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Rafe woke in the dark on the couch, his back vacillating between burning and itching. His skin felt two sizes too small, as though any motion might cause the whole to split with a tear and expose the muscle beneath. Not that he was in a particular hurry to move. The soft, warm weight curled in the center of his chest pinned him in place more effectively than if it had been a dwarf star.
With the lights off, he could barely see the blurry outline of the young umbra wolf. Years of experience told him that JJ slept with his tail wrapped around the front of his face. He didn’t need to see the creature to know the posture—Actaeon had slept the same way when he felt at ease.
The crossing from the kennel had been impossibly dark—what little light was visible on the house was swallowed up by the dust, and even though he had reasonably decent night vision he’d seen no sign of Nafisi at the other end of the rope. Only her commands, shouted above the din of the wind, and the tension on the line told him she was there.
The noise. That’s what had awakened him. The wind was still outside, still bad, but not nearly as loud as it had been. The storm might actually be dying down. Only a dozen hours or so—shorter than the dire warning his host had pronounced.
At the thought of Nafisi his mind churned. A bundle of contradictions, she’d clearly barely wanted him in her house, and yet last night she’d offered to let him have the bed while she took the couch. She looked relieved when he’d declined, but even the offer felt generous.
Frankly, given some of the places he’d racked over the years of his service, a soft couch was practically a luxury, despite his legs hanging off the end almost to the knee. Part of him wanted to repay her kindness, even if it hadn’t been intentional. He just couldn’t decide if he thought it might make her happy, or because it might piss her off—though by God and Wolf, when anger flashed in the dark depths of her eyes...
He pushed the thought away. Regardless of what his rangers had been going through, and Fireteam Bravo in particular, he wasn’t some slick-sleeved recruit to lose his head over a woman. Especially since he’d never be able to give the emotional commitment a woman like Nafisi deserved.
He rolled his eyes and snorted. Never mind, maybe he was acting like a recruit after all.
The sound made JJ shift, and Rafe carefully stroked his fingers along the wolf’s back to relax him. JJ stretched and twisted, trying to make himself longer thus require even more petting. It wasn’t the wolfbond—he accepted that would never happen again—but the peace of comforting the tiny pup felt almost as good.
In the middle of the night, the pup had begun crying, confused and scared by the noise of the storm. Not sure what else to do, and not wanting to wake Nafisi, he had cuddled the wolf on his chest until it fell back asleep.
She deserved thanks for that too.
He sat up, carefully scooping JJ up in the process, and deposited him on the cushion next to him. The backs of his fingers continued to stroke from between the tiny pointed ears all the way down to the fluffy tail tip. Rafe heard more than saw the puppy yawn as it settled back in against the side of his leg.
He never overslept. Whatever mental timer he’d been gifted with woke him at the same time regardless of his surroundings. So even though no one in the house was up yet, he knew it wouldn’t be too long. He stood and tucked one of his shirts around the tiny wolf. It wouldn't be as comforting without a heartbeat, but at least it would be warm and hopefully smell familiar. Sometimes, he knew, that was all a wolf needed.
He padded into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. The clock on the bio-fabricator confirmed what his internal clock had already told him. 0500 hours. The time he normally got up to start his day.
The cold slate floor in the kitchen was empty enough that he could use it for a workout space, and he took advantage of the quiet house to go through his morning regimen of push-ups, lunges, and sit-ups. Or as much of it as he could. The skin on his back still felt taut, and the stitches pulled uncomfortably during each set of push-ups. Not quite enough to be painful, certainly nothing he couldn't handle.
He finished his water and, on a whim, looked in the chiller unit. A shiver of pleasure radiated down his spine, and his hands itched to look for a pan to put on the old stove. Somehow, Nafisi had a source for what looked like actual hen’s eggs. A package of cured meat sat on top of the carton, still sealed tight. The first inkling of an idea drifted into his head, and he checked her shallow pantry to be certain she had the rest of what he needed. He could use the bio-fabricator to print some milk, probably even something approximating honey. It wouldn’t be a perfect apology for his invasion, but it might just be enough to thank Nafisi for letting him disrupt her routine.
Or maybe she’d be caustic and sarcastic. If he was honest, either result felt like a win.
#
NAFISI WOKE TO THE smell of bacon. She lay in bed and allowed the delicious aroma to recharge her ragged nerves. Breakfast always had been Gener’s specialty, and she’d loved how he had food going by the time she managed to force herself out of bed.
Except Gener had died years ago. That meant someone—and she had a fair idea who—was cooking her sacred, limited supply of bacon. She shoved herself off the mattress and belted her heavy robe around her waist before heading toward the kitchen. There was about to be hell to pay.
She didn't know what she expected to find, but the domestic scene that greeted her wasn’t it. Penzak stood shirtless—why could he never wear a shirt?—in front of the range, flipping eggs in a pan with a graceful turn of his wrist. A moment later, he used a turner to do the same thing with what looked like honest-to-God pancakes. Gener had cooked, but he’d never been particularly good at it. This looked, and smelled, incredible.
The seductive flex and roll of Penzak’s muscular back and shoulders as he worked made for a show in its own right, and she wasn’t above staring. Just to make sure his stitches were healing.
The lie didn’t even sound believable in her head.
Penzak stacked two more pancakes on a plate then covered them with a bowl to keep them warm. Without turning around, he said, "I couldn't find any coffee."
