Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 84949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Jenny giggles, the sound bright and happy, and it takes no convincing for her to join me. She slides in between my legs, her back to my chest, and gives a little wiggle. "It's a bit crowded in here."
I do not need much more space.
That makes her laugh harder. "Because you're already hogging it all!" She pats my knee with a wet hand. Both of my knees stick out of the water, and her legs are crossed in front of her because the tub is not long enough. When we move, the water spills onto the floor, and a little twinge of guilt floats through her thoughts every time. Wasting water. She does not like wasting water.
Think of it as the Salorian's water, I tell her encouragingly. Enjoy yourself.
Her thoughts drift to the bottles lining the tub and she wants to wash her hair. I can do this for her. I pick one up and sniff it, then cough as a disgusting scent smacks me in the face. What is this filth?
"That is flower-scented body wash." She laughs again.
It is vile.
"Yeah, it's a little strong." She peers at the array of small bottles lined up. "Here, try this one." She hands it back to me. "And maybe don't shove your entire nose in this time."
I wished to smell what I was putting on my mate. I did not realize everything human was scented so terribly. I should have guessed from your hive. Even now, the wash of scents gets overwhelming. Only Jenny's constant, close presence keeps them from becoming too much.
She squeezes my knee, all teasing gone. "I'm here for you."
I know. I open the bottle—the scent in this one is far less offensive—and squeeze a large dollop atop her head.
Immediately, Jenny squeals. "My hair's not wet!"
Is that supposed to happen?
She laughs wildly, leaning back against me, and I love her happiness and her joy. My mate is worth everything. Even if I must spend months—or longer—in the human hive, I have her. That is all that matters.
She sends mental images of how a hair-washing is supposed to happen. Wet hair, then shampoo. Then rinse. Then conditioner. Then rinse again. It seems like a great deal of fussing, but what is more human than fussing with smelly things? I inwardly shrug and cup a handful of water, bringing it over her head.
Jenny's amusement turns to exasperation and she shimmies forward in the tub. Here, let me do this the easy way. She moves to the far end and then leans back, dunking her head under the surface before erupting again, water streaming down her face. She settles back against me, wiping her eyes, and gestures. "You may now commence with the washing."
Her tone is as silly as her mood. Amused, I put more of the strange soap on her head and this time it lathers and foams instead of just…sitting there. Ah. This does seem more pleasant.
"How are you doing?" she asks as I work on her hair. It tangles easily, turning to knots quickly. The strands are fine and soft, unlike my own, and I wonder which type of hair our child will have—hers or mine?
I am getting foam everywhere, I answer truthfully. My hands are sunk deep into her wet hair, and the more I massage, the more it grows.
"No, I mean…how are you doing being back at the fort? How's your head?" Her thoughts probe at mine, cautious and full of affection. She worries this is too much for me. She worries she asks a lot for me to return to live with the Salorian, even if only for a time.
But with my mate at my side…everything is different. Yes, the scents of the hive are bad, but they are not overwhelming. Yes, the noise of other minds is there, but it does not drown me. Even when it all feels like a lot to have in my head, my mate is there at my side, anchoring me. I am surprisingly well.
"I'm glad." She swipes foam back from her forehead, and her thoughts are full of smiles.
A moment later, an angry voice flashes through my mind. IT IS COLD OUT HERE! I DO NOT LIKE THIS ONE BIT!
Vaan's thoughts immediately touch the new mind, soothing. Welcome, my son.
COLD. HUNGRY! ANGRY!
What is your name, little one?
Tunjozefren.
I am pleased for my friend, and send thoughts of pride to both. A strong, fine name for a strong, fine son. Welcome, Tunjozefren.
Jurik is there, too, sending his thoughts of welcome to the new one. For a moment, it feels like home as more minds reach out to greet the newcomer. I can feel Luminoura and Sallavatri reaching out, as well as far more distant children touch in with Tunjozefren, letting him know he is not alone. That he is supported by his people.