Seven
“Tara Douglas?” The khaki uniform was unflatteringly masculinizing but this was definitely a woman crossing the porch. The officer was blond, in her mid-fifties, with an amiable country face. “Are you Tara Douglas?”
“Yes.” Tara dragged her feet to the bottom of the stairs. “What’s happened? Is—is my brother—?”
“Oh my, no, ma’am! This isn’t a death notifi—I’m Chief Deputy Parker.” She nodded at the man with her. He hadn’t moved, his hand hovering within easy reach of his weapon. His hair was shot through with gray, his face grim as granite. “This is Sheriff Riley. We’d like to speak with you about a wreck. If now’s a good time.”
“A wreck?” By sheer will she kept herself from looking toward the woods. “I don’t know anything about a wreck.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose. “So you weren’t operating the vehicle that crashed on route one-oh-seven?”
“Operating the—Oh the car!” Tara shook her head. “Of course. Right. Yes, I was driving.”
Deputy Parker tilted her head. “Then now is a good time to talk to you about the incident?”
“Let me put this down first.” She held up the plate then realized that wandering around the estate with a pie looked more than a little odd. “It’s my dinner. My housekeeper made it.”
“Of course.” The deputy stepped aside to let her pass. “Need me to get the door?”
“You—” Tara looked between them. “You want to come into the house?”
“If you think we can all fit,” Parker said with a meaningful look at the château’s façade.
“That a problem, ma’am?” The Sheriff’s voice was gravelly as a smoker’s, and his face bore deep white scars as if he’d been the victim of a animal attack. “There some reason we shouldn’t go into the house? We can get a warrant to search the whole property if we need to.”
If more of them come, if they do a sweep of the whole estate . . .
The deputy shifted. “Bill—”
“No.” Tara straightened her back, her voice cool. “By all means, officers, welcome to Heatherbell.” She lifted an eyebrow at the sheriff. “Mind holding this while I open the door?”
He made no move to take the pie. “I’ll get the door for you, ma’am.”
Riley turned the knob and shoved, letting the door swing open on its hinges, tensing as if he expected to find a Viking horde ready to charge instead of a polished marble foyer.
Tara darted ahead, using her body to block the sheriff’s view. Upstairs the door to Rose’s room was open a crack, the suite dark, but just for an instant there was a flash of golden eyes.
“Come into the kitchen.” Her voice, tight and high-pitched, echoed in the foyer. “We can talk in there.”
She headed for the dining room, and a quick glance showed the deputy closing the door. Both officers followed after, neither lingering in the hall.
“So,” Tara put the pie plate down and turned to lean back against the counter. “How can I help you?”
Sheriff Riley positioned himself with his back to the far wall, his glance darting between all three doors of the room.
“You might be more comfortable, ma’am,” the deputy began, “if you were seated.”
“Will this be a long interview?” Tara asked. “If that’s the case then perhaps we should schedule another time to speak—when my attorney can join us.”
Sheriff Riley’s gave her a stony look. “Any reason you’d need an attorney, Miss Douglas?”
“It’s my habit to have one present to protect my business interests.” She folded her arms. “The same applies to my civil rights.”
“We really only have a few questions.” The deputy shot a warning look at the sheriff. “And then we’ll let you get on with your evening.”
“Sounds good to me.” Tara lifted her chin. “What do you want to know?”
“You admit you were driving a vehicle with New York tags—” the deputy glanced at her pad to read the tag numbers off. “Along route one-oh-seven the day before yesterday, about five-thirty in the afternoon?”
“I was driving,” she agreed. “I don’t have the tag numbers memorized so I couldn’t say.”
“A Mercedes-Benz, white, correct?” The deputy tilted her head. “And that’s your vehicle, Miss Douglas?”
“No, it’s my brother’s car. And since you have the tag numbers you already know that.”
“You veered off the road,” the deputy continued, unabashed. “And struck a tree.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t report it.” The deputy looked up from her writing pad, her blue eyes sharp. “Why not?”
