All for a Rose (16 page)

Her temper, which had flared up at the first part of his sentence, quickly calmed as she acknowledged he was at least trying to be less insulting. “Well, I suppose it would be rude of me to cook your food and refuse to share it with you.”

The hope that lit Daman’s eyes was humorous. “That is very…kind.” He slid closer, scales grating over the stone. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a grand meal such as this.”

Maribel tensed, the camaraderie of the moment threatening to shatter. “Are you
mocking
me?”

Daman’s slitted eyes widened slightly. “No.”

“A stew is grand?”

Again Daman gazed longingly at the pan of vegetables. “I’ve been cooking for myself for some time. I’m afraid I’m rather basic when it comes to meals—meat, bread, and whatever fruit the brownies harvest from the garden. I’m not much of a chef.”

“A stew is a fairly simple meal,” Maribel insisted, annoyed with herself for the curl of pleasure that spiraled inside her at the compliment.

“It smells amazing already.” Daman moved closer, arching his neck to peer into the pot. “What are you adding now?”

“Tomato paste.” Maribel scraped the thick red substance into the pan and stirred the vegetables into it. She let it cook for a moment and then grabbed the large bottle of red wine she’d found in the cellar. Part of her waited for Daman to stop her, to say something about the wine being too fine for such a paltry use. But the…
naga
, just watched, fascination lighting his features.

She dumped the wine into the pan, relishing the sizzle as the alcohol evaporated and the bouquet of the wine scented the air. Daman remained silent, though he slid closer. His body heat caressed her back through the few inches that separated them and Maribel’s nerves danced with awareness. The butterflies swarmed back to life in her stomach and she realized she was holding her breath, anticipating… What?

Snap out of it!
Maribel forcibly shook off the ridiculous fantasies trying to play out in her head and snatched up the bottle of balsamic vinegar. She poured it into the pan and Daman’s tongue flicked out again. Maribel jumped, her arm jolting with the motion and pressing against the hot cast iron.

A sharp inhalation of pain escaped her lips as she dropped the spoon and clutched her arm. The skin shrieked in objection at her touch and she quickly yanked her hand away, holding the injured arm out into the air and clenching her teeth against the pain.

“I’m sorry.” Daman’s voice was terse, tight with an emotion akin to self-admonishment. He vanished with unnerving, inhuman speed, then returned with a jar of honey. “I startled you.” He snorted as he unscrewed the lid, filling the air with the sweet, sticky scent of honey. “No wonder Moira never wanted me in the kitchen.”

Maribel held still, trying to concentrate on his words, on the jar, anything but the throbbing pain of the burn. Equally to be avoided was the sharp stab of jealousy that lanced through her at the mention of some woman named Moira.

Forcing her mind away from that baffling train of thought, she held her breath and let Daman smear some of the thick, viscous fluid on her arm. “Honey?” she breathed, more to distract herself from her own thoughts than anything. She closed her eyes against the sting of pressure on the wound.

“It is a natural disinfectant and will ease the pain.”

She opened her eyes. “I know, I…” The traitorous blush returned with a vengeance.

Daman arched an eyebrow at her. “You didn’t expect me to know that. Because I’m a man or because I’m a
naga
?”

This time there was no doubt that Daman saw her embarrassment. She kept her gaze on her arm, pathetically unable to meet his eyes.

The sight of his finger sliding so gently over her arm mesmerized her. It wasn’t the fiery red condition of her own blistered skin, but the unmarred perfection of his. For some reason, she’d expected his entire body to be covered in scales, thought that if she got close enough, she would see the fine diamond pattern common to snakes. His skin had appeared smooth, but she’d assumed the scales were simply more refined on his upper body.

Now that she had an opportunity to see his skin up close—in a situation where she could study it without appearing rude—she realized that for the most part, from the waist up, he was the same flesh and blood as any human she’d ever met. Though, granted, his skin was a pale blue and did bear some scaled ridges.

