Yours To Remember - Lesbian Omegaverse Fantasy Romance (Seventh Star Series Book 6), page 8
“Charisma is pushing it,” she said, falling back onto the bed. The springs on the old mattress squeaked in protest. “But I like the fact that my bad attitude is always mistaken for some brooding, mysterious character.”
“It’s an easy mistake to make—you’re certainly not what I expected.”
“How so?”
I was spared from a cogent response by an irritable meow. Without much warning, Cleo leapt up onto the bed and navigated the narrow strips of clear space between our tangled legs with unsurprising feline dexterity.
“This is Cleo,” I said, a relieved breath rushing from my lips. “Short for Cleocatra. She’s my sweet girl.”
Hana’s fingers dipped low in search of something. It took me a moment to realize she was grappling for the covers she had kicked to the floor a while ago.
“I don’t know how I feel about your cat’s pointy claws anywhere near my soft bits,” Hana said as Cleo eyed the new addition to my bed.
“I wouldn’t worry.” I reached out to stroke Cleo’s fur. “She’s not one to attack unprovoked.”
“Still—I’d prefer not to be naked in front of your pet.”
“Ah, yes.”
I pulled the covers back up onto the bed, ushering Cleo aside so that I could cover both of us decently. Not to be deterred, the kitten bounded back up and made herself comfortable on Hana’s stomach.
“She’s very friendly.” Hana sounded surprised. “None of my cats were ever this cuddly.”
“You have cats?”
“Had. I found three sisters eating out of the garbage and took them in. It was only supposed to be temporary, but I couldn’t bring myself to let them go… So they stayed, much to my parents’ disgust. Ma and Pa had always been pedigree pooch people and couldn't understand why I wanted to keep filthy alley cats.”
“It’s different with dogs,” I contemplated aloud as Cleo rubbed the crown of her head into the blanket. “We make the conscious decision to adopt dogs as pets, but cats often decide to form bonds with us and we become their humans.”
Hana nodded with a soft hum of approval.
“I suppose I’m waiting for my next cat to choose me,” she murmured, allowing Cleo to sniff her fingers. “My three girls passed a few years ago. They were almost twenty, according to the vet. And judging by their hefty size, they’d lived a pampered life. I’m proud of that.”
“You should be.”
Cleo’s delicate whiskers twitched as she sniffed the outstretched fingers with curiosity. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled several times in succession, turning her head sideways to get a better sniff. With a flick of her tongue, she tasted the tip of Hana’s fingers as though gathering important data about the unfamiliar presence.
Finally, as though satisfied with her analysis, Cleo burrowed closer, rubbing her cheek against Hana’s knuckles in a gesture of acceptance.
“She’s sweet,” Hana cooed, scratching under Cleo’s chin.
Hana’s movements were instinctive and fluid. She knew just where to stroke, where to scratch, and where to place an adorable little boop. I listened to the soft murmur of her voice and watched the sparkle in her eyes as she made Cleo purr like a pampered puss under her fingers.
I scratched my chest, feeling a foolish twinge within. Why did I wish that I could be the recipient of such affection? No words, no pressure, no anxieties. Just unlimited scratches.
It was a dream.
I lay back, placing my cheek on Hana’s shoulder.
It was much too early for bed, but my body insisted it was time to rest. Between Hana’s dampened heat scent and Cleo’s loud purrs, I found myself drifting, eyelids growing heavy.
The world faded to a lovely little space—a precious cocoon where colors blurred, sounds softened, and time seemed to stretch and bend. Hana’s free hand rustled my hair, and I burrowed closer, wanting more of the gentle ministrations.
In the fleeting moments between wakefulness and sleep, I found solace and peace, lost in her embrace.
“Will you still be here when I wake up?” I murmured drowsily, only to receive a light chuckle in return.
It was peculiar… having another person in my bed. Although Alec and I had seen each other for two years, we’d never stayed over or slept in each other’s beds. Any carnal pursuits were over and done with before our curfew.
