Tyro: Alien Adoption Agency #3 Page 3

  “You know my name now,” she reminded him.

  “I do,” he agreed. “You’ll have wine with dinner, right?”

  “Yes, please,” she said.

  He popped the cork on the bottle and poured slowly into the glasses.

  The stipend she would be paid to tend to the little green orphan was minimal. She braced herself for the idea that this would be the last wine she would taste until she somehow got this ridiculous underwater berry farm turning a profit.

  She wondered how long it would take her to earn the money to buy real land. The lush forest made it seem like an ideal spot for flower farming.

  “Here you go, princess,” Tyro said, leaning over her to place the glass in front of her.

  He smelled like a wood fire.

  Her mind transported her instantly back to her father’s study, where a droid quietly added wood to the stove while her father read out loud to her from the almanac in his deep, gentle voice.

  The scent reminded her of home so suddenly and so fully that she felt a pang in her chest and just managed to bite back a sob.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, going down on one knee in front of her, and placing one of his massive hands on her shoulder.

  A frisson of longing went through her, and she could see his eyes going hazy with lust.

  “What’s happening to me?” she murmured. Hot tears gathered in her eyes.

  Tyro pulled his hand away, as if he had touched a hot iron.

  “Let’s eat,” he said lightly. “Then we can get to know each other better.”

  He straightened and began piling food onto a plate for her before she had a chance to tell him that she didn’t want to know him better.

  But the truth was she did want to know him better, much better than would be proper to say out loud. And that made her angry. And sad. And lonely, too.

  When he placed her meal in front of her, she managed to distract herself from her emotions with the beauty of the colorful feast.

  “I put the vegetables in order of flavor,” he told her. “So start on the left for the more mild stuff, and then you can work your way to the right if you like spicy and bitter foods.”

  He wasn’t the boss of her.

  She stabbed a slice of something green at the far-right side of the plate.

  “Oh no, not that,” he said.

  But she had already shoved it into her mouth.

  The texture was crispy and refreshing.

  But as she chewed, the flavor went swiftly from watery to fiery. One moment she was appreciating the spice, the next, her head was on fire.

  Her expression must have shown her agony. Tyro began to laugh, a deep, rumbly laugh that embraced her, even as she desperately grabbed for her wine.

  “Oh, no, that won’t help,” he told her, hopping up and reaching for something she couldn’t see.

  Her mouth was turning inside out. Even her nose was burning.

  Tyro returned with a cell of the milk meant for baby Atlas.

  She didn’t even protest that she wasn’t a baby, or ask what kind of animal the milk had come from.

  She just took it from him with shaking hands and proceeded to splash half of it all over herself while trying to get it to her mouth.

  “Let me help you, princess,” he laughed and held it to her lips.

  The first drops of sweet milk began to instantly put out the fire in her mouth.

  But that left her to take in the sight of the big green warrior towering above her, holding something to her mouth as he fixed her with those dark eyes.

  What has gotten into you, Phoebe?

  She almost laughed, which caused her to choke a little.

  Instantly, he pulled the cell away from her and knelt in front of her again.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Really, I’m fine.”

  “Why did you eat that whole monster apple?” he asked.

  “Because you told me not to,” she replied honestly.

  “I thought we were friends,” he said, chuckling. “Why not take my advice?”

  “No one tells me what to do,” she said, shrugging.

  “Even when I’m trying to help you have a good time?” he asked.

  Her whole body clenched with need at the thought of a good time with him. But he didn’t appear to have chosen suggestive words on purpose.

  Damn her stupid hormones.

  “Let’s just eat,” she said.

  He nodded and went back to his place.

  She grabbed her fork and went straight for the pale stuff on the far-left side of her plate.

  “Good girl,” he said. “That’s butter pear. It’s everyone’s favorite.”

  It was well named. The sweet, buttery fruit burst with flavor in her mouth. She closed her eyes to enjoy it, moaning in relief.

  When she opened them, he was staring at her, his jaw clenched.

  “That’s really good,” she said, wondering why he looked half-angry. “Can you grow it underwater?”

  “Sadly, no,” he told her. “And the soil near the lake is too rocky. These are grown up on the ridge.”

  She nodded and tried the next item on the left. It was red and a little mushy.

  The flavor reminded her of the spiced beverage one of the droids from the inner ring used to prepare for her father.

  “Do you like it?” Tyro asked.

  “It reminds me of inner ring tea,” she told him.

  “Interesting,” he said. “Most Terrans say it reminds them of sweet potatoes. That’s called caroote. It’s a root vegetable, but we always sprinkle it with cinnamon.”

  They continued their meal, with Tyro explaining the names and origins of the various foods.

  Most of them were delicious. Phoebe had always been an adventurous eater, and even the most bitter and spicy choices were fun to try.

  When they were finished with the produce, he brought out two thick slices of something that looked a lot like cake.

  “What is this?” she asked, waiting for another exotic explanation.

