Chapter 11

Mene:

His mate prepared the evening meal. His son did his schoolwork. The aromas of the cooking meal almost outshone his mate's natural scent. Almost. Mene never thought he'd walk into such a domestic picture. He never expected how the sight would fill him with joy. Such domesticity wasn't for him, he had told himself for years. His position as Enforcer kept him far too busy. Yet here he was, a newly-minted family male.

"Can you help me with my homework?" Michael sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging on the chair.

"Sure, honey," Rosemary said, wiping her hands clean on a towel.

"Not you. Mene."

Mene paused in the doorway. "Are you sure?"

"There's a thing coming up. The, um, anwynhil. Nals said I could ask you if I wanted to fall in the mud, but I think he was joking."

Mene huffed. He never liked Nals, not since they were children. They were oil and water. Moreover, Nals always had a smug expression on his face that enticed Mene to punch him.

"What's the an win hill?" Rosemary asked.

"It's a race," Michael said excitedly. Everything made the youth excited, it seemed. "The course changes every year, so no one knows what to expect, not really, but we'll swim a bit in the river and climb over stuff. At the end, you get a tattoo." Michael flexed an arm. "I'm gonna get a hula girl here and make her dance."

"You will do no such thing," Rosemary said. She turned to Mene, "It sounds dangerous."

"Students of the Academy compete in the anwynhil every year. No one has perished in living memory." His mate worried too much.

His words were meant to assuage her fears but had the opposite effect. "What do you mean ‘living memory’? No." She shook her head. "Absolutely not. You're not doing this, Michael."

"Mom, all the other kids are doing it. I'll look like a baby."

"Oh, well then, why don't you jump off a bridge, so no one will think you're a baby?"

"Reven said they jumped off a bridge last year."

"Reven?" Mene asked.

"He's my friend." Michael wrote on his paper. Peering over a shoulder, Mene saw he worked on math problems. "So will you?"

"I said no," Rosemary said before he could answer.

"It is safe," Mene explained.

"Safe like when you took my baby out to hunt giant crabs? Your idea of safe does not jive with my idea. What is the point of this race anyway?"

At that moment Mene knew he had won the argument. His mate only questioned the validity of an activity when she was near defeat. "It teaches independent thinking, problem solving, teamwork, and practical skills such as reading a map."

"And jumping off of bridges."

"They don't do that every year, Mom." Michael rolled his eyes mightily.

"The entire school participates," Mene explained. "The students run a course through the countryside and the staff monitors. Every year, obstacles are added, but the core is a test of endurance and wits."

"Everyone does it?" She frowned. He could see that his mate did not want to draw unwanted attention to her son by excluding him from an activity, but she worried.

"Beginners move together in a herd. They are never far from an instructor."

A timer dinged. "Dinner's ready. Go wash up and then set the table, please," she ordered. Michael shoved his homework into a satchel and dashed off.

"Jumping off a bridge? Are you honestly telling me that's safe?"

Mene gathered her in his arms. She went to him without protest. "The course changes every year, but the geography of the land surrounding the Academy remains the same. The race will often take them to a river. Some students will jump, to save time. It is not required."

"It's spring. Won't the water be cold and fast?"

"Cold, yes." The snowpack in the mountains had not yet melted.

"What happens if he fails?"

"Many students do not complete it their first attempt, but he will gain respect for attempting."

"And if he gets lost or hurt?"

"The route is monitored. He will never be far from help if he needed it." He knew Michael would not. Rosemary underestimated her son, but Mene saw his potential. Michael had the same fearless heart as his mother. He would be a great warrior, even if he was a soft-skinned Terran.

"Did you do this? When you were his age?"

"Yes. Nals had pushed me off the path and into the mud."

She smirked and tried to hide her amusement behind her hand. "And you'll help him prepare?"

"Of course. He will need to learn to read a map and a compass. We will train."

"So I can do it?" Michael bounced on his toes with excitement. "Reven said you'd never let me. He said my mom was afraid of her own shadow."