Sensing Hana’s breathing pattern as she lay next to me was strange—strange in the most wonderful way. When she turned, pressing her chest against mine under the covers, I felt her heartbeat thudding steadily against my own.
The mattress shifted under me, adjusting to the new weight. Hana’s heat scent clung to everything, and I breathed it in, letting it lull me to sleep.
Chapter Ten
Hana
I hadn’t expected to have anything in common with Zenith.
After all, we were very different people. But it was the little things that felt right about her.
The way she treated the large orange cat—the one that she mistakenly called a kitten—was a fine example. She was always gentle and tender, her voice dipping into a coo as she spoke to her pet and brushed her fur. In return, Cleo seemed to flourish, responding to Zenith’s warmth and sincerity with trust and affection. I’d been the same way with my cats, always calling them my babies, even when they were pushing twenty.
Cleo seemed to be entirely enthralled by her owner, following her around the house and tracking her every move.
Perhaps Zenith’s charm was working on me, too.
The thought lingered in my mind as I rummaged through the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. I pushed aside my leathers and reached for a navy knit that looked comfortably worn in.
The jumper fell just under my bottom, covering me modestly enough.
The wool was soft from many washes, and I loved the way it felt against my skin. But best of all, it smelled of Zenith, and I felt like her arms were around me even when she was pottering about the kitchen.
Maybe it was too intimate to borrow her clothes, but again, it felt right.
I padded across the narrow space in her bedroom to open a window. A breeze blew through the room, sweet with the smell of blooming flowers and herbs from the garden. Sunlight streamed through the nearby trees, and the thick carpet of grass swayed under the light.
The gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird filled the air. I took a big breath, savoring the sweetness of solitude for the first time in many, many years.
Nestia had always been home. The city, with its vibrant pulse and bustling streets, was a big part of me. But Honeybeam Cove offered a different kind of allure. Like the blades of grass swaying in the breeze, the word leisurely was personified.
It was easy to see that Zenith’s life revolved around simpler pleasures. She didn’t constantly aim to best herself like I did. Once I achieved a target, I moved the target further away. I always felt the need to do better, be better.
But not Zenith. I could tell that she was fully content with a slower pace of life. Everything she did was deliberate, more intentional, allowing for moments of quiet reflection and connection with the natural world.
It took me a long moment to identify the feeling in my chest as envy.
The cottage had a curved structure. From the window in Zenith’s room, I spotted her in the kitchen, throwing a handful of ingredients into a pot. She was speaking to Cleo, and although I could hear the muted voice in the house, I couldn’t make out the words.
She turned toward the window, and for a moment, I froze, wondering if she would catch me spying. But all she did was trim off a few green herbs that grew on the windowsill and turn back to the pot.
I let out a relieved breath and sat at her desk.
It was made of solid wood. Although scratched in places, it was obviously sturdy and stable. I ran my fingers over the polished surface, wondering at the little holes and lines that had been dug into the wood.
Hmm. Did apothecaries work with sharp tools?
Her desk held a variety of items. At first glance, it seemed messy and uncoordinated. But I soon realized that there was order to the chaos.
A pile of little notecards took up the rightmost corner. One was propped up straight, as though she had been referring to it as she worked. Closer inspection revealed that it was a recipe for a tincture.
“Arrowmead,” I said aloud.
A popular painkiller, I presumed. Or a tonic.
The notecard was weathered and yellow, the edges frayed from years of handling. On its surface, a delicate script was inscribed in ink, detailing the ingredients and instructions for arrowmead. The writing was precise.
A few inches from my fingers was a pestle and mortar, filled halfway with a mix of herbs. Or were they spices? A quick sniff told me nothing—it was hard to differentiate the smells.
The mixture in the mortar—or was it the pestle? I wasn’t quite sure which was which—was a concoction of pink kernels, green leaves, and purple buds. I reached out to touch them, only to find the tips of my fingers tingling strangely. I quickly wiped them on the borrowed jumper.