  “Cake,” he told her, confirming her more mundane suspicions. “Made from nut flour, burden moose butter, and honey, with a butter pear glaze.”

  The first bite was pure heaven.

  “Is this how everyone on this moon eats?” she asked, trying to pace herself and savor the treat.

  “Not every day,” he laughed. “This meal was to introduce you to all the flavors of Clotho. But it was expensive.”

  “How expensive?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t spent her whole food budget in one night.

  “It was my treat,” he told her. “So don’t worry about it. And we can get a lot of these things at the weekly farmer’s market for less if you like them. It’s more expensive in the shops.”

  She nodded. The same was true of the open flower market on Terra 212.

  “Let me get these,” he said, picking up his plate and reaching for hers.

  “No,” she said, resigned. “You’re here for Atlas, not for me. I’ll clean up my own dish.”

  He blinked in surprise and she was pretty sure he was going to say something to tease her. She hopped up with her plate and the tray before he had the chance.

  When she reached the kitchen sink, she looked around in confusion.

  The droids took care of all her needs back home, except when she was on an all-night reading streak, and got up in the wee hours for a glass of wine.

  The kitchen at home had a ready-hot for tea, a compactor for garbage and a compost funnel so that unwanted food stuffs could be used as fertilizer for the flowers. They had a pretty turquoise washer unit with shelves to place soiled dishes on for cleaning.

  This kitchen was just a sink, a stovetop, and a bunch of cupboards.

  The only thing that was even remotely familiar was the small camellia plant that she’d place in a pot near the window. It looked about as wilted as she felt.

  She looked around, wondering what she was supposed to do.
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  “How about you watch me this time and help me next time?” Tyro’s deep voice said from right behind her.

  She turned to him.

  He was standing close, so close that she could feel the heat pouring off him.

  The Invicta were dragon warriors - everyone knew that. But she had never thought about what that meant.

  The man in front of her wasn’t really a man, beneath the scant armor and bristling muscles lurked a fire-breathing beast.

  And she found the idea excited her.

  “Here,” he murmured, as if he too were under the strange spell.

  He took the plates from her, and put his arms around her to turn on the taps of the sink.

  She spun around in the cage of his arms to see what he was doing with the dishes.

  He ran his hand in front of the sensor to release a cascade of bubbles, then slowly dragged a sponge over the surface of her plate, covering it in delicate foam before plunging it into the warm water.

  She kept expecting him to shatter the delicate dishes. But his big hands were surprisingly gentle.

  “Now you do mine,” he murmured.

  His hot whisper left her weak-kneed enough that suddenly she didn’t mind doing a droid’s job. She was determined to do it well enough to please him.

  She released the soap bubbles onto the plate and drifted the sponge over it. But she could still see residue on the surface.

  “Harder,” he whispered. “Like this.”

  The next thing she knew, his big hands were wrapping around hers.

  He was so warm, and he still smelled of the wood fire and the wind.

  His whole body was wrapped around hers now, she could feel his warmth everywhere, the hard planes of his chest against her shoulder blades, the stiff length of him pressed to her posterior, evidence that she wasn’t alone in this ocean of desire.

  She forgot where she was, allowing his hands to guide hers through the warm, soapy water as she lost herself in his embrace.

  “There,” he said at last, the clink of the plate on the counter signaling that it was over.

  She spun around in his arms and gazed up into his beautiful, dark eyes.

  “Phoebe.” He said her name like a prayer.

  She placed her open palms on his chest, relishing the light sizzle of electricity that moved between them at this touch.

  “Gods, woman,” he groaned.

  But instead of wrapping his arms around her and bending to kiss her, he effortlessly trapped her wrists in one big hand, pulling them from his chest.

  She heard the whimpering sound in her throat before she realized she was going to make it. Her cheeks were hot with shame.

  She had misread the situation and thrown herself at a man who was here to guard a baby, not to seduce its thoughtless new mother.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking away from him.

  “No,” he murmured, cupping her cheek in his hand, guiding her to look up at him once more. “Everything you are feeling is right. I feel it too. I only want to be sure you understand it.”

  “What is there to understand?” she asked. “I’m a woman, you’re a man, and we are both young and healthy. My father explained all of it to me when I was a child.”

  He blinked at her in surprise.

  “What?” she asked.

  “So you think that every man and woman feel what we’re feeling right now?” he asked.

  She shrugged.

  “Is this what it’s been like for you with other men?” he asked.

  “There haven’t been any other men,” she said lightly, hoping he wasn’t going to make a thing out of it.

  He sucked in a breath, and when she looked up at him again, she could see the tension in his jaw.

  “Good,” he said. “I’m glad. How much do you know about dragon shifters?”

  “You’re dangerous, but disciplined,” she said, “and bigger than average men, even in humanoid form. You’re protective, and have hot tempers.”

  “Do you know about the mate bond?” he asked.

  Oh.

