Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Giza

Human technology was remarkable and advancing at alarming speeds. I'd made little effort to keep up with the latest phones or apps or whatever.

But when my doorbell rang, close to midnight, and I opened it to see Harper—a backpack slung over one shoulder, dark circles under her eyes, looking utterly defeated—I had the passing thought that perhaps I should've checked to see why my phone had been vibrating a half hour ago.

Had it been Cairo, warning me she was on her way? Had it been her ? I couldn't dare to hope.

So many things, greetings , went through my mind, but what came out of my lips was, "Be welcome here," the old greeting of my people.

A decade in this world, and I hadn't thought of that phrase in even longer. And now it pops up, making me sound like an antiquated dinosaur?

Harper just sighed and hitched her bag up higher on her shoulder. The movement caused her to sway alarmingly, and I reached for her out of instinct. It was only when my hand was halfway to her that I realized she wouldn't like that—not after our interaction earlier at the assembly—and I grabbed the doorframe instead.

I cleared my throat. "Harper? Why are you here?""

Daring to hope.

She swayed again, just slightly. "Cairo kicked me out. He told me I had to come stay with you."

It was the defeat in her voice that broke me. Everything in me yearned to reach for her, to comfort her. To hold her and tell her it would be okay.

But she wasn't mine. Not really.

Not yet. Take it slow, you idiot .

"You don't have to do anything, Harper," I said softly, opening the door to the apartment wider, stepping back so she'd have the space she needed. "But if you need a place for the night, I am grateful to offer you—"

"Just point me toward the couch," she sighed, moving past me into my home.

She stopped in the middle, glancing around. I wondered what she was thinking about what she saw.

Now that I knew she was Melinda's sister, I knew she must've seen this apartment before, when Meli lived here. Had she ever stayed here? What did she think of the way I'd decorated it with Karnak's artwork? The cozy nook I'd created beneath the picture windows, ideal for reading? The smell of the bread I'd baked because I'd returned from the meeting—I sure as shit hadn't gone to dinner with Sakkara as planned—unable to be still ?

But all she said was, "It looks like a forest in here."

I glanced around, trying to see it through her eyes. Greens and browns and grays were the predominant colors, because they made me feel…at peace. And one of Ka rnak's paintings did feature an oak limb, curling and stretching across the wall, the full foliage hiding many secret images.

Shrugging, I shut the door, wondering if Harper would disappear if I blinked too hard. Was she really here? With me ?

"I find it soothing," I finally said.

"Soothing," she repeated in a murmur, looking around. "Yeah." Then, with another sigh, she trudged toward the couch.

"No!" I blurted, holding up my hand to stop her.

I was pleased she didn't flinch at my harsh tone, or my claws. She merely raised a brow, and I swallowed.

"Please." Gods, I was being formal, but I didn't know another way to be. "The bedroom is through there." She knows that, you idiot . "Take the bed."

"I'm not taking your bed, Giza."

Giza . The sound of my name on her lips? It reached down inside me and tugged , wrapping around my chest in a way I couldn't explain. I actually twitched forward, even as my cock stiffened.

What? No, no. By all the hells, no. I couldn't scare her away with my Kteer , my need . Not now.

Not when she was standing in my home, carrying my kit. Needing me.

I hadn't lost her for good, and I couldn't believe the gods had granted me such a favor.

Harper had already dropped the bag from her shoulder and was moving toward the couch once more. I stepped toward her before I could stop myself, touching her arm.

Again, she didn't flinch—I wasn't sure that was a victory, not with how tired she looked—but she turned a glare on me. So I was quick to explain.

"Please," I murmured, trying to project that I was nonthreatening and wanted only the best for her. "Take the bed. The linens are fresh, and the mattress is comfortable. You look as if you need some comfort right now."

"I'm fine," she muttered, pulling away from me. The slump of her shoulders belied her claim. "I don't need your charity."

Charity? I shook my head. "You misunderstand me. I'm grateful for the chance to care for you, Harper. Giving my Mate my bed is the least I can do when you carry my son."

