Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Pashov grins over at me and gently sets Pacy back down. The baby immediately tries to get on his feet again, reaching for his father.
“You’d better hurry up and eat,” I admonish him as I use a pair of bone tongs to take the egg off the fire. “Josie will be here soon and she’s been having pregnancy cravings for eggs.”
“You can cook her up another,” my mate says lazily, scooping up my son and shooting me a heated look that tells me breakfast isn’t the only thing on his mind right now. He carries Pacy over to the playpen Hemalo recently made for him—a series of privacy screens interlocked together to make a safe area for him to play—and comes to my side. He nuzzles at my neck and his hands slide over my ass.
“Frisky this morning,” I tease, breathless. I’m feeling it, too.
“I am just imagining how my mate will react when she sees the gift I have for her,” he teases, nipping at my ear and sending skitters of pleasure through my body.
“Gift? But the holiday’s not until next month.” We’ve already talked a bit about it as a tribe, and last year it broke up the brutal season so delightfully well that Claire’s already planning out days and days of activities to keep things exciting through the long snowy weeks.
“I know. But I cannot wait any longer for you to have it.”
“But your food—”
“It can wait.”
My eyes go wide at that. It’s not like my walking, talking stomach of a mate to push aside food. “This must be good, then.”
“Oh, it is.” He gives my butt one last caress and heads over to the far side of our little house, where the rolled up furs are waiting for curing. Curious, I watch as he digs through the bundles and pulls out something flat and wrapped in leather. He turns around and holds it out to me, a smile on his face.
I’m touched that he’s so thoughtful, and I can’t stop grinning. A present feels like such a treat, especially since we’re all being so careful with goods after losing almost everything to the cave-in. Even months later, ‘making do’ has become the new normal. But we’ll survive it, because we always do, and we’ll eventually replenish everything we lost. “Are you sure?” I ask shyly, taking the leather-wrapped object from him. “I don’t have anything to give you.” I’m making him a soft, fur-lined tunic on the sly, but it won’t be ready until the holiday.
“Just having you as my mate is gift enough,” he says, and cups my face to give me a kiss.
“Aww, that is sweet. You’re totally getting laid later,” I tease, and my thrumming khui seems to agree. I pull the leather off of it, and I gasp in surprise.
It’s a skillet. It’s not quite the same as the one I had before, but it’s made similarly. It has a bone handle attached to a square piece of metal salvaged from the ship, with the sides bent upward to form a lip. The handle on my old skillet had been soldered, but this one is interlocking, with a bit of leather tied around to keep it in place.
“Do you like it?” Pashov asks. “Har-loh says we will have to change out the handle and the leather thong every few turns of the moon, but I thought it a small price to pay to get it for you again.”
“It’s wonderful,” I say dreamily, running my hand over the surface. “And it’s going to make cooking so much easier again.” I give him a happy look. “You remembered?”
He nods, the expression on his face shy. “It is another memory that came back. Once I had it, I wanted to ask Har-loh about getting you another. I was lucky she had a few pieces of metal left.”
“You’re wonderful,” I tell him. I’m truly touched—not just because it’s the most thoughtful, perfect gift ever, but because more of his memories are creeping back. He’s sensitive about them, because I know that he’s frustrated it’s taking more time than he wanted, but we’re together and happy, and his nightmares have stopped now that we sleep in the furs together every night. I don’t mind waiting a little longer for the last of his memories. And if he never gets them back, I don’t even care anymore.
I have my Pashov. That’s all that matters.
“I wanted to make my mate happy,” he says simply.
“You do. Every day, you do.” I set it down on my stool and move forward to put my arms around his neck. My khui’s purring furiously and I’m feeling more than a little turned on—and it’s not just because of the gift. It’s because he’s so thoughtful and wonderful and utterly sexy and I love the way he looks at me.