  “Not really,” she admitted.

  She knew there were plenty of races and cultures in the stars who had fated mates, mate bonds, and even the opposite - mates who destroyed each other or died after joining.

  Intending to stay single, she had never paid much attention to these stories. She wondered what he needed to tell her that was so important.

  But the pull of his body was so great that she wondered if she would be able to resist, even if he told her he would have to cook her and eat her afterward.

  He was holding her hands gently now, no longer cuffing her wrists. That would make it easier to escape, if she could convince herself to try.

  “Dragons mate for life,” he told her simply.

  She wasn’t expecting that.

  He gazed down at her, as if waiting for a response.

  “Oh,” she said stupidly.

  “What that means, princess,” he told her, “is that if we act on our desire, you’ll be mine forever.”

  “F-forever?”

  “It will be my honor to guard you from harm, care for you and our young, and pleasure you in every possible way, for the rest of your life,” he explained, reaching out to stroke her cheek.

  His big hand was featherlight against her sensitive skin.

  Phoebe felt light-headed with desire.

  This isn’t what I want.

  I want my independence.

  I want to answer to no one.

  But all her life mottos just sounded like a bunch of words in random order to her now.

  The only thing she wanted was to lay claim to this man.

  “I will not claim you tonight,” he told her, letting go of her hands. “Get some rest and we can talk about it in the morning.”

  She was left bereft and speechless as he broke contact, grabbed his pack, and headed out the door of the yurt, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  As if on cue, the baby began to wail.

  “Wait,” she said softly, a moment too late for him to hear.

  6

  Phoebe

  Phoebe stood in the center of the yurt, holding the baby for the first time.

  He was surprisingly heavy. She hadn’t anticipated that part.

  At first, he had felt about right for a baby, but the longer she held him, the heavier he seemed to get. She wondered if it was something about him being Imberian, like maybe they had the ability to change their mass. If so, Tyro hadn’t warned her.

  At least the baby had stopped crying when she picked him up, which was encouraging. Now he was eyeing her suspiciously, hiccuping and sniffling instead of wailing.

  “What do you want?” she asked him, in a friendly way.

  But he didn’t answer. Which checked out. He was a baby after all.

  “There are cells of milk in the ice box,” she remembered out loud.

  She shifted the boulder of a baby into the crook of her left arm. He got a stormy look on his face, but he didn’t cry.

  “Good,” she told him. “You’re okay. We’re going to find you some dinner. I was grumpy before mine, too.”

  She headed to the kitchen to get his milk.

  The cell in the icebox was very cold.

  She was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to serve it to him that way.

  But now that Tyro was gone and her hormones were cooling off, she didn’t want to drag him back in here to help her.

  No. It would be better to figure this out on her own.

  “How would I warm up milk?” she wondered out loud.

  The stove top couldn’t be that hard to use.

  She grabbed a pan and filled it with water, then placed the milk cell in the water. This was how she had seen the droids heat up the clay for her art projects back at home.

  The stove top turned on with her first try.

  The only thing was to get the milk warm but not hot enough to burn the baby’s mouth.

  He began to c
ry again, as if at the idea.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out,” she told him firmly as he banged his head on her shoulder. “There’s no need to head butt me. I’m trying to do you a favor here.”

  The water on the stove top began bubbling slightly.

  “Crap,” she said, turning off the heat.

  She paced the floors with the crying baby, waiting for the water to cool a little.

  At last she could plunge her hand into the water to retrieve the cell.

  It was warm to the touch, so she put it back in the ice box, hoping to cool it down faster that way.

  Suddenly, the baby went quiet.

  She could feel his little body tightening as if he were preparing to make a run for it.

  Then he relaxed.

  Thank God…

  She caught a whiff of something awful in the air.

  Terrified that it was spoiled milk, she opened the ice box.

  But the milk smelled sweet and fine, though it was still a little too warm to feed to the baby.

  The bad smell in the air, however, was only growing stronger.

  “Rings of Saturn, did you poop?” she asked Atlas.

  He laughed at her.

  Good Lord, what was she supposed to do now?

  There were no droids, no servants, no one but Tyro. And she couldn’t go out there and face him again. She just couldn’t.

  Phoebe struggled to remember anything from the brief instructions the agency had given them. But she had never really considered that she might be the one performing those duties, so she honestly hadn’t been paying much attention. Their insistence on making all the prospective mothers sit through those dreadful presentations made much more sense to her now.

  There was a bag component to the baby’s cradle. Maybe there would be something in there to help.

  Wrinkling her nose against the worsening smell, she knelt to open the bag.

  After the better part of an hour, and more effort than she would have thought possible, Phoebe was exhausted but triumphant.

  Sure, removing the baby’s soiled undergarment had left both of them disgusting.

  And yes, she had left the milk in the ice box too long and had to rewarm it.

  And while she was doing that, the baby had peed on her, since she had not put more garments on him.