Jars lined the left side of the large desk, each one facing forward with their labels clearly shown. I picked up the first one, listening to its content tinkling in the glass.
Pink peppercorn.
Ah, that explained the little pink kernels in the mixing bowl.
In the left corner of her desk, bundles of fragrant lavender, sprigs of fresh rosemary, and clusters of dried chamomile flowers awaited their turn to be ground into a tincture or tonic.
I picked up a sprig of lavender and held it up to my nose.
Lavender had always been Fyra’s favorite scent. She used to rub an infused oil into her hair and skin. A hint of it always brought me back to afternoons spent hiding in closets together or running back to spend stolen hours in her empty childhood home.
I wanted to say the memories were bittersweet, but in truth, they were more bitter than sweet.
If it were possible for me to undergo an intensive surgery to cut out a part of my brain where memories of Fyra were stored, I would do it without question.
“You look distant.”
Zenith’s reappearance made me jump. She stood at my side with a bowl of warm stew, her tone light and easy. She wasn’t chiding me for drifting, nor was she concerned. She was just… observing. Something she seemed to do quite a bit.
Maybe I would’ve minded her watching me if there was any judgment in her eyes. Instead, each time our gazes met, there was nothing but curiosity and…
Awe.
There was no other way to describe it.
This morning, for example, as I descended from an orgasmic high courtesy of her tongue, I’d caught her looking up at me from between my thighs.
She loved pleasing me—that much was certain. I’d lost count of the number of times she’d requested to bury her face in my pussy.
But it was the way she looked at me afterwards that made me shiver inside. With every flicker of her lashes and subtle shift in expression, her gray gaze conveyed a myriad of feelings—wonder, excitement, contemplation. It made me question if she saw me through a different lens.
“What?”
My query had been sharp, but she didn’t seem bothered.
Nothing had been her only response.
But it was not nothing. If she didn’t stop looking at me that way, I would get much too used to being worshiped.
And where would that leave me when I was back in Nestia, several hundred miles away from this sweet Alpha?
There was some comfort in knowing this wouldn’t be the last time I saw her. I had to hold up my end of the bargain, after all. Tit for tat. She’d been more than generous while helping me with this savage heat, and I would return the favor twofold.
I made a little note to ask when her rut was due, just so I could be prepared.
“I’m thinking about how life could take a turn so quickly,” I said in-lieu of an explanation.
“For the better, I hope?”
I shrugged. She placed the stew in front of me and although my appetite hadn’t quite returned, I was grateful for the sustenance.
“It’s a mixed bean stew, I hope you don’t mind,” she murmured, pulling up a stool to sit next to me.
Cleo had followed her from the kitchen and now sat in a pile of orange fur on the bed behind us.
“Not at all,” I said, stirring the thick stew. It smelled wonderful, and the knowledge that she had gone to the trouble of cooking it only made me want to love it more.
“I certainly didn’t think I would end up with the High Archer of Nestia in my bed,” Zenith said out of the blue.
“What?”
She’d raised her spoon to her lips, but my question stopped her short.
“Before,” she said. “You said you were thinking about how life could turn so quickly, so I…”’
“Ah, yes,” I nodded quickly. “That must be quite strange.”
“Not strange.” A small smile tugged at her lips, and I wondered if she knew how devastatingly handsome she was. “Incredible would be a better word.”
“Incredible, huh?”
A symphony of warm flavors spread across my tongue at the first sip of the stew. The ingredients were simple—a mix of hearty herbs and vegetables stirred through with the beans. But it had been made by her hand, and that made it all the more special.
I hadn’t realized I’d closed my eyes to savor the first bite until I found Zenith watching me again.
She seemed expectant—waiting for something. Her gaze followed my tongue as I licked my lips, cleaning off any dregs of stew.
“How is it?”
Ah.
“It’s wonderful, Zenith. Delicious.”
