Page 46 of Tiger's Destiny
I wrapped my fingers around his hands and with a tremendous effort stepped back.
Taking my rejection in stride, he teased, “Maybe I should’ve brought more mistletoe instead.”
I turned my back to him and bustled about efficiently as if my every nerve wasn’t focused on the mesmerizing man watching me.
“Why didn’t you then?” I asked nonchalantly.
He shrugged and rested his body against the bulkhead. “I didn’t want to give Kishan any more motivation.”
“Oh.” I picked up the Fruit and began asking for dishes. The Fruit became warm and shimmered like a disco ball as it made platter after platter. Steam rose from each, and the smells of the familiar foods wafted through the air.
Coolly, I smiled and said, “Merry Christmas, Ren. Thank you for the poem and music box.” I made no mention of the rest of his note and didn’t respond to the heartfelt words given to me along with the bunch of lilacs. Instead I pretended as if I weren’t guiltily holding onto them, clutching them fervently to my fast-beating heart. Breezily, I said, “I totally forgot to get you a present, so I’m making you my grandma’s famous Christmas brunch instead. Are you hungry?”
He folded his arms across his chest, and stared back with an intensity that threatened to swallow me whole. “Yes,” he answered quietly.
I cleared my throat awkwardly and fluttered my hands toward the breakfast nook. “Well, take a seat then, and you can get started. Kishan’s still sleeping.”
Ren grunted but sat down. I handed him a linen napkin and silverware and, when he reached out to take them, his hand cupped mine for just a fraction longer than was necessary. I spun around quickly and began dishing large helpings from each platter onto his plate: biscuits slathered in sausage gravy, cheesy eggs, fried potatoes with onions and peppers, thick-sliced bacon, buttery baked cinnamon apples, and Grandma’s homemade hot chocolate with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, chocolate sprinkles, a peppermint stick, and a cherry.
I served myself and took the seat across from him. He tasted a little of each dish and then picked up the cocoa.
“Is this breakfast a tradition in your family?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Every year Grandma would sleep over on Christmas Eve. The next morning she would be up before everyone else making biscuits from scratch. I’d usually wake up just after she did and stir the gravy for her while she sliced potatoes and onions. Her cocoa was a special treat that evolved over time. I added the chocolate sprinkles, Dad added the peppermint, and Mom added the cherry. We usually waited until after breakfast was all cleaned up before we opened presents.”
“When was the last time you ate this breakfast?”
“Just before my parents died. I took over making the eggs and potatoes, and Mom took over the biscuits. We used to talk about Grandma while we worked. My foster family wouldn’t have liked this breakfast. Too many carbs. Even when they have cocoa at Christmas, it’s diet and without whipped cream.”
Ren reached across the table and took my hand. “It’s important to keep our family traditions alive. It helps us remember who we are and where we came from.”
“What about your grandmother?”
“She died when I was young, but I had a great-aunt who spent a lot of time with us. She was like a grandmother in many ways.”
“Kells, I hope you saved me some breakfast!” Kishan bound into the room, planted a loud kiss on the top of my head, and picked up a plate.
Ren let go of my hand, moved, and lifted his eyes to mine. “Her name was Saachi.”
I sucked in a quick breath. “Oh.”
Kishan looked from me to Ren then cleared his throat noisily. “Kells, I’m going to die if I don’t get something to eat. Please make it in vast quantities if you don’t mind.”
I stood up abruptly, stumbled to the counter, and began mindlessly filling Kishan’s plate.
After the somewhat awkward meal, it was time to start our last quest. I slid Fanindra onto my arm and hopped into the tiny motorboat. Kishan steered us smoothly across the water and then leapt onto the crumbly black surface of the lava path. Ren dragged the boat onshore, and I set foot on Barren Island.
14
phoenix
With Kishan holding my hand, we began carefully picking our way across the scarred alien terrain, Durga’s weapons at the ready. We had brought all of the goddess’s gifts, and it felt good to have the bow and arrows slung across my back again, especially since unbidden dark thoughts teased the edges of my mind. I imagined bristling beasts and feral creatures with jagged teeth lurking in the shadows of the mangled mangrove trees stripped of green and stretching leprous limbs that snagged at our clothing; their rooty claws made our progress difficult.
Our feet sank into the ash as if it were carbon snow, and the air felt heavy, hot, and menacing. Nervously, I mumbled as we moved through the frightening landscape. “Did . . . did I ever tell you about Mt. Vesuvius?”
Kishan shook his head but kept his eyes forward.
“It was a stratovolcano just like this one. It wiped out two cities. Most of the people were killed instantly, but some slowly suffocated under layers of ash. They’ve found intact skeletons. One was a pregnant woman who was lying on her bed; the skeleton of the fetus was still inside her. She was surrounded by others who were most likely her family members watching over her.”