“Report it to whom? And what for? I wasn’t injured. No other vehicles were involved. A tow truck happened by and I’m not making an insurance claim.” Tara shrugged. “What’s there to report?”
“Were you intoxicated?” the sheriff demanded.
“No. Did the tow truck driver determine I was impaired?”
“A tow truck driver isn’t qualified to do that, ma’am,” the deputy advised. “That’s law enforcement’s task.”
“Really?” Tara widened her eyes. “I had no idea. Maybe you’d like to administer a breathalyzer now?”
“That wouldn’t show evidence of intoxication two days ago,” Deputy Parker said, looking a bit sour now.
“Drane and I were together for at least a half an hour while he set up the car to be towed. Did he report observing any signs I was intoxicated?”
The pair exchanged a glance.
“He didn’t indicate that to us, no,” the deputy admitted.
“Okay, I wasn’t drunk, and since I never got the car above forty miles an hour I wasn’t speeding—why are you here?”
“It seems,” Deputy Parker cleared her throat. “Your vehicle caused damage to private property.”
“Private proper—You mean the oak?” Tara stared. “Someone made a police report because I dinged a tree? Oh, I get it.” Her mouth tightened. “One of the Douglas family scratches the bark and suddenly the damned thing is a treasured historical landmark. Should I just get my checkbook now?”
“We’re only here to take the report.” The deputy looked decidedly uncomfortable. “You and Miss Dolly will have to come to an agreement on your own about any monetary consideration for damages, if fault is determined.”
“Dolly? Wait, you mean the queen of the back-comb who owns the diner in town?” Tara’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps if her tree hadn’t been positioned in a way that was a threat to public safety I would have been spared a costly, emotionally scarring, and potentially deadly incident.”
“I think we’ve got all we need, Sarah Jane.” The sheriff straightened, and he, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed. “Let’s just get the report filed.”
“Here—” Tara pulled paper and a pen from one of the drawers and scribbled a name and number. She shoved the paper at the deputy. “Give her this while you’re at it. It’s the contact information for the firm that handles my legal work in New York. Miss Dolly can hammer it out with them how much my brand-new oak will cost.”
“I don’t think—”
“Go on, Sarah Jane.” Riley said.
Reluctantly, the deputy took the paper and tucked it into her pocket.
“Since we come out here anyway, have you seen anything”—the sheriff’s shoulders tensed—“unusual since you’ve been up here, Miss Douglas?”
Tara froze. “What do you mean ‘unusual’?”
“Something.” His face worked for a moment. “A creature. In the woods.”
“No, of course not.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Why? Has anyone else reported—”
“We should get going, Bill.” Deputy Parker offered Tara a brisk nod. “Thank you for your time, Miss Douglas.”
“Sure.” Tara mumbled. “I’ll walk you out.”
They were in the foyer, Tara’s hand on the knob of the front door when the wood above gave soft creak, an anxious shift of weight. She raised her head, catching a glimmer of—
“Come out here, you fucking bastard!” Riley shouted, his gun was already drawn. “Or I will open fire!”
“Bill!” the deputy cried, forcing his arm down.
“I saw one, Sarah Jane! Just like I told you! Same glowing eyes!” His face was wild, the veins on his neck standing out as he struggled against her. “We need backup! We need it now!”
“Bill!” Sarah Jane fought to keep hold of him. “We’ll check it out, okay? And if we find—”
“Oh fuck this!” Tara yanked the front door open. “Unless you two can prove due cause to arrest my cat—” She indicated the porch, scowling. “I suggest you call it a day and let me eat my damned dinner!”
“See, Bill? It’s nothing.” Sarah Jane urged the sheriff onto the porch. “Just a cat’s eyes, catching the light. Let’s go, okay?”
“It—it wasn’t—”
Tara slammed the heavy door and threw the lock. She stood there, her hands pressed to the wood, her heart hammering, waiting until she heard the engine start up, until she heard the car pull away . . .
