Chapter 9 Gods with Subrosas #2
He was gone for hours, leaving her to the creak of the timber walls, the high-pitched bleat of the orphaned lamb now under her care, and the wind whistling through the eaves.
She occupied herself regardless, starting each day with a long soak in his bathhouse.
The tub was a massive, rock-hewn basin, nearly the scale of a plunge pool, housed in the attached cedar lean-to.
Mineral-rich hot water, pulled from deep within the mountain’s core, surged through a cast-iron pump handle, steaming as it hit the cool air.
His soap was equally artisanal; he’d explained that a local mountain tribe pressed the suds from wild, blooming flora.
She scooped the thick cream from a stone jar, the fragrance of crushed ginger and floral vanilla filling the air as it lathered into a dense, velvety foam against her skin.
Once dry, she plaited her hair into a tight braid and scavenged through his bookshelf.
Her interest plummeted when she realized the vast majority of the volumes were bound in vellum and written in complex Sacran script, their meanings locked away in a language she couldn’t decode.
Restless, she turned to the kitchen.
Using his stone-ground flour, oats, and wild honey, she baked fluffy oat cakes that filled the hut with a warm, yeasty aroma.
By the second evening, however, the newness wore off, and domesticity was more of a cage.
The isolation gave way to a profound need to prove her utility.
She waited for him that evening, reading a book from her commtab stash, which had miraculously survived the ordeal.
The door opened, and the cabin went dark. This was no cloud passing over the sun; it was simply Idan.
He eased in at the threshold, as the dying light flared behind him in a violent riot of magenta and burnt orange.
He had to duck his head to clear the timber frame, his massive, leather-clad shoulders nearly scraping the pillars on either side.
Even in the dimness, his presence simmered with heat and ancient power, making the interior feel suddenly, impossibly cramped.
He straightened up, his head clearing the rafters by a mere inch.
Sheba, who studied his ingress, arched an eyebrow at the sheer scale of him.
‘When you step in, your home seems like a dollhouse, Idan,’ she remarked, her voice dry yet laced with a hint of a smile. ‘Try not to exhale too hard, or the roof might pop off, which I happen to like because it keeps the elements off my head.’
Idan paused, the corner of his mouth giving into a microscopic twitch.
‘What did you bring?’ she said, changing tack.
His arms overflowed with supplies from the barn: a bag of flour and a bunch of fresh vegetables, which he set down on the counter.
Ingredients for dinner.
She rose and went to him, then, on instinct, reached out to brush snow from his hair.
Idan froze.
He closed his eyes, leaning just a fraction into her hand before catching himself.
She withdrew, flushing, exhaling into the high-tension silence as his sigils glowed a soft, involuntary gold.
‘Give me a task,’ she muttered, turning away from his beauty. ‘I’m losing my mind in this cottage, gorgeous though it may be.’
Idan paused, his gaze lingering on her face before his jaw ticked and he nodded toward the hearth.
You can help me with dinner, tend the vegetable garden, and perhaps also keep the fire banked.
The flames he’d left burning in the morning were now a much smaller pile of dying coals.
He moved to a stack of timber piled in precise, interlocking triangles and pulled out a short length of oak.
Sheba hesitated. ‘Show me, please. On Dunia, my father handled the hearth. He never bothered to show me the mechanics of it.’
Idan knelt by the granite lip of the fireplace, gesturing for her to join him.
Taking his time, he demonstrated how to rake the ash out, lay down the logs, and set wood chips and twigs under the larger blocks.
He got her to throw kindling over it, ignite matchsticks on the hearth, and light the entire setup.
As the flames rose, Sheba clapped her hands together. ‘I did it!’
She was so pleased that Idan’s lips curved into a rare beam, making him even more impossibly handsome.
‘You should smile more,’ she told him, still lost in her gleeful triumph.
He huffed, reaching for another log from his intricately designed pile.
‘Do you cut them yourself?’ she asked, eyes on the callouses on his palms, catching the light.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he spoke his first words since he came home.
‘Not me. I have a deal with a stroppy mountain gremlin. He crawls out from between the tectonic plates once a month to chop my winter supply.’
Sheba blinked, her expression frozen in genuine confusion as she searched his face for the truth, then, realizing he was having her on, she cursed. ‘Fokk off.’
He let out a resonant laugh that vibrated in the small room. ‘Of course I cut my own wood, Sheba.’
She gave in to the moment with a snicker, and he chuckled.
The humor died away, replaced by an abrupt, heavy stillness as their gazes locked.
The air between them thickened, pulsing with a savage, sudden desire that made the blood rush to her face.
The heat in her cheeks felt unrelated to the hearth.
She surged to her feet, fanning her face with a frantic hand. ‘It’s too freakin’ hot in here. The fire is too much.’
Idan’s expression softened. ‘Go outside. Grab the leather bellows I left by the external pit. The mountain air will cool you down.’
Sheba fled through the thick wooden door.
The transition from the stifling cabin to the alpine night hit her like a physical wall. She reached the stone pit and stopped.
Above, the sky transformed into a riot of celestial violence.
A grand aurora draped emerald and violet curtains over the atmosphere, while a terminal rain of meteors etched silver scars across the gloom.
