A Recipe for Love, page 1
Table of Contents
A NineStar Press Publication
A Recipe for Love
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Connect with NineStar Press
A NineStar Press Publication
www.ninestarpress.com
A Recipe for Love
ISBN: 978-1-64890-730-2
© 2024 Elaine White
Cover Art © 2024 Jaycee DeLorenzo
Published in January 2024 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at Contact@ninestarpress.com.
CONTENT WARNING:
This book contains depictions or mentions of a homophobic society, childhood and community illness, historic arranged mating, historic violence and injuries, self-exile and banishment, off-page cheating ex-partner, on-page volunteering at homeless shelter and soup kitchen
A Recipe for Love
Surviving Vihaan, Book 0.5: Prequel
Elaine White
Prologue
In the Beginning…
THE WORLD BEGAN with a shimmer in the air. On one side Earth grew lush and green, and creatures roamed the land: tree-dwellers, mountainous mammoths, ocean-lovers and sabre-toothed tigers. On the other, Vihaan: a large island surrounded by water-dwelling beasts. Regions developed from the landscape, vast swathes of desert land fit for kalou, miles of forests to house m’weko, trees for hutti to hide in and long grass for caly to walk through. Vihaan and Earth co-existed, the shimmer allowing beasts to travel from one land to the other. Though the worlds had different climates, different flora and fauna, they traded food sources and took shelter from harsh seasons.
The Mother―the giver of life to Vihaan―watched Her children in wonder and pride. With no physical form, She could follow Her children between both lands, guiding them to safety and food sources, choosing where to create more lakes, trees and rivers.
The Mother’s magic learned and grew stronger with each passing moon. She gave the doorway sentient thoughts to distinguish predators that ravaged the land from any in need of shelter. The doorway learned how to protect both worlds from the dangers of the other and became Her eyes and mind, protecting Her children.
When the first human stumbled through the doorway to Vihaan, the Mother rejoiced. The man was smart, a keen hunter and eager to explore the new land. While the doorway protected Vihaan, the Mother read the thoughts and emotions of the humans and creatures who passed through Her magic. She could dissect what made a human different to a beast and adapt the magic to benefit Vihaan.
For a time, humans passed unaware through the doorway, treating both worlds as one. With each new generation of hutti, m’weko and caly, the Mother fed the essence of what separated humans from animals into the born creatures of Vihaan to create foame: the two-bodied of Vihaan.
She sought balance within Her kingdom, leaving the kalou to their feline nature and the lower, hotter region of Gheva Tarlou. The heecha were given a human form, living in the mountains of Henima to represent their close spiritual connection to the Mother. The wild beasts of m’weko learned to exchange the body of the wolfish beast for a human-like shape and occupied the edges of forests within the foame kingdom of E’Boolou. The great cats, hutti, were cave- and tree-dwelling creatures who drifted between regions, followed by the patient wild-dog caly who liked open plains, each evolving to share the body of a beast with the form of a human.
Yet the Mother knew there was more to be done. While two bodies in one creature was a worthy evolution from prey to predator, their thoughts and feelings were not the same as the homo sapiens.
The Mother taught Her Vihaans language, developing a culture, setting forth laws and guidance, and gave Earth the Vihaan name of Dnara―meaning ‘the other world’ and ‘safe haven’.
The Mother soon realised humans had grown too fond of the two-bodied of Vihaan. Cross-breeds tainted the species and humans used Vihaan to hide from their natural predators, disrupting the balance of Dnara. Losing control of Her creations angered the Mother, who banished humans from Her lands. To prevent them from defying Her again She gave the doorway the knowledge of how to repel the banished from Vihaan.
As She oversaw Her emerging creations and helped them grow to Her wishes, the doorway sealed itself from Dnara, blocking entry to the humans and beasts who once passed freely. In doing so, the Mother forever separated two halves of what made her Vihaan creatures whole: the original beasts and the humans who made them something more.
While the Mother jealously guarded Her children, the doorway could never forget. Sharing the Mother’s mind and abilities, the doorway remembered the old days when the world was free and Vihaans embraced the joy and freedom of exploration, the wonder of travelling new paths and the safety of seeking shelter in the other world.
While the Mother retreated from Vihaan, content with Her world and all who dwelled within, the doorway would shimmer in the sunlight, a silent calling card for Vihaans willing to risk stepping into the unknown.
For too long the doorway remained a guard and watched as Vihaan lost its way, forgetting the Mother’s teachings, letting discrimination and laws guide their hearts. While Vihaans lost faith in the Mother, the doorway waited with hope, patient and ever vigilant.
One day…long after the Mother had forgotten Dnara existed, and Vihaans began persecuting one another…a brave Vihaan, praying for a better life, followed the shimmer into a new world.
Once again, the doorway could be a safe haven between two worlds.