She ran up the stairs, gripping the carved railing to speed herself on, pushing the suite door. “Ki’san! Are you—”
He burst from the darkness and swung her into the circle of his arms, lifting her into his embrace. He held her there, his body trembling, his face pressed to her throat, his breath moist and ragged against her skin.
“Are—are you all right?” Tara wound her arms around him, holding him closer, breathing in his warm scent. Her need was so primal, so instinctive, that even as her logical mind stood apart, astonished at her actions, she couldn’t stop herself. “I was so scared . . .”
He loosened his grip, easing up enough so that she slid down his body.
“My heart is sick to see your danger!” He pulled away. “And I make the danger more!”
“You did the right thing staying up here. What a fucking lunatic! I can’t believe they haven’t taken his gun.”
“I should have gone. I let him see me!” His fangs flashed in the dimness. “Humans must not see!”
“In the kitchen, he asked me if I’d seen any creatures in the woods. I think he’s seen one of your people before.” She searched his eyes. “Ki’san?”
“I was told no humans see us.” He shook his head. “No humans must see us.”
“Maybe he’s just off his rocker.” Tara passed her hand over her eyes. “For all I know he was talking about a sasquatch or something. Whoa—How long have your people been coming here, to Earth?”
“Two snows.” He frowned. “Saz-quache?”
“Never mind.” She shook her head. “You’re not even furry.”
“I must go from here.”
“Go?” Unthinking, she caught his hand. “What do you mean ‘go’?”
“You are not safe.” His fingers closed around hers. “Not safe if I am here.”
“You’re worried about my safety?” Tara gave a short laugh, but at the shocked hurt in his eyes her smile faded. “Please don’t go. Having you here, Ki’san—it’s important to me, and I need . . .” She looked at her hand in his. “I need to feel like I’m part of something. Something bigger than myself, that I’ve made a difference.” She raised her gaze to his. “Please, will you—will you stay with me? Please let me help until your people come for you. I don’t”—she swallowed hard—“Maybe we don’t have long together, but for as long as we have?”
Ki’san’s shoulders were tight as if he waged an inner war.
“Yes,” he finally rumbled, his voice rough. “I will stay.”
She swallowed back tears. “Thank you.”
He eased his hand from hers. She didn’t want him to let go—but then there was another, one of his own kind, one possessed of the precious gift of time . . .
“Well—” Tara cleared her throat. “Other than the crazy sheriff, any problems getting back into the house?”
“I was fast. But better I do not go out when it is day.”
“You’re holding your side still.” She glanced at his ribs. “If you ran up from the woods, it must really be hurting.”
“Not bad.”
“Yeah, right.” She urged him toward the down-stuffed chaise. “At least get off your feet.”
Ki’san winced as he sat down, his face tight as he shifted. Only when he was settled against the back of the chaise did he let his breath out, his eyes shutting in relief.
Tara pulled the curtains open part way, letting fading sunlight fill the room.
His brow furrowed. “No one can see?”
“I think we’re okay.” Tara peered through the windows. “This room faces south and at this time of day the light’s reflecting off the glass. I doubt even someone up on that hill using binoculars could see in here. I got the impression from Hannah and William they’re settled for the night. As long as you don’t open a window, lean out and start yodeling, we’re probably good.”
“What of the others? The ones with their weapons—And their threats?”
“I don’t think they’ll be back. The deputy reined her boss in pretty good, and they both knew he was out of control.”
“They should not be allowed here.” His fangs bared again. “Should never be permitted to draw weapons here.”
“Yeah, well I was worried not letting them inside would look even more suspicious.”
“I could not hear all their words.” His mouth thinned. “I did not like that I could not hear them. I did not like to scent your fear, and to stay here in the dark.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll give my attorneys a call and let them handle it. They’ll contact that deputy and make it clear they’re not to come onto my property without a warrant again.”
“What do they seek? The human peacekeepers?”