Her gaze landed on his neck and the lines of thick scales that fell like braided silk down either side of his throat and ended just after the curves of his shoulders. A circular swirl of scales sat at the base of his throat, tendrils of the thick scales sliding out in a line on either side to almost, but not quite, connect with the ridges that ended at his shoulders. The bottom of the circle was connected to another ridge that fell down his chest, branching out into two delicate lines of ridges that cradled his ribs on either side. The main ridge down his chest continued past his taut stomach until it blended seamlessly with the scales of his lower body like a glistening river meeting the rippling waves of the ocean.

The honey grew tackier as Daman continued to spread it. He dipped his finger into the jar for a fresh scoop. As he applied more honey to the burn in the same slow, soothing motions, some of the tension leaked from Maribel’s shoulders. The even strokes he used to apply the balm were hypnotic, calming. The pain faded into the background and her mind continued its unimpeded consideration of her host.

His fingers were tipped with short, but wickedly sharp and curved white claws. He was obviously taking great care to keep from scratching her as he used the middle of his finger to spread the honey. Her gaze travelled to his hand and up his arm, and she noticed for the first time how thick his muscles were, the tempting swell of his biceps.

She must have made some sort of sound, because when she finally tore her attention away from his torso, Daman was staring at her, his face less than a foot away from her own. His mercurial eyes were dilated, the reptilian slits wider, round enough to be human. He’d stopped spreading the honey and now held her arm in a gentle grasp. His grip was warm and strong, and Maribel was suddenly incredibly aware of exactly how close they were.

“Does that feel better?”

His voice was deeper than it had been, absent the sharp edge she’d grown used to hearing from him. Rough and textured, a tangible sound, like rich, thick bed furs on bare skin.

He has a very human face, really.

The thought came out of nowhere, but it lodged itself in Maribel’s brain, dragging her attention to Daman’s face, the line of his jaw. He had very angular features, strong and solid. His mouth was perfectly normal, his lips…

Maribel had a sudden image of his forked tongue flicking out, his reptilian eyes intense. The strange spell rising between them shattered like overheated glass.

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely, tugging meekly at his grip on her arm. Her heart pounded so hard she thought the pulse in her throat would cut off her air.

There was a strange look on Daman’s face, as if he were debating whether to let go of her arm or pull her closer. Hyperawareness reminded her how much strength was in those broad swells of muscle, how much power was in that sculpted body. His eyes that had appeared so human to her a moment ago were now stark reminders that the man beside her was a predator. And she was behaving like prey.

The sound of blood rushing through her veins was so loud in her ears it shut out all else. She had to swallow three times before she could speak.

“I… I should get back to cooking.”

She held her breath and tugged at her arm again, inordinately grateful as he released her without protest. Then she practically dove for the spoon she’d been using to stir the pot, focusing on mixing the simmering concoction as though it took all of her concentration. Every nerve in her body vibrated with awareness as she waited for some sound behind her, some indication that Daman had moved. There was nothing but silence.

“I don’t want the vegetables to burn,” she babbled, focusing hard on the stew that didn’t need the attention she was giving it. “It has to cook like this for hours, and then I’ll add the bowl of carrots and potatoes and they’ll have to cook for another two hours… It takes so long, I know, but I used to make this all the time on the farm because I could leave it to cook while I…”

The complete and utter silence that met her incessant stream of rambling knocked against Maribel’s awareness like waves against the hull of an abandoned boat, and she forced herself to stop. She concentrated on taking a few subtle, slow breaths, trying to regain her composure. By the time she finally got the nerve to glance over her shoulder, he was gone.

She searched the kitchen, checking the doorway and waiting a full five minutes before letting out her breath.

“Stupid,” she muttered to herself.

“What did I do?”

Maribel screeched and yanked the spoon out of the pot, sending a spray of broth in a heated arc toward the wall. There was a flash of silver in the air and Maribel’s lips parted as some sort of…snake, leapt into the air and swallowed a droplet of stew before landing in a metallic coil on the butcher block.

“Mmmm,” the serpent hummed. “Can I have sssome more?”

Maribel clutched the spoon to her chest as her heart threatened to shatter her ribcage. “Who…” She blinked. “Daman…?”

