Adamant Spirits

Abbey

Abbey

I twist and turn, kicking off the covers.

It’s too hot.

Wait. Now it’s too cold.

Damn it.

My eyes snap open. I’m staring up at the ceiling into perfect darkness. It’s Tarak’s darkness, of course, because he prefers the room to be pitch-black beyond a shadow of a Kythian doubt.

My husband has very sensitive eyes. Even in this impossible darkness, some crazy quirk of genetics allows him to see perfectly well.

That’s just one of the differences between his kind and ours.

I stretch my arm across the bed, searching for Ami’s curled-up little body or Tarak’s big one.

A soft sound alerts me to the presence of a small intruder. It’s a gentle sigh; a perfect little rhythm that stirs all of my protective instincts.

Perfect innocence.

That’s what it is.

“Night light,” I say softly, and the bedside assistant turns on, emitting a faint glow that reveals a small creature curled up in our bed—Tarak’s side of the bed, to be precise.

Big Bad is gone. In his place is a soundly sleeping Ami, chaotically curled in the covers, one leg poking out unceremoniously.

As gently as possible, I reach across and straighten the blanket, taking care not to wake her.

I see her sweet, peaceful face—eyes closed, moonlight-hued eyelashes resting above her round cheeks.

How could this ethereal little thing come from us? Me, a misfit from Earth; he, a formidable General from the most terrible Empire in the Nine Galaxies.

Speaking of the Big Bad, he’s not here, but that doesn’t surprise me. Tarak sleeps a little bit, but Kordolians don’t seem to need nearly as much shut-eye as humans… or maybe it’s just him.

He almost always goes to bed when I do. Most times, we have s*x. But sometimes he just holds me until we fall asleep together. Then, when I’m asleep, he’ll slip out of bed and go and work on something or other.

He commands a massive fleet. There’s always work for him to do. I don’t know how he handles it all and still manages to find time for Ami and I.

I don’t question him about that stuff anymore.

I just have to trust him.

I haven’t got a choice.

I’m in way too deep.

I let out a sigh and glance across to the bedside table. The time on my Link display lights up immediately.

0343.

Crap. It’s the worst time to be awake.

I close my eyes and furiously try to drift back into sleep, but it doesn’t come.

Sleep never comes when you’re desperate for it.

Growl.

Ugh. That was definitely my stomach. A hunger-pang stabs through me like a dull knife.

Why am I starving all of a sudden?

Oh. That’s right. I didn’t eat a proper dinner. My fault. I was running around in the greenhouse while Kenna looked after Ami. I was so busy sorting and planting slips of three varieties of super energy-dense sweet potato that I lost track of time.

In the end, it was Tarak who had to come and get me, and by the time I got inside and played with Ami and showered her and put her to bed and…

I don’t know what happened.

I vaguely remember Tarak insisting that I eat.

“I’ll just take a shower first,” I said. So I did. Then I flopped down on the bed for just a few minutes, and…

Crap.

I must’ve fallen asleep.

In nothing but my fluffy bathrobes.

Ugh.

It’s been a while since I’ve gotten that tired. Tarak must’ve found me sleeping and decided to leave me be.

Blearily, I rub my eyes and sit up.

Grooowl.

There’s my uncivilized stomach again. No chance of going back to sleep now. Not until I’ve fed the beast.

Suddenly, a powerful craving hits me.

I need something savory.

Something that will satisfy my need for salty, greasy, and carbs, all at the same time.

I need that black gold.

Devil’s nectar.

The Varmite.

On toast.

With obscene amounts of butter.

I slip out of bed and go down to the kitchen, where it’s cool and dimly lit.

There’s no trace of Tarak. Maybe he’s gone out. He rarely leaves us at night, but if it’s something urgent, he’ll make sure one of the First Division guys is guarding us.

He doesn’t trust anyone else.

The serving-bot flashes blue, enticing me with its late-night menu. Hot chocolate? Popcorn? Crumpets with butter and honey?

I’ll admit, the thing has gotten used to my tastes.

But tonight, I dismiss its offerings.

I want something else.

Something that the bot never gets quite right. Not the way I like it, anyway.

I open the fridge and fish out two slices of three-day-old bread and pop them in the toaster. I grab a block of butter and a jar of the infamous Varmite.

Some people hate this stuff with a passion.

Some people can’t live without it.

I just happen to be one of the latter.

I crack the seal and open the jar. The smell hits me immediately. There isn’t anything else like it on Earth. Yeasty, fermented, tangy, salty, umami.

The toaster beeps. I’m on it straight away, slathering butter over the hot bread, making sure it goes all the way to the edge, melty goodness seeping into the bread.

Then, the Varmite.

This stuff’s powerful. I only need the thinnest of layers; a haze of browny-black melting into a golden sea.

My mouth waters as I raise the buttered Varmite toast, anticipating the first bite.

A strange sensation tickles the back of my neck.

I ignore it.

And eat.

So good.