Rosemary pulled away, eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure if I approve of you hanging around this Reven kid."

"He's cool." Michael moved to set the table with plates and flatware.

"Sounds like he's got a mouth." Rosemary pulled a dish from the oven, the Terran scents of tomatoes and garlic wafting in the air.

"You'll be there for the anwynhil, right, Mene? Everyone's dads are going to be there."

He never thought his heart could be so full that it ached, but a Rovelli proved him wrong again. "I would not miss it for all the stars in the sky."

Rosemary:

"Did you brush your teeth?"

"Yes."

"Use the bathroom and wash your hands?"

"Yes, Mom. I'm not a baby."

"Clearly, you're all grown up. Grab the book you want to read, and I'll meet you in your room."

Michael took off at a run, thumping up the stairs. The boy only had two speeds: asleep or fast-as-possible. Rosemary finished washing the last of the dishes. She might be a newlywed, but housework didn't take a holiday. Switching out laundry and sweeping the kitchen floor also needed to be done before she headed to bed.

Michael rushed back into the kitchen and skidded to a halt, clutching a well-worn book to his chest. "Can Mene read to me tonight?"

Her heart lurched with something she couldn't describe. She had been the only one to read to Michael since he was in his crib. Even when Aunt Hazel would babysit, Michael would ask Rosemary to wake him up for his bedtime story. He had never asked anyone else to read to him. She wasn't sure if this bubble of emotion in her chest was pride or fear of being obsolete.

Mene looked up the tablet he held and accepted the book from Michael. "If you wish. What is this book?"

"It's great! It's about shipwrecks and pirates and treasure."

Rosemary had purchased a set of illustrated classics for Michael as a lark, expecting him to look at the colorful pictures once and never bother with the story. Turns out, her son loved being read to at bedtime. Insisted on it. Stories with pirates and mutiny and sword fights was a bonus.

Mene's brow furrowed. "And you indulge in such violent stories before slumber?"

"Every night."

"It's a story about friendship," Rosemary added for clarification. She didn't need Mene to think she indoctrinated her son violent entertainment every night.

"When we finish with this book, we can read some fairy tales. It's full of witches that eat people. It's great!"

* * *

The first night sharing a bed with Mene was awkward. Second night, technically, but her first night stone-cold sober and aware enough of herself to be ill at ease. Rosemary wore more layers than comfort allowed, and she stayed at the edge of the bed, nearly falling to the floor. Nothing less than a gentleman—gentle-male?—Mene stayed on his side. He made no moves to touch, cuddle or repeat the morning's activities.

Rosemary lay in the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, aware of his body and his heat.

Sleep found her eventually.

She woke in the center of the bed, limbs entangled with her new husband. Her hand was on his horn, again. The one on his head. Not the lower one.

Her other hand was firmly on his ass.

He smirked as she rolled away. "Find what you were looking for?"

"I can't be held accountable for what I do when I'm asleep," she said.

"You would not accept that argument from me." He stretched out on the bed, shirtless, wearing nothing but his tight briefs and a grin.

"Look, as charming as you are, I gotta get Michael ready for school." Rosemary ran a brush through her hair and pulled it back in a quick ponytail before shoving her feet into a pair of slippers. She knocked on Michael's door before opening it and turning on the light. "Rise and shine. Breakfast in ten minutes."

Plumbing rumbled upstairs as she made breakfast. Eggs and toast were on the menu that morning. Water boiled in the kettle for tea, and she just put the butter and jam on the table when Mene entered the room.

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking?" Her spatula poked at the edges of the egg. Nearly ready.

The enormous lilac male muscled his way between her and the stove. He snatched the spatula from her. "You have far too much skin exposed to be engaged in this activity."

Rosemary bent slightly to look down her form, finding seeing nothing wrong with the T-shirt and sleep shorts she wore every morning. In fact, she wore his shirt, which was long enough to be a dress. "What are you talking about?"

