“I’ll come back for her,” he growled. “She’ll be fine within the fencing. I want you inside first.”
“Oh,” I said weakly.
When was the last time someone had put me first?
I… I couldn’t remember.
Couldn’t name a single time.
How fucking depressing.
We passed through another gate. Zohro left this one open, and I saw Wyn follow us through it. She ambled towards what looked to be stables. There was a large barn, too. And a tidy little lumber house ahead.
Zohro made no move to put me down. Normally, I’d be telling him that I could walk myself. But after that mad dash in my current condition, I didn’t exactly trust the state of my ligaments and joints. So I just let him carry me, taking a moment to close my eyes and mentally check in with Baby Girl after all that frantic jostling in the saddle. I wasn’t feeling any cramping or sharp pain. And Baby Girl was kicking and rolling, as if with delight at the ride.
That’s my girl.
Zohro didn’t even have to put me down on the wooden porch to get the door open. That tail of his was pretty nifty, opening the door for us as easily as he’d unlatched the gate mid-ride.
“That must be useful,” I said when he finally did set me down on my feet just inside the door. I was already picturing how such an appendage would have come in handy for me working on a ranch all my life.
Zohro moved away from me without reply. A moment later, soft light flared to life, candles illuminating the space. We’d come through the door into a small sitting room, with a fireplace, a wooden chair with a blanket on it, and shelves upon shelves of…
“Are those books?!”
I’d never seen so many printed books in one place, except for my occasional shopping trips which involved peeking into the window of the expensive Old-Earth-style bookshop on Terratribe II. Actual bound books like this were considered collector’s items. They took up lots of space and cost even more money. Almost nobody read them that way anymore. People just loaded up files on their comms tablets.
The wall behind the chair was dominated by the books, shelves from ceiling to floor. And yet, somehow it didn’t look cluttered. Though the shelves were stuffed, they appeared neatly arranged. I couldn’t read the spines of any of them. I crossed theroom to them, reaching to touch one before quickly withdrawing my hand.
“Yes,” Zohro said from behind me. “Medical textbooks. I was a surgeon before I came here.”
“Before you came here?” He’d handled his shuldu like he’d been riding all his life. I’d assumed he’d been born here. But he’d come here as an adult? Like… a second career?
I turned around to ask him some of those questions, but felt them fly out of my head at the sight of him in the light.
“You’re… You’re pink!” I said, startled and shyly pleased by that fact. Zohro’s skin was pink as strawberry lemonade, pink as sunrise, pink as my favourite fucking colour, though I’d spent most of my life pretending that it wasn’t.
“So are you,” Zohro said, his eyes coasting over my face. I pressed my palms to my freckled cheeks – hot and flushed. It wasn’t even that warm in here. Though I had my jacket on still, the fireplace wasn’t lit. Only the candles were, and what looked to be a small, portable lamp on the counter in the next room, which was a small kitchen.
Nope, my pink cheeks weren’t from the heat. They were from proximity to the absolute gorgeousness that was Zohro. I’d thought him beautiful when he rode to me before, a mere shadow on his shuldu. Now I knew he was. He was all lean muscle, long lines, and relentlessly elegant angles – hard jaw, high cheekbones – wrapped in a pretty pink package. His hair was windswept and a little tangled from the evening, but was still glossy and long, falling in dark strands halfway down his back. At first glance those strands appeared black, but the glow of the lamp and candlelight revealed a subtle, inky purple sheen. His eyes glowed like tiny moons, little light sources of their own, which was absolutely fascinating to me.
When my gaze lingered on his eyes, Zohro seemed to sense it. Maybe he didn’t like it. He scowled, closed his eyes –noeyelashes!– and when he opened them again, the were another colour entirely. A deep magenta with a brighter bolt of fuchsia in the centre.
“How did you do that?” I asked on a hushed inhale. “Change the colour of your eyes?”
“I mastered myself,” he grated cryptically.
Uh. OK…
“Now I must deal with this.” He gestured sharply to himself, as if “this” was something he didn’t want to be dealing with at all. I couldn’t figure out why, until I zeroed in on his chest and realized the dark lines there weren’t all hair that had fallen in front of his shoulder. Gasping, I moved to him and pushed all his hair behind his back, revealing ragged black gashes along his left pectoral leading up to his shoulder.
“You’re hurt!” I cried.Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course he didn’t come away from that bull encounter unscathed! He didn’t have any sort of protective equipment on!
The antlers must have dragged across his chest and ripped him open. Luckily, they didn’t appear super deep, and they’d stopped bleeding. But still!
“And your chin!” I exclaimed, noting the scraped skin there. “Your poor little chin!”
“Yes, well,” Zohro said tightly, “I was more concerned about my poor little human in that moment.”