After a few bites, I pause. “You know, it’s rude to sneak up on people when they’re eating.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He’s definitely behind me, though. I can feel him. It’s weird. I’ve been able to sense him for a while, now. At first I thought I was imagining things, but after it happened again and again, I became sure of it.

I know whenever he enters a room, even though he’s as silent as death.

I can feel his presence; his aura, or whatever it is. It’s a strange kind of pressure in my chest. It’s a faint tingle at the back of my neck, spreading over my scalp; a warm, pleasant feeling.

Although I’m sure it only feels that way to me… and our daughter.

I’m quite sure he feels very different to some. I’ve seen people—aliens and humans alike—visibly react to his presence, and not in a good way.

They kind-of go still for a moment.

Then they shrink into themselves.

“I do not sneak,” my husband says at last.

I raise an eyebrow as I take another bite of my toast. Slowly, I turn around. “I thought you’d gone out.”

“Not tonight, Amina.” Tarak’s voice is a pleasant rumble that seeps right into my bones.

Ooh. Butter and fresh toast and that voice. I could deal with all of that, except for the fact that…

I nearly choke on my food.

He’s kind-of… naked.

Well, he is wearing a kashkan—the light, silky robes Kordolians wear when they’re lounging around the house—but it’s unbelted.

Completely open.

And of course, he’s wearing nothing underneath.

Of course.

Kordolian dudes aren’t really bothered about clothing—well, at least the ones I know aren’t, anyway. It’s pretty easy to be blasé about not wearing anything when you’re built like a f*****g Greek God, anyway.

“What were you doing, then?” I ask, licking a bit of butter from the edge of my mouth.

He moves to my side and leans against the bench. His upper arm is pressed against mine.

He’s warm.

He smells good—like a cold winter morning in the woods.

A soft sigh escapes him—a tiny hint of vulnerability that he only ever displays when he’s with me. “I went to the roof. I was thinking.”

I finish the first slice of toast and lick my fingers. I don’t say anything.

I just wait.

Tarak does things in his own time. One does not try and rush the former Joint-Supreme Commander of the Kordolian Imperial Military.

Only Ami can do that.

“Abbey,” he says at last, turning his head until our eyes meet. I drown in a sea of wine-dark intensity. “This food-production agriculture you’ve been researching.”

“Mm-hmm?” I make a start on my second piece of toast.

“You are developing cultivars with large-scale replication in mind?”

“Mmm,” I nod, savoring the salty goodness of the Varmite. “Since when has a carnivore like you been so interested in plant-based food production?”

“I am not a pure carnivore,” he says quietly, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “You know that. My kind need other nutrients… that meat alone cannot provide. A small amount of plant matter is acceptable.”

“Makes sense. You’re mostly human, anyway. 99.85 percent of the time.”

“You are mostly Kordolian,” he retorts. Suddenly, his nostrils flare. “What are you eating?”

“Butter toast with Varmite. Want a bite?”

“No. Just this.” He reaches behind me and fishes out the jar of Varmite. For a moment, he simply stares at it, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the quaint little jar, with its bright red lid and yellow label. It’s completely old-fashioned and ridiculous, made of real glass that will go straight into the vaporizer when it’s empty.

“This stuff’s expensive, you know. It isn’t easy to find these days.”

“Hm.” Tarak dips a silver claw-tipped finger into the jar.

“Bet the smell’s been driving you nuts,” I say snarkily as I watch him inspect the slick of rich brown paste that is now coating the tip of his finger. “With your crazy sense of smell, I’m surprised you haven’t picked up on it before now.”

“I did,” he growled. “Ever since it appeared, I have been wondering what that scent was. It is… interesting.”

He licks his finger, tasting the freaking Varmite.

“Hm,” he murmurs.

With Tarak, that tiny utterance could mean a thousand different things.

He’s as poker-faced as ever, but his eyes smolder.

I shake my head in disbelief.

There’s a naked, ripped-as-hell, scary-hot-intense (well, hot to me, but scary to most) alien in my kitchen, licking freaking Varmite off his fingers.

Sometimes, I really have to pinch myself.

“It is… not unpleasant,” he says at last, his left eyebrow arching ever so slightly.

“Since when did you have a preference for different flavors?” I ask jokingly. “I thought you were all like: ‘I only eat for sustenance. Give me a protein bar.’” I do my best mock-impersonation of his deep voice, trying to mimic his stern, imperious demeanor.

I fail.

I burst out laughing.

It’s just too ridiculous. Nobody makes fun of Tarak al Akkadian.

Except me.

My husband frowns.

Oh, have I hurt his feelings?

I playfully elbow him in his side. “I’m just teasing.”

He gives me a long, hard look. His gaze could melt the frozen seas of the Dark Planet itself. “Being with you has ruined me. Give me that.” A spoon has mysteriously appeared in his hand. He grabs the jar of Varmite and promptly proceeds to eat the stuff neat, spoonful after spoonful disappearing between his sensuous lips.

My eyes go wide.

Who does that?