It wasn't until I saw the flash of desperation—defiance—in those lovely hazel eyes that I realized I'd said the wrong thing.

"I'm not your Mate , Giza," she blurted. "I'm just a woman you knocked up!"

That was what made her my Mate. Did she not understand that? I lifted my hands, palms out, to try to calm her. " Because you are pregnant—that is how I know—"

"I'm not yours !" she cried, and to my horror, I saw tears pooling in her eyes. "I'm mine . I only just started to figure shit out, and now here you are, making claims and…"

"Harper," I urged her, curling my fingers into my palms to keep from reaching for her. "Harper, dkaar … Deep breaths."

She glared. "You're not in control of me!"

"No, I'm not." My chest was tight, aching in sorrow for what she was feeling right now. "No, but what is about to happen?"

"What's about to happen?" She reared back, confusion causing her eyes to darken to the gray of the stormy ocean around Eastshore. "What's going to happen is that I'm going to crash on your couch, after I explain some things to you!"

I was nodding along, because yes, I could see she was ready to tear into someone , and I was just so pleased she was here, I was happy to be that someone.

"Yes, I can tell that, Harper, but would you agree the act of explaining these truths to me will be exhausting?"

She blinked, brows lowering in fatigue. "What?"

"You look ready to collapse. You are about to cry. You can barely stand."

"It's been a hell of a day!"

I nodded again. "Then postponing this reckoning a few more minutes won't matter, will it?"

She took a step back so she could fold her arms and glare up at me. I liked that she was taller than most human females and could meet my gaze easily. I'd liked that from the beginning.

"What are you talking about?" she finally growled, and yes, I liked that my Mate-who-I-mustn't-call-my-Mate felt safe enough to growl at me.

"Go prepare for sleep, Harper. I have an extra toothbrush, and clothes you can change into—"

"I have all that." She jerked her chin toward her bag. "Meli packed for me, and she's going to pack the rest of my stuff tomorrow."

"Good." I stepped back, gesturing toward the hall bathroom, if she didn't want to use the larger one in my room. "Prepare for bed. Change, brush your teeth, whatever it is you must do. Then come back here and yell at me."

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "You want me to yell at you?"

I couldn't help the way my lips curled in amusement. "Not at all. But I want you to feel comfortable, and I am guessing this will wear you out. When you—" Break down and cry yourself to sleep. But I didn't want her to think such a thing was inevitable, so I substituted, "I want you to be able to fall asleep without having to feel uncomfortable because you've been wearing those clothes all day and your mouth feels like old socks."

Her eyes dropped to my shoulder, then my elbow, then away. "I don't have old socks." Clearly, she was arguing just for the sake of arguing, because she took a deep breath and held it for a moment. " Fine . Fine!" she blurted, throwing up her hands as if she were losing a fight.

She bent, scooped up her bag, and stomped toward the guest bath as if she was familiar with the apartment.

When the door slammed behind her, I stood exactly where I was, staring at it.

Behind that door, my Mate was brushing her teeth. She was changing, performing her ablutions.

My Mate .

After I lost Rallah, I'd assumed I'd never have the opportunity for this completeness . To know the gods had blessed me with another chance at happiness was…was almost too much. My knees were wobbly, my throat was dry.

But still, I couldn't move.

My Mate was here, in my home, with me…and she carried my kit.

I wanted to rejoice, but I feared the chance could be snatched away as quickly as it was offered.

So I held still, claws digging into my palms, barely daring to breathe, praying this wasn't all in my imagination.

When the bathroom door was yanked open and Harper stepped into the sitting room, I knew it couldn't be. No way would my imagination create someone as beautiful, as delicate…as fierce, as rumpled…as angry as her.

Wearing purple flannel button-up pajamas decorated with some sort of cartoon character.

With jolting movements, she yanked her hair into a ponytail and pulled a green band from her wrist to wrap around it as she crossed to the couch. She skirted around me with her nose high, as if proving a point, then spun about so her back was to the couch.

