Page 40 of Sanctuary and Spices

First, the food. I’d planned this meal in my head a dozen times, traditional dishes from home updated with local ingredients. The complex spice blend for the root vegetablesneeded to steep. My hands moved through familiar motions as I combined aromatics with crystal-charged water.

Hours passed in careful preparation. The fermented grain cakes needed precise timing. The sauce for the braised greens had to reduce slowly to develop proper depth. Each dish carried memories of home, reworked through years of travel.

Would she like them? Human tastes differed from Devaali. Perhaps I should have stuck to more familiar flavors...

A knock as the light cycle dimmed interrupted my spiraling thoughts. I opened the door to find Jani in a simple dress that made my markings flare bright.

“Come in.” I stepped back, gesturing to the living area. “Would you like wine?”

“Please.” She moved through the space, taking in details. “Your plants are beautiful.”

“They like the evening light here.” I poured two glasses of crystal-aged wine. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” She accepted the glass. “Something smells amazing.”

I led her to the small dining area where I’d laid out an array of small plates. “Traditional Devaali dishes, though I had to adapt some ingredients.”

“Tell me about them?” She settled into a chair as I began plating.

“These are fermented grain cakes with herb paste.” I placed the first dish before her. “And here, root vegetables in spiced broth.”

“The festival menu is going to be incredible,” she said, sampling a grain cake. Her eyes widened. “Oh! The textures...”

“You’re not worried about the crowds?”

She shook her head. “I thought I would be. But lately...” Her hand covered mine where it rested on the table. “Everything feels right here. With you.”

My markings blazed at her touch. She rose slightly, leaning across the table until her lips met mine.

Light bloomed between us as I pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Her fingers traced my markings, drawing patterns of fire across my skin. I groaned into her mouth.

“The food will get cold,” I managed.

“Don’t care.” She stood, drawing me up with her. “Show me your bedroom?”

I slid the panels open, backing her through. My hands found the zipper of her dress as she worked at my shirt buttons. Each newly revealed inch of skin demanded to be kissed.

Her dress pooled at her feet. I traced reverent fingers down her arms, across her stomach. My markings painted swirling light over her skin.

“Beautiful,” she breathed, hands mapping my chest. When she found a particularly sensitive marking, I shuddered.

“Do that again.”

She did, adding lips and tongue to the exploration until I was trembling. I caught her hands, needing to touch her properly.

“Let me...”

She nodded, and I laid her back on the bed. Started at her collarbones, kissing my way down. Found all the places that made her gasp and arch. Learned the taste of her skin, the sounds she made when I swirled the rosy nubs of her breasts with my tongue, stroked the softness of her hips.

I trailed kisses down her smooth skin, mapping every curve and hollow. My markings pulsed in time with her gasps, painting swirls of light across her body. Her hands tangled in my hair as I explored lower, tasting the salt of her skin.

“Ronhar...” The way she said my name—soft, breathless, and edged with need—sent a surge of heat rushing through me.

I lifted my gaze to hers, and the sight stole what little air I had left. Her skin was flushed, glistening faintly, her dark eyesheavy and full of unspoken desire that made my chest ache. She was utterly captivating, breathtaking in a way that struck me to my core. Mine. The thought burned through me, fierce and undeniable.

“You’re trembling,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the side of my jaw. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent sparks racing down my spine.

“Because of you,” I admitted, my voice rough and unsteady. “Always you.”

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