"I'd ask how you noticed—"
One arm came up to point a finger at his head, like a tour guide identifying an artifact. "Soldier. Just because I command a desk nowadays doesn't mean I've lost my sense of awareness." He eased the eggs onto a plate and added three pancakes before offering it to her. "Where’s the coffee?"
She lifted her gaze from his chest to catch him smirking. Stupid, arrogant rangers. It was like he expected her to ogle him, took it as due. Then again, he had plenty to be proud of with that physique. Especially given his age. What had he asked her? Right. Something about coffee. "Normally, I just use the fabber."
"Disgraceful." He wrinkled his nose at the idea. "I've never met a machine that could make it taste like anything more than warm mud."
Neither had she, but actual coffee was expensive. She couldn't grow it in the greenhouse and didn't have roasting equipment even if she had. That meant imports, and she already pushed her personal limits for the bacon and eggs. "It's just as easy since it’s making the rest of my meal at the same time. Clearly you’ve never had that problem though."
He shrugged and started making another set of cakes. “I don’t mind the bio-fabricator. It’s just that I’ve had enough prepackaged meals that I’d rather cook for myself than let a machine print out a tasteless simulation.”
She’d traded taste for simplicity years before. The printers were impressive in their ability to recombine flavoring molecules, water, and yeast-based nutrient paste into something that tasted like a reasonable facsimile of food. Some items came out better than others, pretty much like actual cooking. And besides, it just needed to get her through the day with energy enough to mind the wolves and keep the ranch running. Anything else was unnecessary.
Another whiff of the bacon reminded her that was a lie as well. Apparently, she had plenty to go around this morning.
She set her plate on the island and went to the chiller unit. She grabbed the next bottle of formula to feed the runt. JJ. Since he’d been born, she’d avoided thinking of a name for him, just in case. Once Penzak had mentioned it though, she had a hard time thinking of the wolf pup any other way.
She'd gotten up in the night to relieve herself and spotted the soldier with the tiny pup asleep on his chest. One big hand curled around the blurry body protectively while the wolf made tiny squeaky snores in its sleep. It was the sort of brain-meltingly adorable moment that a viral media campaign could be built around. Even she hadn't been immune. Hell, thinking about it sent warmth rolling through her veins.
In an effort to ward off the feelings, she shoved the bottle in Penzak's direction. “Warm this up. JJ is going to be hungry when he wakes." He took the bottle without a word and started to turn away before guilt got the better of her and she reached out to put a hand on his arm. "And thank you."
His biceps were like warm steel wrapped in supple leather. The blaze of hunger that thrummed low in her belly had nothing to do with breakfast.
He turned, eyes slowly drifting to take in her hand and then following her arm back up toward her face. For a split second, she saw an answering need in his gaze before he got himself under control. It had been...too long, honestly, since another person had looked at her like that. She’d forgotten how intoxicating it could be.
She cleared her throat, licking suddenly dry lips. "I'm sorry I don't have any KnitFast to help with healing. I'll want to examine your stitches later to make sure they’re not infected."
The stitches were fine, she’d seen as much when she walked into the kitchen, but having an excuse to trace the muscles of his back, even in a professional capacity, was too much to resist.
He nodded. "I figured breakfast’s the least I could do, after you fixed me up.” He stepped back and turned his attention to the stovetop. “Is it me, or does it sound like the storm is slowing down?"
"Sounds like it," she agreed. "Then begins the fun of walking the ranch and cleaning up all the mess it left behind. Did I smell bacon?" Her eyes scanned the pans on the stove but only saw cakes and eggs.
Penzak opened the oven and pulled out a tray of bacon, each strip crisp and perfectly flat. "Here you go," he said as he added four strips to her plate. "Now sit and eat before it gets cold."
"Yes, Mom," she responded, but she did as he requested. “Why the oven?"
"See how the bacon lays flat, and the fat didn't burn or cook unevenly?"
"Yes." She took a piece and tried not to groan in ecstasy as she crunched through her first bite.
"That's why." He fixed a plate for himself and set it on the island. "Pan is too unpredictable. You need slow heat from all sides to do bacon right."
Nafisi cut herself a forkful of pancakes, marveling at how fluffy they had come out. A decadent part of her genuinely wanted to get used to this. Gener had been an okay cook, but despite the simple fair, Penzak’s meal bordered on incredible. Still, it wasn’t like he’d be staying. She swallowed another bite. "I assume once the storm has let up, you'll finally be out of my hair?"
"Triptych could still be coming.” He pulled out a stool for himself and sat. Occasional stabs of his fork punctuated his words as he ate. “If not now, then soon. I want to set up some communications relays that might be able to overcome the issue with Secundus's magnetosphere. Then when I’m not here, you can contact the constellation.”
It took her a moment to remember constellation was the word space forces used to describe a cluster of ships. She nodded as though she hadn’t been confused.
“And I wouldn't hate a chance to upgrade your perimeter alerts,” he continued. “If they can detect the storm, they should be able to identify when someone is sneaking around out there just as easily." He chewed and swallowed thoughtfully. “Then I’ll at least feel like you have a fighting chance.”
She hated the way her pulse perked up at the idea of him not leaving just yet. She didn't have room for anyone else in her life. Especially not a ranger. And extra especially not this ranger. Although, she thought as she took another bite of the pancakes, even the bitter, jaded part of her wouldn't hate more fresh meals like this one. "Fine. Then you're in charge of dinner."