Chapter One
January 28th
WAYLAN
The crisp morning drove a chill through Waylan’s bones as he stepped away from his car. The heater had broken, rendering the hunk of metal devoid of warmth on one of the coldest mornings of the new year. Winter had been hard, Waylan was inordinately busy with clinics and meetings, and now he couldn’t even rely on his car. The year was already off to a bad start.
Pushing at black-rimmed glasses that framed his blue eyes, Waylan trudged through the two inches of snow that refused to melt and tucked both hands into his jacket pockets. Ten steps and a corner brought him to the main path leading to his makeshift hospital on the outskirts of town. The area was mostly deserted, overrun by run-down buildings, empty businesses and apartment buildings that were too expensive to repair. The streets had become infested by drug addicts and shady criminals because no one cared to rejuvenate the block of four connecting streets.
Like the others who littered the streets during the evening and night, his work was best done in secret. Waylan feared that one day he would return from town to his hospital and discover the streets swarming with police cars or construction crews.
He was at the end of the path, where a sharp right and a jog over an overgrown path led to the main door of his hospital, when the honk of a horn caused his step to falter. Waylan spun and peered through the dull, grey morning at the van parked across the road. He waved and glanced at the street before trudging across the snow-covered road.
The food truck was a sight for sore eyes. As soon as Waylan stopped by the open hatch, Channon stood from where he’d been leaning on the counter to prepare his usual breakfast order. “I didn’t expect you this morning,” he admitted as Channon hated the cold and snow. He usually hibernated during the winter, sticking to enclosed town and city streets.
Channon grunted, his usual non-answer, and put the finishing touches on a hot breakfast roll. Waylan didn’t argue or comment, focused on fishing coins from his jacket pocket to check he wouldn’t need to return to his car for more.
“You look tired.”
The words surprised him. “I’ll be forty in three months. If I wasn’t tired, I’d be worried,” Waylan joked, though Channon was three years older.
Channon’s mouth was pinched when he thrust an arm through the hatch to pass Waylan’s roll, wrapped perfectly to cover half the roll, the other half ready to eat. Waylan made a noise of gratitude and took a first bite.
“You work too much,” Channon added to the morning’s criticism. Waylan raised an eyebrow, mentally chanting pot, kettle, black. Channon huffed and leaned his forearms on the counter. “Your assistant brought in a full van this morning.”
Waylan’s spirits deflated but it was hardly a surprise after the harsh winter, that started mid-September last year and showed no signs of easing. If they were lucky, winter might end before April to give a week or two of spring before jumping into a scorching summer. Then again, he’d never known the east coast of Scotland’s weather to be predictable. Maybe the snow would las
Waylan used his breakfast as an excuse not to comment. He was starving, cold, and Channon looked far too attractive to risk speaking. Channon was tall with biceps that could crush walnuts, and his long, dark-blond hair in a low ponytail always tempted him to set the strands loose.
All his life, Waylan was of medium height, a wiry build and lacking anything even remotely described as muscle. All his working muscles were in his brain, but Channon was a walking fitness advertisement. The truck and the occasional run or hike in the forest were Channon’s chosen workouts, and Waylan would have given anything to feel the results.
Which was why he kept his hands on his roll and chewed forty times before swallowing. He was not allowed to touch Channon. It was a miracle the man even spoke to him, and he wouldn’t risk alienating him with unwanted attention.
Besides, Waylan had indulged in his soft spot for older, muscled men before, and it never ended well. Keeping Channon’s friendship was a priority, and admitting his true feelings would only complicate their lives.
Swallowing his second bite, the weight of Channon’s glare made him unable to stay silent. “I can’t turn anyone away,” he replied, sure Channon would understand. The man was a walking bleeding heart who donated to multiple charities and gave his time and food freely to homeless shelters.
Channon pushed off the counter. “I understand. Wait there.” He turned away as Waylan was about to pay for his breakfast. Unwilling to leave without paying, he took another bite of the heavenly roll. Channon returned to hand him a bag with a stern glare that said he’d better take the offering or lose a finger.
Waylan accepted the bag and peeked inside, confused by the three wrapped packages that looked like the sandwich he usually ordered at lunch, two bottles of water and a box of Channon’s famed noodles. “What’s this?”
“Lunch. You do the Mother’s work and need to eat more. Don’t argue or I’ll charge you,” Channon threatened though Waylan was happy to pay.
“You’re a gift from the Mother.” Waylan accepted the gift in the spirit it was given. Though Channon grumbled and frowned, shutting the hatch in a silent warning to shut up and leave, one day Waylan would find a way to thank Channon for his friendship and kindness.
*
CHANNON
Waylan left, growing smaller in the passenger’s side mirror. The man took care of two dozen people a day but couldn’t find a way to regulate his work hours to keep healthy. The protective instincts in Channon insisted he do something but it wasn’t his place. Waylan had chosen this life the same way Channon had chosen his, and no one had the right to sway him from the path the Mother had paved.