"This," he waved the spatula at her. "You have exposed too much skin. It is unsuitable."

"Unsuitable?" One day married and Mene was turning into a control freak. "This is my house. I'll wear what I want to wear. And, for the record, there is nothing wrong my clothes." She wore less in the heat of summer.

"Female," he grounded out.

"Alien," she retorted, genuine anger in her tone.

"Your skin is exposed to the hot oil in the pan. It is unsafe."

"Well, that seems reasonable," she said, voice still angered. "And those eggs are burning. I hope you like them extra crispy, because those are yours."

* * *

Mene thrust the well-worn book of fairy tales at her. "Explain."

"It’s a book," Rosemary answered, head tilted to one side.

"This book advocates cannibalism."

"No. Only witches do that to naughty children."

"In this story, the mother murders the son and feeds him to the father."

"That's not a very popular one." No one read The Juniper Tree.

He flipped through the pages and jabbed at an illustration. "In this story, a giant feasts on the blood and bones of an Englishman."

"But giants are monsters."

"And in this one, a wolf slays the mother's mother and tricks the daughter into feasting on her flesh, then consumes her."

"She strayed from the path in the woods. Bad things happen to girls who don't follow the rules." That lesson had been hammered down in many stories.

He huffed. "In this one, a female who is innocent and her only fault is being more beautiful than her stepmother is murdered and the stepmother consumes her heart. Explain how that is justified."

Rosemary took a moment to pinpoint that story. "Snow White?"

"Is Earth so dangerous that you must indoctrinate your young to the perils of the world in story and parable?"

"Oh, it's not that bad. Don't you have bedtime stories? Myths? Wasn't that what the light festival was about?"

"The Mahdfel have ballads of glorious battle." He lifted his chin as he spoke.

Rosemary nodded. "See. That's violent."

"It is a celebration of tactics and honor, not..." He sputtered, searching for the correct words. "Glorification of cannibalism and wickedness."

She took the book from him and patted the bed. "Worried you're going to get nightmares?"

He folded his arms over his chest. "No. Do not be ridiculous."

"Big fearless warrior is upset at some witches getting shoved in ovens?"

"Do not mock me." His voice rumbled a warning, but Rosemary clapped her hands in delight.

"You are! Oh, that's precious."

“It is your teeth.”

“My what?”

“Terrans have flat, grass-eater teeth.” Mene grinned to demonstrate his own not flat, not grass-eating teeth. “You are not designed to tear into each other’s flesh, yet clearly your stories are thick with such tales.” He settled to his side, head on his arm, and pulled the blanket over him. "I once believed you were fearless. Now I see that Terran young are exposed to fear at an early age to desensitize you."

"If you get frightened, I'm right over here. I'll keep the witches and man-eating giants away." She switched off the lamp, and before she could think better of it, she placed a kiss on the top of his head. "Good night, sugar plum."

"It is not funny. You casually threaten to eat me. You refer to your son as honey bunny. I know that rabbits are consumed on your planet," he grumbled.

"It's weird, but it's folklore. No one eats their kids." Then, because she couldn't help herself, "Anymore."

* * *

"But why hasn't he asked about the tattoo?" Rosemary curled up on the sofa, leaning against a pillow on the armrest.

"For a super genius, he's not really bright," Hazel said, voice coming out of the speaker next to the sofa. "She should just tell him. Rip that bandage off and get it over."

"I dunno. How do you start the conversation about being the dead-not-really-but-actually-lost-in-time first wife?"

The front door slammed open and shut. "Rosemary—"

"Oh, is that the hubby?" Hazel teased.

"Be quiet," Rosemary said. "I'm in here."

Mene entered. "What are you doing?"

"Watching Endless Hope and Suffering with Hazel." She waved a hand toward the screen. She watched the previous day's broadcast over her lunch break with her sister, who also watched on her view screen.

"Hi, Meanie." Hazel's voice sang out from the speaker.

"I am here to ensure that you consume adequate nutrition," Mene said, ignoring the soap opera on the screen.