The snake twisted its upper body so it was peering behind itself. “Where?”

Not Daman, then
. Maribel let out the breath that had lodged itself in her throat. Her brain had managed a mind-boggling leap from utter distaste to a disturbing attraction to her scaled host. She wasn’t sure she’d have been able to handle him turning into a full snake. Especially one as small as her visitor.

Not that size matters. Don’t think about size. Size of what? Stop thinking!
“Who are you?” she asked loudly, practically shouting from sheer desperation to drown out her own thoughts.

“Not ssstupid,” the little serpent said pointedly. Its tiny pink tongue flickered out.

“Stupid?” Maribel tried to gather her wits back into some semblance of order. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I was talking to myself.”

“That’sss all right then. Asss long asss you realize I am not ssstupid.”

“I’m sorry, did you burn your tongue?”

The snake tilted its head. A moment later, it opened its mouth and a small flame shot from its throat. It closed its mouth again.

“Probably not then.” Maribel cleared her throat and continued stirring the pot.
I am not having a nervous breakdown. Nagas, vampires, brownies. Why not a talking snake?
She glanced at the snake.
With wings.
“I’d be glad to get you a…bowl when you’re ready, but I must say, it would be worth the wait if you let me finish it first. It has to cook for a long time, but after it’s done, the meat will melt in your mouth.”

“Ooh, that sssoundsss good.”

“Are you a…friend of Daman’s?”

“Are you?” the serpent countered, its beady black eyes following her spoon as she stirred.

“Am I what?”

“Daman’sss friend?”

“I…” Maribel paused and cleared her throat, firmly shoving away the memory of Daman’s fingers sliding over her skin and her subsequent perusal of his body. His naked body. She tightened her grip on the spoon.
Stop thinking about that!
“We haven’t known one another long,” she managed finally.

“You ssseemed clossse.”

Maribel tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot and set it on the butcher block. The snake lowered its head as if intending to lick the spoon and she twitched and jerked it out of the way. She pressed her lips into a disapproving line and deliberately put the spoon on the other side of the stove.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but it was nothing. I burned myself and Daman was…helping me.”

“But you do like him?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Maribel sputtered. She crossed her arms. “Honestly, I’m having trouble making up my mind. He has rather pronounced mood swings, if you must know, and I’m not sure I care for him when his temper gets the better of him.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What do you care?”

“Jussst making sssure everything isss going according to plan.”

“Plan?” Maribel tensed, dropping her arms to her sides. “What plan?”

“I don’t like to tell everything at onccce,” the snake said casually. “It makesss it difficult to know.”

“To know what?”

“If thingsss happened naturally or if you forccced them to happen.”

“Ohhhh,” Maribel breathed. “You’re talking about his curse.”

The snake lifted its head higher, and if it’d had ears, they would have perked up. “You know about hisss curssse?”

“Yes. Mother Briar told me about it.”

“Ssshe would know,” the snake agreed.

Maribel shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what your stake is in all of this, but I’m not here to fall in love with a perfect stranger.” The words tasted odd on her tongue and for a moment she felt foolish.

The snake blinked. “Did you sssay fall in love?”

“I know that’s how to break the curse, but love doesn’t happen like that.” Maribel slanted a glance at the doorway Daman must have left through. Part of her wished he was standing there. “Besides, so far we don’t seem very compatible.”

“Are you talking about the mating assspect?”

Maribel nearly swallowed her tongue as she whipped her head around to gape at the snake. The serpent still sat there calmly, its body coiled in a pile on the butcher’s block.

“What did you say?”

“The mating assspect,” the snake repeated slowly. “You sssaid you weren’t compatible. Did you mean—”

“No!” The heat rushing to her cheeks was making Maribel’s head spin and she half-stumbled across the kitchen to fall into a chair. “I most certainly didn’t mean—”

“Becaussse you don’t have anything to worry about there,” the snake continued. “Even if he doesssn’t break the curssse, he isss fully capable—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’ll make you sorry you ever sat down on a butcher’s block,” Maribel choked.