Chapter 7 #3
I fucking hated being helpless. As a kid, I’d never been given choices.
What I ate. What I wore. Where we lived.
Where I went. Never was I given a choice.
It was whatever my parents wanted all the time.
What I wanted or felt never fucking mattered.
When I left their home, I swore I would never, ever be under someone else’s control again.
Yet here I was—powerless.
My hand drifted down to the blade at my side, my fingertips dancing over the handle of the dagger. Maybe not completely powerless. I could defend myself if I needed to. I had a weapon, and Bokkan had promised to provide me with another.
“You need to eat.”
Bokkan’s gravelly voice broke through my thoughts, and I focused on him. “What?”
“You haven’t broken your fast,” he repeated. “You need food.”
“That’s why I came downstairs.” I noticed the way he stared at me and shrugged. “Sorry if I wasn’t supposed to.”
His jaw bulged, and I thought I heard his teeth grinding.
“Within my home, you may go where you wish, unless it’s Masu’s quarters.
She prefers her privacy. While I doubt she would harm you, she would probably give you an earful about respecting her space and her quiet time.
And probably make sure your food was cold for a few days. ”
Despite the lingering tension in the room, I found myself smiling at his words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Bokkan’s eyes roved over my face, the flexing jaw and furrowed brow gone. I shifted uncomfortably. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed perceptive. I wasn’t sure what he saw when he looked at me, but I worried it was too much.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Well enough once I got warm. I guess I should thank you for not letting me freeze to death.”
“You do not have to thank me. Just try not to argue tonight when I tell you it’s best if we both sleep in the bed.”
Remembering how warm and comfortable I’d been when I woke, I knew I wouldn’t. I tried not to think about the way Bokkan’s scent had clung to the bedding as well. The spicy, slightly smoky scent of him reminded me of spiced apple cider and campfires. He smelled like autumn to me.
“I’ll do my best.”
Bokkan’s penetrating perusal ended when he turned from me. “We will take breakfast in the kitchen. Come with me.”
I followed him out of the office and down the hall.
The house was still chilly, but the sweater and makeshift socks I wore kept me warm enough.
The kitchen was much cozier. A fire flickered in the small hearth against one wall, and Masu stood at the stove, frying up some sort of meat.
A small metal cylinder resembling an old-fashioned percolator sat on another burner, steam rising from its short spout.
Masu glanced up as we entered, her gaze skipping right over Bokkan and straight to me.
“The clothes fit! Wonderful!” she exclaimed, smiling widely. Despite her fangs, the expression wasn’t as terrifying on her face as it was on Bokkan’s.
“They do,” I agreed. “Thank you so much for taking the time to shorten the pants for me. And to find shirts and sweaters.”
The female imp waved a hand at me. “Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do for one of the master’s guests.”
“You’ll have to get used to it,” I teased her. “Humans with manners thank people when they do something for them. It’s part of our culture.”
I almost laughed at the horrified expression on Masu’s face.
“Well, it’s not part of our culture,” she finally said. “In fact, it’s considered insulting to thank someone all the time. You’ll be considered weak.”
“Aren’t I already?” I asked.
The look she gave me was both empathetic and resigned. As if to say, I know, but that’s the way things are.
“Leda needs to eat,” Bokkan interrupted as he walked over to a freestanding cabinet and opened one of the upper doors.
I watched as he took out two pottery-like cups without handles and carried them to the stove. He placed a small strainer over the mouth of one, the object appearing tiny in comparison to his hand.
Though he was a huge male, he moved easily and with grace, reminding me once again that he likely wasn’t as slow and heavy as he looked.
His clawed fingers picked up the oddly shaped kettle, and he poured a dark liquid through the strainer over the cup.
Small, black bits of something got caught in the mesh, resembling coffee grounds.
Once he filled the first cup, he performed the same tasks with the other.
I crept closer as he carried the cups to the large table next to the far wall, watching closely as he spooned a clear liquid into the cups before topping them off with milk. At least, I thought it was milk.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw me watching him. “This is szite,” he explained.
“What did you put in it?” I asked.
“A sweet syrup and milk.”
“Cow’s milk?”
“Is there another kind?” he asked, his brow knotting in confusion.
“Where I’m from, we have milk from goats, sheep, almonds, and oats. I just wanted to be sure.”
His eyes widened. “You make milk with all those things?”
“Among others.”
“What are goats?”
“They’re a smaller livestock animal with four legs, hooves, and some even have horns.
Their milk is used to make cheese and other dairy products.
Some people even eat goat meat, though it’s not common in the region where I lived.
Some types of goats have very soft hair, and it is used to make yarn for weaving, knitting, and crocheting. ”
“What’s crow-shay-ing?”
I tried not to smile as he sounded out the word. “It’s a fiber craft. You use a hook to stitch the yarn together to make blankets, socks, sweaters, and lots of other things.”
“A hook?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know how to do it, but my grandmother crocheted. She used to make me all kinds of things. Do daemons have similar crafts?”
He nodded. “Knitting and weaving are common here.”
Bokkan focused, stirring the liquid in the cups before he brought one to me. Like the bowl last night, he was able to hold it in one hand, but I had to use two. It was just too wide for my fingers to grip it effectively.