"I had a sandwich."

His brow shot up. "You had sand?"

"A sandwich. Bread and meat. Together." She mimed holding a sandwich and eating.

"That is not adequate."

"I had two slices of witch, so plenty of protein."

His eyes narrowed as if he suspected she teased him again. "You said there was no sand in a sandwich. You expect me to believe there is witch in it?"

"Fine, I’ll eat an apple, but you better not be trying to make me fat."

"I find your form pleasing as it is." Genuine shock crossed his face, then his eyes narrowed. "You tease me."

Rosemary fell back into the sofa cushions, laughing.

“Is he always trying to feed you?” A new, male, voice came over the speaker.

"Lorran is with you?" Mene asked.

"Yes, I find this program fascinating. It is a real insight into the female mind."

"He just likes looking at the actresses," Hazel said. "But he has his uses. I make him bend over and get the stuff off the floor that I can't reach. This kid is huge, Rosie. Huge."

"When is he due?"

"Not soon enough. I have medical appointments every other day now."

Her lips pressed together. "Is everything okay? You know, with you and the baby?"

"Right as rain. Seeran is just being his overcautious self."

Rosemary twisted on the sofa cushions to face Mene. "What are you doing home so early?"

"It is expected." He opened the climate-controlled storage cabinet and rummaged for lunch.

"Yeah," Hazel chimed in from the speaker. "It's your honeymoon. No one is expecting him to work with a new mate in the house. You're supposed to be busy."

"With what?" she asked and immediately blushed, knowing the answer. They were supposed to be on their honeymoon, after all.

"Oh you sweet summer child," Hazel said with a snicker. "With you. Busy with you."

Face burning with embarrassment, she glanced at Mene. With an apple in hand, he nodded. "That is accurate. Now, disconnect this call, I wish to consume my lunch." His eyes fixed on her as he bit into the apple and juice trickled down his chin. He licked his lips and continued to hold her in his firm gaze. There was little doubt in her mind that when he said consume, he really meant consummate.

Sugar pops. She needed to distract him with something better than an apple. "Let me make you a sandwich. Gotta go, Haze."

"I'm sure you do."

* * *

Steam escaped from the open door of the cleansing room. Mene must be taking a shower. Rosemary had zero intention of peeking, but still caught a glimpse of toned, sculpted purple behind.

Shielding her eyes with a hand, she hustled across the room. A patron in the Tasting Room knocked over a bottle of wine, and now she needed to get a fresh shirt from the dresser. The dresser was nowhere near the cleansing room. Totally innocent. Not that she needed to justify being in her own bedroom in her house. If anything, he needed to apologize for leaving the door open.

Fresh shirt at the ready, Rosemary started to lift the hem of her shirt. She checked in the mirror to make sure she was... Well, alone was the wrong word. Unobserved, perhaps.

Mene stood in the shower, back to her.

He was perfect.

Err, she meant the situation was perfect.

His shoulders flexed and heaved. Rosemary stood mesmerized at the reflecting in the mirror. He couldn't be doing what she thought he was doing.

He planted one hand on the tiled wall and stroked himself. His hips pumped and his ass moved in a very distinct, unmistakable rhythm.

He was jerking off in the shower.

Transfixed, she couldn't take her eyes off him. Water rolled down his back, forming rivulets that glistened under the artificial lighting. What would he do if she joined him? If she knelt at his feet and took his member in her mouth?

Rosemary licked her lips, the taste of soap and masculine musk already on her tongue. He'd taste amazing, she just knew it. Not too salty, not stale, and not bitter. Perfect. She rocked back on her heels, imagining how his member would fill her mouth and her throat. She'd choke on his dick but swallow every inch until her eyes watered and she moaned with the joy it gave her to have him take his pleasure from her mouth.

He slapped at the wall, hand clenched in a fist, and he groaned out her name. He tossed his head back as he climaxed. The hair plastered against his scalp made his horns seem larger and more intimidating. He said her name again, louder with a possessive edge. “Yes, Rosemary. Just like that.”