“Apparently down here the ‘you break it you buy it’ rule extends to trees, and I just bought myself one.” Tara sat down beside him. “I had a little accident with the car—do you know what that is? A car?”
“To travel in.”
“Right. Well I travelled right into someone’s tree yesterday. Busted up the car, dented the tree. Anyway, the woman who owns that oak wants money from me.”
“This tree—it is sacred?”
“Not that I could tell, but she heard the name ‘Douglas’ and saw dollar signs. That means,” she added at his baffled look, “she knows my family has money so she wants as big a chunk as she can get.”
“This is not right.”
“No, but it happens a lot to me. Carney, Burrows and Smithfield get paid plenty to fend off the worst of it. I’ve learned to hand everything off to them and put it out of my mind.” She rubbed the skin between her brows. “Maybe I’ll have the thing cut down and carved into a target with overly-teased hair. I’ve always wanted to take up knife throwing.” She looked him over. “You know, it makes no sense to lug around medical equipment if you don’t use it when you need it.”
His jaw hardened. “I do not need.”
“Ki’san, you’re obviously in pain, so yes, you need treatment.”
“To use I would have to . . . stay here.” Apprehension touched his brow. “Not run. Rest.”
“Total rest? For how long?”
“Long.” He indicated the windows. “Until the sun again comes.”
“Just one night? Well, I think I ran the law off, and the caretakers are tucked into their lodge for the evening. Let’s get you taken care of.”
“No.”
“Jeez, are all g’hir this stubborn?”
“To treat I will need . . . help.”
“No problem. Tell me what to do.”
“It is not right.”
“Not right how, exactly?” She raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m human? Because I’m a woman?”
“It is—” His cheeks flushed. “Not right.”
“So it is because I’m a woman.”
Or was it because of another woman?
“Look, Ki’san, right now you don’t have any option except me. I don’t know of a man I’d trust to take the presence of an actual living and breathing alien in stride, not even Brice. I don’t know William that well, but he strikes me as one who couldn’t be bribed into keeping your presence here a complete secret.” She shrugged. “That pretty much leaves me.”
“Females do not do for males this way. You do not do for me.”
“I don’t think less of you because you’re hurting, if that’s what’s worrying you. I don’t think less of you for needing my help.”
He glared, his bright gaze brimming with frustration.
“Ki’san,” she began gently. “On a planet no one’s supposed to know you’re on, you can’t afford to be injured.”
He made a huffing-grumbly sound. “I do not like this.”
“You don’t have to.” Tara stood. “What do I do?”
He gave another more resigned huff. “The bag—”
“Got it.”
It was way heavier than it looked, especially since he swung the thing about as if it weighed nothing. She had to drag it over and bend her knees when she tried lift it. He gave her a surprised look, using one hand to get it onto the chaise.
Which brought up another issue—
“Look, I can’t imagine you being comfortable on a fainting couch all night long. You barely fit on that thing sitting up.”
“Fainting?” He examined the chintz upholstery. “Why does it faint?”
She laughed. “The couch doesn’t; it was supposed to be handy in case a woman felt lightheaded. Women used to wear very restrictive garments called corsets and wealthy women wore theirs very tight. Tight enough that it made it hard for them to breathe—along with deforming their ribs and crushing their internal organs.”
His expression was appalled. “Why?”
“Because tiny, tiny waists were the fashion a hundred years ago and the only way to get one was to cram yourself into a corset.”
Ki’san glanced at her waist. “I am glad human females do not do such foolish things now.”
The pair of sky-high Christian Louboutin heels in the dressing room flashed into her mind. “Yeah, me too. Let’s get you to the bed.”
She tried to assist him but he was suddenly skittish, shy as a feral kitten at her touch.
He was about to place the bag on the bed, but Tara quickly dragged one of the chairs over. “How about here? That way when we’re done I can just pull the chair back.”
“It is not so heavy.”