The sheer, silent scale of the universe bore down on her, beautiful enough to cause an ache in her ribs.
How lucky was she to be alive?
The thought again reminded her of those who were no longer with her, from her parents to Imani and Brad.
Tears spilled over, hot and unbidden, tracking through the dust on her skin.
A sudden gust of draft rocked her, and a dark cloud raced toward her as the skies blackened.
She didn’t hear him approach, but she parsed the shift in the wind as his body intercepted the gale.
Idan stood behind her, a massive, radiating shield of muscle and heat.
He didn’t touch her, yet his proximity acted as a thermal cloak, tethering her to the earth while the sky roiled above them.
They remained in the shimmering dark for a few long moments, two silhouettes staring up at the wild, cosmic display.
Finally, Idan leaned down, his fingers brushing hers as he took the bellows from her tightened grip.
Sliding his hand into hers, his grip firm and certain, he led her back toward the glowing warmth of the hut.
Later that night, Sheba stood over the stone basin, her palms going numb in the melted water as she scrubbed gruel from a bowl.
Sheba wondered if her sister was aware of her plight by now, and she sighed.
Any evacuation would be two to three weeks out at the very minimum, given how far Tansinia was from every other planet in Pegasi.
Also, arranging a flight to pick her up in an unspecified location would require some operational coordination.
The grief, once again, of why she needed to be lifted off Tansinia hit her unexpectedly.
A dizzy spell rolled through her, a rhythmic, sickening pulse that threatened to pull the floor from under her feet.
She white-knuckled the edge of the counter, forcing her breath to level out.
With a whisper, the air behind her shifted.
Idan stepped behind her, his presence sending shivers down her spine.
His protective nature was another aspect of him she was yet to get accustomed to.
He had a way of sensing her moods and being present for her.
Which confused the fokk out of her, unused to having a man at her six on all fronts, including emotionally.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about it; part of her told her this was a green light, that she shouldn’t fear a man who had no qualms showing up for her.
She just wasn’t used to it.
He reached past her to fill a mug with water, pressing it into her hand.
She took a long, shivering pull of the sweet liquid. ‘Sante. I’m okay now.’
He didn’t move.
‘Really, I am,’ Sheba muttered, rinsing a knife at the sink, shaking water from it before placing it on a sculpted wooden drying rack.
Still, her vision blurred as tears stung her eyes.
Idan was no snowflake, undeterred by her roiling emotions.
He found a cloth and dried the dishes in silence, remaining by her side, unyielding, his presence unmoving, unshaken, a rock through her storm.
A flash of need arced through her, and she cursed.
How did this man have the power to shift her emotions from overwhelming sorrow to a deep physical desire in seconds?
There was a sort of magic fokkery in his ability to transform her mood with such swiftness.
His magnetism was so overwhelming that it was like she was standing on a precipice of an experience she couldn’t quite get her head around.
Yet something about Idan reminded her of the Riders, men she deeply respected.
Heck, she’d secretly hoped she’d find a man like them.
The truth was that, for so long, she yearned for the same love and steadiness that her sister enjoyed with Kainan and that her best friend Rina shared with Molan.
She hissed at the agonizing reality of her loneliness, then swallowed back guilt for her selfish thinking.
Her friends were gone, and here she was wallowing in self-pity.
Idan narrowed his molten eyes on her.
‘Ko’sawa? Are you in pain?’
His timbre reverberated with a deep, anchoring resonance that held her steady even as she tried to reinforce her internal fortress.
Sheba gave him a tight nod. ‘I’m fine.’
The lie was paper-thin.
Idan reached out, his palm settling in the center of her back.
The contact sent a shock through her, and she shivered, but she didn’t flinch from him.
His warmth seeped through her wool tunic, a wordless acknowledgment of the fracture in her soul, offering comfort without any demand.
‘I can’t get Imani and Brad out of my head,’ Sheba finally whispered.
Her composure shattered, and she bent over the suds, sobs tearing from her throat in rhythmic heaves.
His heated grasp slid to her nape, moving her into the mass of his chest.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed out.
‘Stop,’ Idan murmured. ‘You don’t owe me an apology for any of this.’
Moving with a fluid, easy strength, he gathered her up and carried her back to the fur-draped bed.
He tucked her into its warmth and then, kicking off his boots, he eased in beside her, pulling her to his chest once more, her spine to his.
His subvox burr drifted into her neural cortex as he stroked her temple and hair.
Even with this loss, you will heal. The soul doesn’t break; it remakes itself in the silence of the void. New life takes root in the hollow spaces left by death. We move from the storm’s fury to the stillness of the stars, shedding old skin to survive the frost. Your next season is already calling.
The words hit home, settling in her heart and silencing some of the static in her mind.
Sheba molded her body against the hard lines of his frame, to the heavy, sinewed arms wrapped around her.
She stared through her tears as his sigils began to shift and pulse.
Her eyes followed the golden flicker rippling over the shadows of his muscles.
Idan’s strength appeared forged for war, yet now it served as a bulwark between her and the ghosts of the massacre trying to claw their way back in, and she was grateful for it.
Wrapped in the heat of his embrace, Sheba finally let fatigue drag her under, surrendering to exhaustion.