Gasping, she stepped back and bumped the dresser with her hip. A glass of water wobbled before ultimately tumbling over.

"Sugar," she said and then slapped a hand over her mouth, like it could take back the words.

The water turned off. Mene strode into the room, naked and dripping and so, so delicious, as she mopped up the water with a dirty shirt. "Sorry. I just needed to change shirts. Some clumsy jack off— I mean person, I didn't see you jacking off— spilled wine on me."

She blushed hot enough to burst into flames.

He stood there with his hands on his hips and a grin on his face. On full display, his cock, even soft, was a club. Darker, almost plum in color, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Ridges ran up the side, promising to rub all the right spots.

She forced her eyes up, taking in the extensive tattoos across his shoulders and chest. They glowed with a silvery light.

Stars, he was gorgeous.

“See anything you like?”

“Just my shirt,” she yelled, randomly opening her dresser and grabbing the first thing on top. She raced out of the room and pressed her back against the closed door, panting.

She had no idea how she’d manage the rest of the day with that image in her mind.

Mene

His mate managed to take up the entire sofa. With her head at one end, her feet dangled off the side. After cleaning dinner, she declared that it was movie night. They watched a classic Terran film about an archaeologist searching for a lost relic. Rosemary said there were four films but only the first and third were enjoyable.

The archaeologist was incredible and bordered on the implausible. He spent more time throwing punches than in academic research. Of course, it was a historical piece and did not reflect the current academic environment on Earth. Still, he wondered. "Do scholars steal each other's research? Is that standard practice?"

Michael sat on the floor, hugging a pillow, with his eyes fixed on the screen. "It's just a movie," he said.

"I understand some liberties must be taken for the story, but even if it is only partially accurate, I worry for your planet," Mene said. The fact that Terrans made entertainment out of their scholars said interesting things about their culture, but the scholar was so violent. Many situations could have been remedied with stealth or even incapacitating the foe. Instead, this archaeologist used a gun in a sword fight.

It was dishonorable, yet his mate and son were riveted by the deeds of this scholar.

Mene sat on the floor, next to Michael. Rosemary's foot dangled between them. Her foot bounced to the music during dramatic sequences. It proved a tempting target. He wanted to snatch her foot and press kisses to the turn of her ankle and up his way up her thigh.

He ignored that urge and ignored the dangling foot.

"Yeah, it's just a movie," Rosemary said, nudging his shoulder with her foot. "Relax."

"I will not. It is nonsensical. Why make elaborate traps yet leave a priceless treasure unguarded?" he asked. That, truly, had bothered him the most about the movie. Giant boulders, poison-tipped darts and a pit full of vipers. Ridiculous.

"There were traps," she said.

"Complex traps that should have decayed with age yet somehow remained operational. Why not use that engineering skill and build a box with a lock?"

"And your movies are so perfect? Did we not spend two hours watching a movie about a man in love with a statue?"

"It was a parable."

"I'll tell you what it is, it's two hours of my life I won't get back." She nudged him with her foot again.

With a playful growl, Mene grabbed her by the ankle. Careful not to apply too much pressure, he held her in place while he inspected the bottom of her foot. The skin was thicker on the sole. "What is this?" He stroked the rough skin at the ball of her foot and at the heel.

Rosemary giggled and rolled on the couch, trying to break his grasp. "Stop. I'm ticklish."

"Why is your dermis layer thicker here? Is it damaged?"

"It's a callus." Her laughter continued.

Intrigued, Mene continued to stroke the sole of her foot. "Why do you have those?"

"Because I work for a living, now let go." She kicked, and he released her. She moved to a seated position and tucked her feet under herself.

He moved to sit next to her and slung his arm over her shoulder. She leaned into him and did not protest. Little by little, he was winning his mate.

* * *

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his mate brushed out her wet hair and patiently worked it into a braid. When ready for sleep, she would curl up on her side, placing distance between them. During the night, she would toss and turn. Slowly, she would inch her way towards him. Once she nuzzled her face to his chest and he put an arm over her, did she settle into a true, deep sleep.