“Not for you,” she agreed. “Give me a minute to get my hair up out of the way.”
It took her a while to track down a hair elastic. She headed back into the room, tying her hair into a ponytail and stopped, staring.
Ki’san in three-quarter view seemed all bright gaze and bare tan skin. His shoulders were broad, dipping into a narrow waist, the muscles of his groin creating a vee on either side of his eight-pack abdomen. His shaft, long, thick and beautifully formed, rested on his thighs. At full stand it would absolutely—
“Tara?” He looked down at himself. “Are human males different there?”
“Oh you are well and above, uh—” Her gaze darted everywhere but at him now. “I mean, you’re pretty much the same. I should . . .Why don’t you lie down?”
She hurried to push the chair closer, just to have something to do as he got settled in the bed, sitting up against the headboard, the blankets low and covering his hips.
“Okay, so what do I do fir—”
She broke off as he shifted to reach for the pack. The way he’d been standing a moment ago, with his hurt side concealed, she hadn’t seen it. Now, her eyes widened at the black and purple bruise across his ribs.
“God, Ki’san,” she murmured, sitting on the bed beside him to get a better look. “You should have told me!”
“It is not bad.”
“Not bad! It looks like you got hit with a baseball bat.” She shook her head. “But I saw you yesterday, it was pink, you were healed.”
“Not all”–he gestured, clearly lacking the words—“healed.”
“Let’s get this taken care of.” Tara opened the pack. “Tell me what you need.”
There were a number instruments inside, and she held up two before she found the one he wanted. He gestured for her to hand it over, expertly making adjustments to the cylindrical tool.
“Here. Show you.” He turned it, using his thumb over the activator. A dark pink light appeared and he held the tool above his ribs.
“And I just need to move it back and forth?”
“Yes.” He winced as he raised his arm over his head, sliding down on the bed. “From here,” he indicated a spot just where his shoulder blade curved into his upper ribs, then to his waist. “To here.”
“Okay, let me try.”
He observed her efforts, adjusting the distance at which she held the tool, the angle and speed. After a time, he lay back and let her work.
“On the ship you treated my wrist, so clearly it works on human injuries. Does this equipment . . . Can it treat illnesses too?”
“No.” His eyes were shut. “For injuries—not illness.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t really expected this technology to help her. She’d been surprised it worked on humans at all, but disappointment still slumped her shoulders. She glanced at his face, at the crease between his brows. “Does this help the pain too?”
“Some.”
Tara glanced at the medical bag. “Don’t you have anything in there you could take for pain?”
“All will make me sleep.”
“It looks like you could use some sleep.”
“Not safe to sleep.”
“You slept here last night.”
“Not safe to sleep—if I cannot wake.”
“So the medicine makes you too drowsy.” Tara shifted her arm to a more comfortable position, careful to keep the tool moving evenly. “But you shouldn’t move anyway after I do this, right?”
“Shouldn’t move, no. Must move, will.”
“I guess I can’t argue with that. If I were on a strange planet I wouldn’t trust anyone either.”
Ki’san’s brilliant eyes opened. “Trust you, Tara.”
She threw him a smile. “I’ll take that as compliment.”
“You do not fear me now,” he rumbled softly. “I am happy you do not.”
“I wish I understood your language. I wish those—whatever they were—translator things hadn’t been broken.” She peered closer, the skin was still very bruised but she could see some signs of improvement.
“I wish, too.”
“I’d love to hear about where you come from, about your world. Is it anything like here—like Earth?”
He was silent so long she glanced up again.
“Your world lives.” His golden gaze held soul-deep pain. “Mine . . . does not.”
“Wait, do you mean the environment or—?”
“Everything . . . All my world.”
The look in his eyes, the grief for which he did not have words, made a lump form in her throat. “I’m sorry.”
He gave a spare nod, his face tight as he shifted.
“I wish . . .” She changed her grip on the alien instrument. “I should get this done.”
