Indigo gazed at my mark a moment before lifting his gaze. “Since you magically sealed your womb, does that mean you could have children on Earth, too? Without worrying about them being possessed by bloodlust?”
My lips parted as I considered the possibility. “I—I don’t know. I suppose,” I finally murmured.
He opened his mouth to reply, but Melaina trotted up next to us, interrupting. “I’m starving and sick of sitting in this damn saddle. Besides, the pace you set today is outrageous. There’s an inn showing on the map, not too far ahead. I say we rent a room for the night and—”
“No,” Indigo said sternly. “Not while we’re this close to Tyler, and especially not when an entire posse of Graykey hunters know Quilla’s in the area.”
Melaina’s mouth pinched into a flat line, but after a sharp glance toward me, she sighed in disgust and muttered, “Fine. But I’m not cooking supper.” She pointed at me. “You hear that.”
I glanced toward Indigo as an idea bloomed. “That’s fine. I know just what to make, anyway.”
Chapter 25
Indigo
After helping set up camp a good clip away from the main roadway, I scouted the area for over an hour to make sure we’d picked a safe enough spot to bed down for the night.
I spotted two other camps within a three-mile radius of us, neither of which appeared to be hunting parties.
The first was a young family: husband, wife, and three children. I stopped and talked to them, learning they were off to visit the wife’s mother, who was ill. When I gave the little girl and her two brothers a sweet treat each, Holly growled low in her voice, sounding like a jealous and disgruntled cat. And since she was still in her horse form, the family sent her some very leery, uncertain looks, so I went on my way soon after that.
I shared my entire flagon of ale with the second party, which consisted of four men, all brothers. They were out camping in the woods because the oldest brother was in love and wanted to propose to his lady by building her a house. So they were chopping down enough wood to build her a sufficient home, hoping that would get her to say yes to him.
When the sun began to set, however, I wished them good luck with their endeavors and returned to my own camp, where Melaina and Quilla were sitting near the fire, working together to pull a long-handled covered pot from atop the campfire.
Inhaling deeply, I wandered closer, wondering what smelled so good. “What did you make tonight?” I asked, which made Quilla jump and let out a yelp, causing the pot to crash the last few inches to the ground and the lid to tumble off.
“You’re back!” she stated in a winded voice, gaping up at me with wide eyes. “You were gone so long, I began to think—”
“Sorry.” I winced, even as my gaze strayed to what was revealed in that pot. It was some kind of unleavened bread on top, crisscrossing in latticed strips and covering what looked like bits of fruit underneath. Whatever it was, it smelled absolutely divine. “I started out scouting the area but got a little carried away talking with everyone I crossed.”
After telling her about the family and group of brothers, her aunt snorted. “Damn, you just make friends with everyone you meet, don’t you?” Rolling her eyes as if that was a bad thing, she muttered, “How pathetic.”
She picked up a knife as if to cut me for being friendly to others, but instead, she cut the food into triangular pieces, then dished the biggest piece onto a plate where she immediately began to fork the steaming cuisine into her mouth.
“What is that, anyway?” I had to ask, my mouth watering. I was fully prepared to eat my stale hardtack for supper, but that didn’t stop me from hoping they might invite me to taste whatever this was they had prepared.
“It’s pie,” Melaina answered with a full mouth. “One of the best things I ever ate back in the old world.” After swallowing her bite, she motioned to the pie with her fork. “They considered it comfort food there. So, thanks for moping around most of the day with whatever pathetic little mood you were in. Quilla felt the need to make something that might cheer you up.”
Forgetting her condescending tone about my mourning period, I flashed a surprised and hopeful glance toward Quilla.
But this was hard to believe. Had she really cooked something for me?
She paused from getting her plateful to send her aunt a deathly glare. “It had nothing to do with him,” she shot back irritably. “I just felt like eating pie, okay? And I found enough berries in the woods to make one, so I thought why not.”
Why not, indeed.
Except I felt her embarrassment loud and clear through the mark, making me think Melaina hadn’t been lying, and my true love had made something specifically to comfort me.
Heart beating hard over that idea, I edged closer and asked, “Can I try some?”
Quilla finally glanced up, her expression skittish and a little annoyed. “You might as well,” she finally mumbled as if she didn’t care what I did, except I felt anxious excitement from her inner feelings.
The woman wanted me to eat her pie.
“There’s more here than Melaina and I can eat by ourselves.”
“Well, I’ll happily help you clean up the leftovers,” I gallantly offered, hurrying the rest of the way over to sit by her on the log. She shifted as if rattled by my proximity, but she didn’t scoot away from me.
“So, this is pie?” I asked as I heaped my plate full. “It’s just bread with fruit inside?”
“They call it a pastry on Earth. Not quite in the bread family but a close neighbor. And the filling is sweetened quite a bit. It changes the taste of the cooked fruit more than you’d think.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Sweetened?” I liked my food sweet, so that only sounded better to me.
Glancing at her as I lifted my fork, I opened my mouth and let the metal tines glance across my tongue as I took that first bite. Our gazes caught and held as flavor hit my taste buds.
The crust was flaked and different than any kind of bread I’d ever eaten before. It was sweeter too. But mixed with the berry filling, it was—shit.
It was amazing.
Closing my eyes, I moaned and chewed. But, oh God, it was seriously delicious.
“This one is made with strawberries and blueberries,” Quilla was telling me. Concern laced her voice and echoed through my mark, letting me know just how much she wanted me to enjoy her cooking. “But you can put all kinds of things in them. Apples, cherries, pumpkin, peaches, pecans—”
“This.” I pointed to my plate as I swallowed and scooped up more. “This one’s my favorite. Right here. Oh my God, it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
I shoveled more into my mouth and ate without discretion. It was that good.
“Really?” Pleasure and surprise sparked through the mark, telling me Quilla approved of my response.
But next to her, her aunt frowned and rolled her eyes. “You can’t say it’s the best if you haven’t tried any other kind of pie.”
“Yes, I can,” I insisted with a full mouth, my cheek beginning to pooch with sweet and tart goodness. “Nothing could taste better than this.”