Alex

ALEX

T he nights draw in quickly in Chohan. It rains for a while, then after it is clear. Insects make noises I've never heard before, and there are both sweet and sour scents in the air. We've been here a nova-week, and I still can't get the fucking rehydrator to work properly.

I slam my hand into the side of it in the time-honored human fashion.

" Eregri? " Sylas dangles from the atrium ceiling. He's discovered one of the windows up there slides aside and he can get out on the roof in order to have a better view when he's on guard duty.

Which is nearly all the time.

I've been doing my utmost to keep calm, to not think about anyone coming for us, but I understand why he's on edge.

I wish he could feel safe.

"Is there a problem?" he asks, head upside down.

I growl under my breath. With a swish and a thump, he's next to me.

"It's nothing. I'm making dinner."

"You made food yesterday," Sylas says, his head inclined to one side as he looks over the prep area.

"You eat a lot, in case you hadn't noticed." I laugh.

"I require fuel," Sylas says seriously. "But this should not be your problem."

"Someone has to make dinner." I bang the side of the rehydrator. "If this thing would bloody work, that is!"

"," Sylas says, grasping my chin and turning my head towards him. His eyes, liquid dark, soft, and inviting, search my face. "It is not your place to serve me. I am not your master. You have no master, not anymore."

"Someone has to make dinner," I repeat with a hiccup.

"Then why not me?" he says.

"I thought…" I stutter out the words which my brain doesn't want me to say. "I thought you'd be served as a gladiator." I wrench my face from his hand because I'm embarrassed at what I know I'm going to say. "I thought you wouldn't know how." I look down at the counter, tracing my finger over the surface.

"You're right, little feather, our diet was strictly controlled in the dome." Sylas moves closer to me, sliding the tip of his finger under my chin and lifting my face up until I'm looking at him once more. "But good nutrition was important. Whilst I wasn't allowed to prepare my meals, I took an interest in food preparation."

I look at him blankly.

"I can make dinner," he says, his voice low. "I'd love to make dinner, to feed you, little mate."

The little mate comment settles in my core, making me squirm.

"You would?"

"It would be my honor and privilege." Sylas takes a step back and does a bow, his wing tips lifting up behind him like starched coat tails. "But you may wish to stand back."

I move around to the other side of the counter, intrigued. He shoves his hand into the back of the rehydrator, and there is a wrenching sound. He smiles at me and begins to hum as he pulls out the packets of supplies and puts a couple in the machine.

The damn thing purrs into life as if Sylas is a magician.

"Huh!" I snort.

He bares his teeth in a grin to end all grins. It is sinful, it is cocky, and it is…entirely his.

"Knives?" he asks.

"Second drawer."

He flicks the lethal item up in the air and catches it by the very tip before spinning it again to take hold of the handle.

"Show off." I put my chin in my hands and stick my tongue out of the side of my mouth just a little.

Sylas clearly represses a shiver and recovers himself with another flick of his wings. The rehydrator chimes, and he removes a selection of vegetables and a chunk of what looks like some sort of fish.

"I am a gladiator. I should be able to handle any sort of blade," he says without looking up from probably the most precise and most vicious chopping session I've ever seen.

Sylas can handle a blade, that is abundantly clear.

He tosses the knife into the air, and the tip buries itself in the countertop as he opens up the center of the prep area and the heating element rises out.

"We're going to be doing renovations sooner rather than later if you're going to treat your furniture in that way," I say.

"Some sort of board is in order." Sylas swipes up everything and dumps it into a large wok he's procured from underneath. "I can make one and save us a trip to the market."

I think avoiding others is going to be a thing for him. I'm not so sure it's a good idea, given how I've seen him behave in company.

Years being provoked to violence is hardly going to make him Gryn of the month, and it seems he wants to keep it that way.

The food sizzles, and he shakes it, checks the rest of our supplies, and pulls out a handful of flip top containers, from each of which he proceeds to add a very precise amount of seasoning. The warm, spicy flavors fill the air, and my stomach rumbles in anticipation.

"You are hungry, little feather?" he asks, shaking the pan as if this is something he does every single day, the food flowing over itself like I've seen in professional cooking TV programs back on Earth. All Sylas needs is an apron and a hat.

I hide a giggle behind my hand as the big bad gladiator creates two plates in the replicator and then, with a flourish, puts the food out. It steams as he slides the meal towards me.

"What is it?" I ask, batting my eyelids.

"You watched me cook it." His brow furrows. "It's kiafish and vegetables. Very nutritious."

"I mean, does it have a name?"

"The kiafish? Probably not, it is a fish." Sylas spears a chunk on a single claw, blows on it, and pops it into his mouth.

"I mean the dish you made." I laugh.

"Are you going to talk, little mate, or do I have to feed you directly?" Sylas growls.

I pick up the two-pronged fork he's given me and spear some brightly colored vegetables. The flavor explodes over my tongue, sweet, spicy, a hint of salt.

"This is so good!" I exclaim, chewing rapidly so I can eat some more. "You're hired."