Using this tiny tool over such a large area made the work slow. It was no wonder he’d asked for her help: at this speed and angle he would have trouble doing this for more than a few minutes. It took her nearly an hour to finish.
“How’s it feel?” Look as she might, she couldn’t detect anything but smooth, healed skin. “Should I keep going?”
“I think now, just rest.” He gave her a tired smile. “Thank you, Tara.”
“Sure.” She set the tool back in its place in the bag, closing and sealing the pack. She arched, stretching her aching back. “Are you hungry? Hannah sent me back up with dinner. It’ll only take me a couple minutes to reheat it.”
At least all her work was worth it. Ki’san certainly had color back in his cheeks now, his eyes cast downward as he smoothed the blankets. “I am hungry.”
“And it’s okay if you eat? I mean, it won’t—” She glanced at his ribs, at the newly healed flesh. “It won’t mess anything up, right?”
“It is okay.”
“Well, good, because I actually have an appetite for once.” She smiled. “I’ll run down and bring some supper up for us.”
The shadows of the room were lengthening when Tara finally settled back, sated, in her chair to watch Ki’san scraping the plate for the last of his turtle pie. She’d gotten a single slice of the Shepherd’s pie and one of the chocolate-caramel dessert. He’d rumbled in appreciation for their dinner but, from the look of wonder and delight, his world didn’t have anything like caramel and chocolate.
He liked the lemonade too, but the glasses, like the silverware, seemed too small for his hands.
There’s got to be something downstairs that would be easier for him to use.
“There is—” Only then did he seem to notice the empty tin. “No more?”
“No more.” She gave him an understanding smile. “I might not like the dollar signs in her eyes, but Dolly makes a damn good pie.” Tara stood and took his plate. “Do you want me to go get you something else? Hannah’s filled the kitchen to bursting.”
“No.” But he gave the empty pie tin a regretful look. “I thank you.”
She picked up his plate and then, using one of the breakfast trays, took the lot downstairs to the kitchen. She tossed the aluminum tin in the trash, then loaded the rest into the dishwasher and started it.
Ki’san smiled at her when she returned with the glass tankard she’d found. As soon as she handed it over he drank down half the ice water.
“I must have done okay,” she said. “It looks like the bruising is all gone. How are you feeling?”
“Better.” He set the tankard on the bedside table next to him. “I think tomorrow, well.”
The last rays of day were fading, turning the sky fiery orange, the distant mountains a rich, hazy cobalt.
“Ki’san, when your people come for you, how will you know? Will they come looking or—?”
“I will go,” he indicated the pack, “when they call to me.”
“When . . . do you know how long before they come?”
“We have not called to them. They will wonder why. When they have had no call long enough and we have not returned, they will come. A few days and they will come.”
“Just a few days? And you’ll have to leave as soon as they do?”
“Yes, have to.” He offered a rueful smile. “I wish, could see more of your Earth.”
“I wish I could show it to you. Take you to town, to New York, to Paris, Jaipur . . .”
“That would take many days, I think.”
A lot more time than we have.
The sun had slipped behind the mountains, the last rays pink and fading.
“You are not here long. This house—” He indicated their surroundings. “Has not much of your scent.”
“No, I guess it wouldn’t.” Funny to think of someone who had could know so much just by smell. “I haven’t been to Heatherbell since—I guess not since I was sixteen. My father—his doctors thought his issues might be stress-related since he never took vacations. He brought us here—me and my brother Brice—but both of them were happy to go home.”
“But you were not.”
“When we arrived here we were three people with the same Manhattan address, living separate lives. Brice had school, my father had his businesses and I—well, I hadn’t been home much that year. But here . . . Papa took us to Dolly’s for pie, we tried our hand at fishing, took turns jumping off the floating dock up at the lake. We played board games and ate dinner in the conservatory to watch the sunset. We had inside jokes. We were a family. I thought it might be the same when we got back to New York . . . but it wasn’t. Papa worked eighteen-hour days again, Brice was busy with friends and lacrosse, and I—” She shook her head. “Anyway, that was the last time we were all here together. Then Papa was gone and Brice was off to Princeton.”
