“We are,” I say firmly. It’s decided. “Nothing more.”
“Oh.”
I can’t tell if she’s disappointed from that one syllable. She says nothing else, though, lying back down in the bed with her back to me. Her slim body quakes with cold and so I hook one arm around her waist and pull her back against me. She stiffens, but after a moment, she relaxes and curls up against me. Cold feet push between my calves and she burrows backward, seeking my warmth. I relax and try to sleep, now that her shivering has stopped.
Sleep, ha.
I’m acutely aware of her slender body against mine, the way she fits, tucked against me just perfectly. Her hair tickles my chin and it smells clean and fresh. Her skin isn’t touching mine, but my hand is still on her waist and I can feel each breath that she takes, the hammering beat of her heart.
Hammering? Is she nervous? Excited?
My mouth goes dry.
Wouldn’t take much to turn her over, caress her cheek, and then pull up her tunic. Expose those fascinatingly bouncy breasts and all that pale skin. Touch her between her thighs and push my cock into her cunt. Fill her with my seed and give her my child, just the way I’d imagined…
But everything’s different since she’s a human. If I claim her, it doesn’t solve any of my problems. Instead of getting a helper and a partner, I’ll just have another mouth to feed. I bite back the curse rising in my throat, because I want nothing more than to bury my face against her soft neck and breathe in her scent, possess her body. Claim her as my own.
I can’t, though. It’d be wrong to take her and then hand her off to someone else in a few days. I might be a keffing cold bastard, but I can’t do that to her. It isn’t right.
So I remain perfectly still, holding her close enough to share my warmth but nothing else. Eventually, her racing heart slows and her breathing becomes soft and even. She falls asleep in my arms, warm and cared for.
And I wish again that she was stronger, because then I could make her mine.
As days pass, it becomes harder and harder to ignore her presence. Nicola’s like a burst of sunshine that’s come into my life, and her smile warms me every time I see it. Turns out the cute little dent in her cheek is called a dimple, and I live for its appearance. There’s nothing that makes my day better than seeing Nicola grin so wide that she dimples up. She’s been smiling a lot more lately, too, and most of them are directed at me.
Makes my heart ache fiercely.
Truth be told, I love her company. She’s smart, funny, and she’s always keeping busy. She doesn’t like being bored, she tells me, and one day when it’s raining so heavily that there’s nothing to be done in the fields but wait for the storm to pass, she makes little hard cakes and calls them “dominos” and then teaches me how to play a human game with them. We play all afternoon until I eat too many pieces for the game to be fair, and then we spend the evening by the fire, talking sticks strategies, about my ornery bull, or even about my time in the wars. She’s surprisingly easy to talk to, and I find myself telling her more than I probably should.
Nicola tells me about her life as a “pet,” too. That’s what she calls it. She wasn’t really a slave, because she was treated well enough by Lady Leandra, her old mistress. But she wasn’t considered smart, either. Leandra would teach her something like sticks…and then swat her if she felt her human was misbehaving. Kind of makes me hate that old rich bitch, even if she cared for Nicola enough to worry about her future and plan the deception of being my bride.
Even that doesn’t make me angry anymore. I’m just…frustrated. Frustrated that Nicola’s almost perfect, except she’s fragile and I worry life out here will be too tough for her.
She loves the farm, though. Loves the animals and I’ve caught her naming my meat-stock, even though that’s a bad idea. Can’t have her getting attached if they’re going to be slaughtered. She sticks to naming the mousers in the barn after that, though, telling me they remind her of something called a “cat” back on Earth. On days that the weather’s good, she does her mending outside in the sun, even when it turns her face bright red. She likes it, though, she tells me. Lady Leandra wouldn’t let her outside because she was afraid Nicola would run off. Nicola jokes about being an “indoor cat,” but I don’t find it very funny. All I can think of is her face, turned up to the sun and enjoying the warmth until it makes her skin pink…and cold Lady Leandra who wouldn’t let her outside to do just that.