Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
TEROLON
Autumn days slipped by in a wonderful, warm reverie.
Each morning, my shelshi woke in my coils, gave me kisses, and slipped away to the hot springs in the winter cave to bathe and dress. By the time she returned, I’d have her first meal ready, or nearly so: hot porridge cooked over a fire, with fruits from the garden.
During the day, Hazel spent a good deal of her time in our garden practicing her magic or sewing while enjoying the company of growing things that adored her in return.
I used the time to either go hunting for my own food or bring back meat to cook for her that day or smoke and preserve to add to our stores.
After her midday meal, we often basked in the afternoon sun, which was my second-favorite time of day after our nights together in our nest. She dozed on my chest or read aloud to me from one of my many books written by her kind, or some combination of the two.
Hazel loved stories of romance and adventure.
I did as well, but truthfully I would have listened to my mate read aloud pamphlets from the village or the scientific papers of a rambling eccentric if it meant I could hear her voice.
In the evenings, after her light supper, we either watched the stars emerge while lying in the garden or returned to the cave to share stories of our lives.
If it rained, I arranged myself just inside the narrow passageway, ignoring the discomfort simply so she could curl up in my coils and enjoy the sounds and scents of the world being washed clean.
I learned much about my shelshi during these evenings—and added names to my mental list of those who deserved death for mistreating Hazel over her nearly thirty years of life.
At the top of this list were Lord Vedast and his band of guards who’d terrorized and nearly killed her, followed closely by her abusive cousins and the lecherous landlord who’d turned her out of her family’s home out of spite.
Hazel’s mother had already passed beyond my reach, for which the vile woman should be grateful.
Hazel also shared good memories of days spent with her grandmother and childhood friends. I treasured those stories a great deal because they were accompanied by smiles and laughter and soft looks in her eyes.
I told my mate of Izaelon, from its seaside towns and year-round warmth to festivals and traditions. She peppered me with questions about my home kingdom often well into the night.
One thing Hazel didn’t ask about, and I didn’t volunteer, was why I’d left Izaelon and why I no longer had a clan who claimed me.
I’d answer truthfully if she asked, but I preferred not to think of that period of my life.
She must have sensed my reluctance, because sometimes she would tilt her head and look at me with those lovely blue eyes and then ask about something else related to my homeland, like a favorite food or drink.
Each night I told myself I’d tell her soon. Just…not tonight. Not quite yet.
Whenever her eyelids finally began to droop, I’d bank the fire and make my rounds of the caves and garden, turning down or extinguishing lanterns and making sure nothing seemed amiss while she changed into her nightdress.
And then we’d retire to our nest, with me curled up and my sweet mate safe and warm in my coils after many wonderful good-night kisses and caresses.
Only after her breathing slowed and she slipped into dreams could I allow sleep to take me.
And so the days passed.
My good friend Aluc, the wizard Stosior’s apprentice, traveled on our behalf to nearby villages for the items we needed to transform our caves into a home as comfortable for Hazel as it was for me.
We added more furnishings, more lanterns, and human necessities such as bowls, plates, and cutlery, along with little pots for all her dried herbs, a mortal and pestle, and hand tools for garden tending.
She now had a small wardrobe as well to store her clothing and other items instead of keeping everything in one of my trunks.
To my great displeasure, she wouldn’t accept purchases of made-to-order clothing other than stockings and a good pair of boots, but she did permit me to buy bolts of cloth and everything necessary for her to sew her own dresses and underthings.
I was not allowed to choose the cloth she used after I’d had Aluc bring her fine silk that caused her to ask me, hands on hips and eyes twinkling with mirth, if we planned to attend a royal ball, or was she supposed to wear it to weed the garden?
The cotton and muslin he brought her next seemed too plain, but I did not say so, being an intelligent male who wished to stay in his mate’s good graces.
She didn’t ask for a bed, and I didn’t offer to purchase one. Our current arrangement of curling up at night with her in my coils suited us both quite well.
My hunger for my mate grew by the hour, and the passage of days and then weeks allowed my devotion to ripen into love sweeter than the apples in our garden.
She cared deeply for me too; that much was clear from her smiles, kisses, and touches, as well as the way she’d tease and sometimes even scold me.
We’d become comfortable together. Our days began with smiles and kisses and ended the same way.
My hearts were full and I believed hers was as well.
She smiled almost constantly, and often sang gaily to herself as she flitted about the garden or our caves.
For many, many years, I’d lived quietly, save when Stosior or Aluc came to visit.
Now any lengthy silence caused me to look around for Hazel to make sure she wasn’t frowning or hadn’t lapsed into a sudden gloom when an ugly memory surfaced.
If it had, I gathered her in my arms and comforted her until she snuggled against my chest and smiled.
Sometimes she told me what had plagued her thoughts and sometimes not, but as long as she found peace again, I was content.
Each evening she wrote in her bound journals by lantern light, biting her lip in concentration as she filled page after page with neat handwriting.
I loved the ink that stained her fingers, and the sounds of her pen clinking against the ink pot and its nib scratching across the paper.
Her joy at chronicling her past in one volume and her days in our home in the other was the most perfect accompaniment to my evening reading I could imagine.
This was truly the best and more perfect life I could imagine.
But she hadn’t yet accepted me as her mate, and the lingering worry that she might leave made my hearts feel as if they’d turned to stone in my chest.
My shelshi had given me no promises, and I had no right to ask for one or blame her for her wariness. She’d experienced far too many betrayals and broken oaths during her life to not be cautious with her heart.
I could only be patient and show her each day that I could be trusted with her safety, her well-being, and her love.
And wait.