“Newyork,” he rumbled. “That is your home?”
Tara smiled at the way he ran the words together. “It’s where I’ve spent most of my time. But if home is a place of family, of happy memories, then this is it.”
“Thank you.” His bright gaze held hers. “For sharing your home.”
“I just wish you weren’t stuck behind closed doors like this. Maybe tomorrow—” Tara quickly covered a yawn then gave a self-conscious laugh. “Sorry. I think it’s all the fresh mountain air.”
He gave a faint smile. “I too am tired.”
“Right.” Tara stood. “So Hannah has the green suite, the gentleman’s suite, all set. You know, the one with all the hunting paintings that you liked?”
“You like I sleep there, Tara?” He searched her eyes. “Not here?”
“Well you shouldn’t be walking around, but I could—it doesn’t matter to me either way.” She gave an awkward shrug. “I just want you to be comfortable.”
“This is comfortable to sleep. I am comfortable here. Were you not last night?”
“Sure, I mean if you don’t mind me staying. . .”
“You are nervous.” A tiny frown touched his brow. “Do you fear the other female will discover me?”
“No! I—Actually I already texted Hannah. Told her that I’m feeling worn out, and I’m planning to make it an early night. I also asked her to let me know before she or William came up to the house, just to make sure I’m up and dressed.”
“Then you will sleep here?”
What’s wrong with me? He has a wife, or whatever his people have anyway. It’s not like he and I would ever—
“Sure.” She backed toward the bathroom. “Why not, right?”
Tara took her time brushing her teeth, combing her hair. She lingered so long she thought he’d be asleep by the time she worked up the nerve to come out.
He wasn’t. He was looking toward the windows, toward the night sky, with that far-away look in his eyes, but he stirred when he saw her. She flashed him a shy smile and scurried around, checking to make sure the doors from the hall were locked, shutting off the lights as she went.
She kept her eyes down as she got into bed beside him.
“All right, Tara?”
“Yes.” She realized she was clutching the bedcovers to her chest and she eased her grasp, letting the covers settle, folding her hands on her lap. “I’m fine.”
His mouth curved and she noticed something for the first time.
“Your beard doesn’t grow?” she asked. “I mean, I don’t even see a five o’clock shadow on you.”
“Beard?”
“Hair on your face. Human men grow hair on their faces.”
“On faces?”
“And throats.”
His expression was so astonished that she laughed and reached out to touch his jaw. “Hair here.” Her fingers tracked up to his cheekbone. “All the way up to here.”
He shut his eyes, pressing his cheek against her palm, rubbing like a cat.
Her heart hammered as his molten gaze met hers.
“You are tired.” He gently took her palm from his cheek. “It is time to sleep.”
“Of course.” Tara’s fingers plucked at the covers. “Humans sleep about eight hours a night, but you were up early. I guess g’hir don’t sleep much?”
“I sleep not so long as you.”
“Here—” She turned and grabbed her tablet and earbuds from the bedside table. “You should probably rest as much as you can, even if you aren’t sleeping. If you wake up early and you need something to do, you can use this. It’s not locked or anything and the wifi is already set up.”
She took a few moments to show him how to use it, but he was already used to technology far more advanced than any iPad.
He was careful as he took it from her. “Thank you.”
“Sure.”
Feeling all knees and elbows, she shut off the light and settled next to him. She lay on her side, facing him, her hand tucked under her pillow as he stretched out beside her. Over the mountains, bright points of light filled the indigo sky.
“Ki’san?”
Pale moonlight spilled through the open curtains, bright enough so she could see him, see the ridges of his forehead, the strong curve of his chin.
“Will you—if your people come for you—you’ll wake me? You won’t leave, not without saying goodbye, will you?”
He regarded her for a long moment, his eyes shimmering gold in the cool light. “I will say goodbye.”