew that. He gave me every chance.
I didn't stop him.
I went into his arms.
For one awful second, I went rigid. I waited for the trap. For the squeeze. For the moment gentleness turned into ownership.
It didn't come.
Kazan held me like I might break, but not like I was weak. His arms rested around me, loose enough that I could leave if I wanted. His chest was warm beneath my cheek, and I could feel him forcing his breathing to slow.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Like he was teaching my lungs what to do.
I followed him.
It took a while. I didn't know how long. Long enough that the man in the cooler yelled something muffled and furious.
Kazan ignored him. So did I.
Eventually, the shaking eased. My hands still hurt, and my wrist throbbed where the man had grabbed me, but the panic loosened its teeth.
I was in Kazan's arms. And I wasn't afraid.
That should have scared me too, probably.
It didn't.
I tilted my head back.
Kazan went very still.
Of course he did. Careful Kazan. Patient Kazan. Monster Kazan, who had locked my nightmare in a cooler and then asked for nothing.
My heart made another decision without asking me.
Stupid heart.
I kissed him.
It was soft. Just my mouth against his. No frantic heat, no tree at my back, no desperate need trying to swallow us both. My fingers rested against his jaw, near the thin line of blood on his cheek.
He didn't move until I did.
When I pulled back, his eyes were on mine, and the look in them made my chest ache.
"Thank you for protecting me," I said.
His hand tightened slightly against my back. Not trapping. Just there.
"You never have to ask," he said.
And damn me, it sounded like a vow.