Who just goes and eats an entire freaking jar of salty, bitter, ultra-concentrated Varmite? That stuff should last me many months.

And why does he look so damn sexy when he’s eating… savoring something like this?

I’ve never seen this side of him before.

If being with me has ruined you, then you should’ve found me earlier.

“Whatever Earth food you actually like, just tell me. I’ll add it to the shopping list.” I beam at him. I can’t help it. He’s just so freaking adorable. “It’s good to see you enjoying your food.”

Tarak gives me that look again.

Holy moly.

Suddenly, my heart pounds up into my throat. I become acutely aware of his warmth; his scent.

The top part of his arm, pressing against mine.

His freaking nakedness.

My amusement unravels.

Arousal takes its place.

It doesn’t take a lot these days. It really doesn’t. Not when he’s around, anyway. Maybe it’s really true. Maybe people like me—females who are genetically compatible with Kordolians—really do go into some sort of Mating Fever.

He sets down the empty jar. “Believe me, Amina, food is the least of my priorities when it comes to enjoyment.”

I almost drop the rest of my toast. “O-oh yeah?” And what could you possibly enjoy so much, hmm? You of all creatures… “I don’t even have to ask, do I?”

“With me, you never have to ask.” His voice is a low, delicious rumble that unravels me inside, sending a tendril of heat right down into my core.

Damn him.

I’m just a simple girl, trying to chow down a late-night snack to soothe my gnawing stomach.

Then he comes along, with his devastating intensity and that ability to turn a lighthearted conversation into the most heart-stopping declaration of intent.

He licks his lips; savagely, hungrily, like a wolf eyeing its meal.

“You actually enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

“I would consider eating it again.”

Huh. My heart is beating like crazy. His warmth, his closeness, his scent… all driving me nuts.

He turns ever so slightly.

Sneaks his hand across my lower back.

Pulls me closer.

We’re pressed against each other now.

Me, all soft skin and curves and rumpled pajamas and tousled hair.

Him, all Kashkan silk and hard, honed muscle.

“So,” I blurt. “You were talking about large-scale food production. Why were you talking about large-scale food production, Tarak?” I don’t really know why I need to change the subject right now, but I do it anyway.

Maybe it’s because I want to finish the last few morsels of my delicious Varmite and butter on toast.

Maybe it’s because I know my husband well enough to know that he never brings these sorts of things up without a very good reason.

Either way, I’m only delaying the inevitable.

He leans in and presses his lips against my neck, just behind my ear, delivering a slow, searing kiss. “Perhaps it is something I want to invest in. Land on Earth is finite, but space is not. I can give you endless sunlight.”

My heart skips a beat as he takes a deep breath, inhaling me.

I take another bite. “A-are you saying that you’ll build me a greenhouse… in space?”

“As many as you like.”

“To grow food?” I finish my toast, savoring the very last bite.

“Yes. Food and whatever else you desire.”

I gulp. “Why does that sound like you’re preparing for something really, really bad?”

“I’m always preparing for bad things, Abbey.”

“I wish you didn’t have to.”

He goes still. His warm breath feathers my cheek. I’m hyperaware of his presence. He’s darkness and unstoppable power and tenderness and warmth, almost making me drop my empty plate as he pulls me into him.

I set it down on the bench just in time.

His hand is on the back of my neck, fingers snaking up into my messy hair.

He engulfs me.

I don’t mind.

“Yes.” He gently tilts my face upwards until our eyes lock. “But… that is all I know.”

I know.

I know you well enough by now. You’ll do whatever it takes, even if you have to become the bad guy again.

But why are you asking me about these things now, my love? When you’re here with me in the quiet of the morning, caught in a moment?

Are you trying to tell me something, Tarak?

Questions dance around in my head, but I can’t hold onto any of them long enough to form a thought, because my belly is blissfully full and I’m sinking into a haze of desire, and my are senses being set alight, one by one…

“That’s not all you know,” I manage to say, just before he captures my butterstained lips with his own, and the dark echo of his thoughts slips out of my grasp; ephemeral, disquieting…

Gone.

His fangs graze my lower lip.

He consumes me, kiss by devastating kiss.

And who the hell am I to resist?

Shadow City: Royal Wedding

Heat Level: ☕︎ Jen L. Grey

Reading has always been one of Jen L. Grey’s favorite hobbies, even as a little girl. When she was a toddler, her parents would read stories to her over and over. Jen would hear them so often that she had the books memorized and could recite the story word by word. Her favorite genres are fantasy, paranormal, and contemporary romance. So of course that's what she’s inclined to write.

Jen has a husband, two young daughters, and a mini Australian Shepherd. She’s lived in Tennessee the majority of her life and loves the state. She’s extremely addicted to caffeine and enjoys drinking coffee and lattes.

“Shadow City: Royal Wedding” is a romantic urban fantasy short story in the Shadow City world, featuring fated mates. To read Ronnie and Alex’s complete love story, check out Cursed Mate. If you want to start from the very beginning of the Shadow City world, read Shadow City: Silver Wolf Trilogy.

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