Her delight was palpable. She seemed to take pride in the knowledge that I enjoyed her cooking and began to explain how she traded herbs for dried goods like beans and other protein from the local village.
It was strange how I’d never needed to think about food—where it came from or how it was prepared. If I wanted beans for dinner, all I had to do was request for the castle cook to prepare it. I never needed to wonder about sourcing the beans or soaking them or even having a recipe.
It was a privilege I hadn’t even been aware of, but it made me appreciate Zenith even more.
She’d clearly learned how to thrive out here in the middle of nowhere, whereas I would be a sitting duck out here in a place that didn’t have a plumbing system.
That was an exaggeration. Zenith had explained that all their water came from the well out back, so there was no need to worry about the water supply.
The idea of being so far from civilization made me feel a little ill—it seemed silly to think that the vastness of the forest would swallow me whole, but I grappled with the feeling as I ate more of the stew.
It was peaceful, yes. Beyond anything I had ever experienced before.
But it was also nerve-wracking to be beyond shouting distance from anyone else.
“You have that look on your face again,” Zenith said, and I knew nothing would get past her. “What’s causing that frown?”
“Isn’t it scary to live out here all on your own?”
She shrugged. “At first, perhaps. When my mother passed, I was forced into total solitude and it was hard to get used to the silence.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said, somewhat easily. “My mother was a bitter person, and sometimes I think death was the release she needed. Life seemed to disappoint her too much.”
“How so?”
Zenith stirred her stew. “She never got what she wanted out of life. It was always her dream to make it in the big city, but her cards were dealt differently. I was heat-born just a year after she made the big move from the village to the city. She didn’t have any time to let her dreams play out when I came along. Over the years, she made it very clear to me that I was unexpected and unwelcome, more so because my sire didn’t stick around to help her.”
She looked down into her bowl.
“Zenith…” I began, a knot forming in my throat. That was a terrible burden to bear for such a young child. I touched her cheek and she leaned into my hold without hesitation.
“Before you judge her, you must know that I was a difficult pup,” Zenith’s lips quirked up but there was no mirth in her smile. “I was very attached to her, and would cry every time I was put down. She could barely get any work done.”
“Some children are like that.”
Zenith shook her head. “I was a nuisance. We lived next to a blacksmith, and the normal noises of the city would upset me. I would cry and cry and never stop until I fell asleep. The only time I was ever silent was when we came to visit my grandfather here at the Cove. So she had no choice but to move back here and leave her dreams behind.”
I paused, listening intently to the rhythm of her words. It seemed as though she was repeating someone else’s speech—phrases she had internalized as a young pup and never let go.
“Is this what your mother told you?”
“Yes.” She ate a spoonful of beans and considered her words. “But it wasn’t only what she told me. I know myself and I am… particular.”
“People are allowed to be particular. It’s what makes them who they are.”
She shook her head. “For most of my pre-teen years, I would only eat food that was one color. That meant if there was a piece of green lettuce in my white sandwich, I wouldn’t touch it. It drove my mother crazy.”
I glanced at the stew. Although mostly reddish-brown, it also had flecks of green from the herbs and white from the beans.
“I grew out of it,” she said quickly. “Although it was hard. Sometimes I feel the urge creeping back in, but I have to keep it at bay before it takes over my life again.”
“Even if you were difficult, being a parent means making sacrifices,” I began.
“My mother sacrificed everything for me,” Zenith stated without a doubt. “Although she never let me forget it.”
“That’s not…” I set the bowl on the desk and turned to her.
“She did try to pursue her dreams,” Zenith said as I reached for her hands. “The study you were a part of was one example. Since her life had been so badly derailed by a heat, she wanted to stop other omegas from being affected the same way. About a decade ago, she decided I was old enough to be left alone with my grandfather while she went to the city to get funding for her study. She had only been gone for a few months, but the guilt of leaving me behind brought her back. At least, I think it was the guilt. And she never let me forget it.”