She paused, glaring at me, as if daring me to say something.

Then she flopped down with a sigh that was more exhaustion than irritation.

"There," she declared, crossing her arms. "I brushed my teeth and washed off my makeup. Happy?"

Hesitantly, I turned to face her, not wanting to scare her off. "Are you happy, Harper?"

It was a silly question, but I couldn't blurt that she was stunning with or without makeup, could I?

"Happy? No." Her lips turned down mulishly, her shoulders slumped, and she stared across the room. "Why don't you have a TV?"

I glanced over my shoulder at where a television would've normally sat, then ventured a step closer to the couch. "Would that make you happy?"

"No, I just—everyone has a TV!"

I shrugged and slid a little closer. "I don't watch television."

She tipped her head back to glare at me. "Then what do you do?"

I shrugged again, as I slowly lowered myself to the couch beside her, careful to balance my weight on the edge of the cushion in case she gave any sign that it wasn't acceptable for me to sit near her. "I read."

Her expression…softened. That was the only word for it.

Her lower lip drew in, tucked between her teeth, as her brows relaxed. And she studied me as if she didn't know what to make of me .

"Harper?" I prompted, shifting a little closer. "If you want to yell at me, it's okay to do that now."

Her lower lip popped from between her teeth with a sound that went right to my traitorous Kteer , and she looked away again as her hands dropped to her thighs. "I don't want to yell at you."

"What do you want to do?" I whispered.

Her eyes fluttered shut. "I don't—I don't know. I'm tired."

"Then sleep," I urged her, hoping she wouldn't become angry again when I insisted she take my bed— the bed.

But she suddenly said, "I'm tired of always having to be strong." Her eyes opened and when they turned my way, I was horrified to see tears in their lovely hazel depths. "Of having to be perfect."

"Oh, dkaar ," I murmured, reaching for one of her hands, feeling safe in the endearment because I knew she wouldn't understand it. "You don't have to worry about being perfect or strong here."

She stared at me for a long moment. Long enough for the tears to escape, to crawl down her face, to make my heart clench with fear that I wouldn't be able to make it better .

Unable to stand her silence, I squeezed her hand gently. "It will be okay, Harper. Everything will be okay."

Please, by all the gods of my ancestors. By Malla the Beginner. By Torvar's Hammer and Palton's Spear. Let this be the truth.

A noise like a sob escaped her lips, and my Mate squeezed her eyes shut, forcing more tears from between the lids. "Promise?" came her ragged whisper.

My heart broke. "Yes, dkaar ," I murmured, tugging her gently toward me until her cheek landed on my shoulder, and she allowed herself to go limp in my arms. "I swear it. I swear it."

Her tears were silent but flowed freely.

And I wrapped my arms around Harper, torn between a fierce joy that my Mate was there with me, our son growing between us, and abject terror that I wouldn't be able to keep my vow.

As she cried, I whispered more promises to her, and praise, and endearments I remembered my grandfather using a lifetime ago. I spoke to her in my language, the language no one but me remembered, telling her things she wouldn't want to hear in English.

I will protect you. I will care for you. I will love you .

If only she'd give me the opportunity.

Harper said nothing, but when I shifted positions, she allowed me to pull her onto my lap, and she even curled her legs up under my arm. Her fingers tightly gripped the cotton of my shirt, as if unable to release me, and her face was pressed into my shoulder.

Eventually, her tears turned to quiet hiccups.

My hand continued to stroke her back, her hair, even after her breathing evened, and I knew she was asleep.

Still, the clock struck two in the morning before I could force my legs to work, to push myself to my feet, to carry her to my— her bed. I tucked her in, and when I did, she murmured a wet sort of sad sound and rolled toward me.

Turning off the light and walking out of that room was one of the hardest things I'd ever done.

But Harper had made it clear she didn't want to be here, and I wasn't going to force my presence on her, no matter how much my Kteer , my very biology, was crying out for me to hold her.

To keep her safe.

It was a long night on the couch.