Stubborn, his mate's body accepted what her head would not. She desired him. She found peace with him.

He wondered about the males who had damaged her heart in the past. He knew about Michael's sire, Vince. She made brief mention of "other relationships," but those males did not warrant an explanation. Vince must be the one who hurt her.

As if sensing him watching her, she looked over her shoulder. "What?"

"I am admiring you."

"Really, because it's a bit like a hawk watching a field mouse."

He did not know what those were, but he inferred a Terran predator and prey animals.

Her sunshine yellow hair darkened when wet to a dull blonde. He liked the way it gleamed in the light and the sound of the brush made with each stroke. The soaps his mate used had a light floral scent that he now only associated with her. He admired the strength she carried in her back. He admired his mate's courage despite her fear. However, he suspected that same fear made her overly cautious.

He bore his scars on the outside. Hers were hidden away on inside.

Mene took the brush from her and placed her on his lap.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"You do not braid evenly. I will remedy that." He undid the partially finished braid and fanned the damp hair across her shoulders. He leaned in and took a deep breath of that light, floral scent.

Perfection.

His.

"I'm only sleeping. It doesn't have to be perfect." She spoke words of protest, but her tone implied that she wanted to be pampered for a moment. She was a female unused to having someone else care for her.

"Let me do this for you," he said and worked the brush through her hair in long, even strokes. "Tell me about Earth."

"It's mostly water. Green and blue."

"That is not what I mean."

Her back tensed. He continued to work the brush through her hair, letting the rhythm soothe her. "You want to know about the Invasion," she said.

"I want you to tell me about your life experiences. Help me understand you."

She chuffed, almost a laugh. "I see what you're doing. You want me to talk about the Invasion and how scary it was. Then you'll tell me that I'm overprotective because of that. Well, news flash, I already know."

"Then tell me." He divided her hair to work into a braid. Taking the first hank, he pulled it taut but not too tight.

"You have no idea what it's like to be helpless, you know. Even if you have zero weapons and you're down to just your bare hand, you're still... you."

"A warrior."

"A super soldier, yeah. I hate feeling helpless. I was young when the Suhlik came. Too young to pay attention to the news reports. I just know that one day there was no more school. One day soon after that, my father didn't come home from work. Maybe he got caught in a raid and was injured? Maybe he was waiting for us in a safe location? For the longest time we hoped to find him in a refugee camp when it was all over, but we never did. Then there were fires from the raids. Then we had to leave our house. It was chaos and I was completely and totally helpless the entire time."

He worked the braid, keeping his voice soft and calm. "You survived."

"Right, by luck more than anything. And yes, I know I'm always comparing Michael to what happened to me at that age. So I don't want him to get hurt? Big deal. The world is pretty horrible place that hurts people all the time. I'm not a monster for wanting to protect him. And I'm not sorry for trying to spare him the pain and fear that I went through."

He wanted to see her face to better gauge her emotional well-being, but he suspected that facing away from him was the only thing that enabled her to be so candid. "I make no criticism," he said.

She sighed, and her shoulders slumped. "But that's a criticism right there, implying that you could criticize but you're holding your tongue."

"My little prefed, that is not what I intended." He finished off the braid and draped it over her shoulder.

"I know." She turned to take the brush. "What does that mean? Prefed?"

"It is a burrowing insect. They eat wood and destroy buildings. Very invasive and troubling."

She grimaced and stuck out her tongue. He could think of many ways to use that tongue. "Sounds super cute," she said.

"They represent the way you have burrowed into my heart."

A smile flickered across her face. "See, that's sweet but you're still comparing me to what sounds like a termite."

"Do not over think." He stretched out on the bed and motioned for her to join him. With hesitation, she crawled under the blanket with him. He pulled her to him, savoring her light, floral scent and the softness of her curves against him. "Just sleep for now, my prefed."