That horrific day marked the only time she had ever been proud of her parents. Livid at discovering the slaughter, Lailah and Cato had meted out near-lethal punishments on the spot. Andromeda’s parents might torture and mutilate mortals and immortals without compunction, but they did not allow the abuse or senseless killing of animals.
Andromeda had asked once, why protect one and not the other? Her mother’s answer had been simple: Animals have no choice in whether or not to play the game.
Do all your playmates? Andromeda had dared ask.
Enough to not be innocent as an animal is innocent.
As a result of their stance, Lailah and Cato’s territory teemed with wildlife, was considered one of the most rich and diverse places on the continent when it came to fauna.
Yet despite the fact the aftermath of the rhino slaughter was well known to all who came here, Andromeda didn’t take risks when it came to the animals. The herons could fly away if anyone came here, and they weren’t usually targets in any case.
Where was Naasir?
She stood and walked up the slight rise behind the tree for the tenth time. It gave her an uninterrupted view of the savanna in every direction, but she saw no familiar feline stride, no glint of glittering silver.
Refusing to give up, she returned to the picnic blanket and checked the food she’d prepared by hand and with all of the love in her heart. She’d packed the meat in ice to protect it from the heat, then placed it in an insulated container, but it wouldn’t last more than two hours, given the warm temperature. She loved that warmth against her skin, loved the dusty scents in the air, loved hearing the far-off roar of a lion, had missed it all desperately when she was in the Refuge.
An hour later and the herons had flown away, leaving her with only the grasses for company. Even the light wind had fallen, the entire world in stasis. When she walked up the rise again, all was emptiness. “Naasir!” she yelled out to the mocking landscape. “If you don’t get here soon, I’ll eat all the meat!”
“Liar.”
Heart slamming into her rib cage, she swiveled so fast on her heel that she almost unbalanced. And there he was, his breath harsh and his skin hot, his hair tumbled from the run. She jumped into his arms, those arms wide open for her. Grabbing her under her wings, as if they’d done this a million times before and he knew exactly how to hold her, he lifted her off her feet and spun her around.
Laughing and crying, she locked her arms around him. “You’re late,” she accused when he stopped the spin. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
Cuddling her close, he rubbed his cheek against hers. “I’m hungry.”
She pretended to punch his shoulder, but when he put her on her feet, tugged him to the picnic blanket . . . and there, in the middle of the tartan was a book that wasn’t supposed to exist. Lips parting on a gasp, she fell on her knees. She reached for the book, snatched back her hand before her fingers could graze the gold-etched red leather.
The gold outlined the image of a fierce winged creature with fiery breath.
“You can touch it,” Naasir said, sprawling on his side on the blanket. “I asked Jessamy what to do to thaw it safely.”
“Thaw it?”
Naasir didn’t answer. He’d flipped open the insulated container and found the seasoned meat. Grinning, he popped a cube into his mouth . . . and his chest rumbled in pleasure, eyes heavy lidded. “Who made this?”
She bit down on her lower lip. “Do you like it?”
“Yes. I hope you bought a lot.” He ate several more cubes.
Forgetting the Grimoire for a second, she beamed. “I made it. I used special spices you can only order from a shop in Marrakech—I had the package flown down so it’d arrive in time.”
His eyes lit up, but his next words were a growl. “Open the book so you can be sure it’s your stupid Grimoire.”
Laughing at the way he always referred to the Star Grimoire, she picked it up with utmost care. The leather was in near-flawless condition, only a little creased on the spine. “How can this be so old and so perfect?”