Channon settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, idling until Waylan input the code for the front door and entered the building. He pulled away from the pavement and drove half a mile into town to grab a newspaper and to stop by the post office.
Traffic was light in town, most people avoiding the persistent snow and two-degree temperature. In the twenty-five years since he left the lush lands of Vihaan, Channon had explored various climates and countries within Dnara but something always drew him to this sleepy town thirty miles from the big city. As far as he was aware, Waylan had never left this place after arriving, except for a brief two years of studying in the city.
What tethered Vihaans to this town? Channon had found places that better resembled their homeland, but something pinned them here beyond the cluster of doorways. Not that Channon could ask. His tentative friendship with Waylan had never extended beyond the boundaries of his food truck.
Channon might broach the subject the next time they were across the counter. Waylan was smart, if not well travelled, and had made a point of studying Vihaan, exploring the doorway to discover why the exiled couldn’t return to their homeland. Channon was tempted to reveal the few secrets he’d unravelled, but none of them would benefit Waylan or his theories. What he knew might even add to the complexity of what Waylan had discovered.
Pulling into a parking spot and opening the newspaper he’d bought at the corner store, he took his own advice to rest. He’d drive into the city later to catch the early lunch crowd of professionals that always flocked to his van like vultures.
Four pages in, he paused on an article about the latest technological advances, realising he needed to update his website. Channon knew the basics of the internet, could keep a food blog on his website, answer comments on Facebook, and keep up to date with his schedule. He made a list of stops available, the days he was likely to appear and a request form on the website for other stops to be added, but that was the extent of his knowledge. Channon had been toying with the idea of getting someone to create a live map of his location and make a section password protected for Vihaans. He lifted his mobile to set a reminder to save money for the work and found a missed message.
FAWNS: Your shipment box is full.
Channon put his phone down and leaned his head against the headrest. FAWNS was the Forestry Artificial Wildlife Nature System created by a Vihaan when he became ranger to the nature reserve at Farnshill. With a doorway in the middle of the forest, Channon had made friends with Tathe during his many visits.
Channon should collect the shipment or the meat would rot.
Setting the newspaper aside, he glanced at the date and shivered. Was it fate or coincidence that a shipment arrived on the twenty-fourth anniversary of the day he’d self-exiled from Vihaan?
*
CHANNON WAVED AT Tathe as he got closer to the security hut on the outskirts of the forest. He couldn’t stay long after his hour drive, or he’d miss the lunch rush in the city. “I got the message,” Channon said in case Tathe hadn’t seen the notification.
Tathe emerged from the hut. “Do you need help bringing the cooler to the truck?”
Channon appreciated the offer but he was fitter than he looked, even if Tathe thought forty meant old. “I’ll manage, thanks.” He bobbed his head in a silent acknowledgement of the offer and kept walking through the gates to the well-worn path into the heart of the forest.
Being surrounded by trees and nature was a balm to the soul, and Channon made a point of visiting regularly, but today felt different. His shoulders were tight, heart heavy, and his mind muddled like they hadn’t been in years. Trailing his fingers across the fronds of ferns, Channon filled his lungs with fresh air and the scents filtering through his senses: a hint of wild cats and the tickle of mint at the back of his throat. He lost himself to the crunch of gravel under his feet, the swish of the light wind through leaves and the tree canopy.
He had always believed in the Mother―the giver of life, the magic behind their duality as man and beast, the all-powerful being who governed Vihaan―but never more than since he escaped to Dnara.
Channon had opened his food truck after a few years and panicked when he initially couldn’t get customers, even on a busy street. When his first Vihaan customer approached, he realised the Mother had been watching, keeping his truck hidden from humans and drawing Vihaans to the home-grown food. Whenever he cooked with store-bought ingredients, he was flocked by Dnaran customers but on the days he cooked Vihaan food his customers were of Vihaan birth.
At first, the sheer number of Vihaans who wandered Dnara had surprised him, but Channon soon learned that most were scouts or were given approval to study or work in Dnara, while only a minority were exiles. Whenever he found a cluster of exiles, succumbing to the need for a family unit, Channon made sure to visit regularly. The locals always had a hierarchy, and Channon made sure to give the leader his mobile number for emergencies or events. It was the only time he handed out his business card.
He wondered if the same draw had brought Tathe. He was naturally drawn to the forest, as a caly who had lost his ability to shift when he was exiled from his village. Tathe had been lost when Channon found him and guided him toward the local college campus, where the kalou, Rylee, took him under his wing. Natural enemies, the tiger-like kalou and a caly who resembled the maned wolf never socialised in Vihaan. It was their human nature that allowed them to look beyond their animal instincts to build a friendship in Dnara.
