Chapter 10
Kai's POV
I opened my eyes to meet a pair of enchanting green orbs. There was something raw, something honest in her gaze. But the moment she noticed I was awake, she blinked and looked away. The hand that had been gently ruffling my hair paused, then slowly retreated.
"You slept well," she murmured, encouraging me to lift my head from her now clearly numb lap.
I couldn't help but stare at her. Her full, rosy lips were inviting, and her fluttering lashes gave her gaze a touch of innocence that both teased and tempted me.
"I want to stay like this," I mumbled shamelessly, nuzzling into her soft thighs like a spoiled child. She blushed—she always did—and gently pushed me off, guiding me to sit up.
Her legs were obviously numb. It made sense. For someone with my build to rest on her delicate lap for that long was more than a little unfair. But for the first time in ages, I had truly rested.
"What do you want to do today?" I asked, my hands massaging her thighs. She looked a little embarrassed but didn't stop me. She must have realized I was helping ease the numbness.
As I worked, my fingers slipped slightly beneath her animal skin clothing. Her skin was pale and impossibly soft—the softest thing I'd ever touched. I liked how it felt. But when I ventured too far, close to her most private area, her sharp glare stopped me cold.
I pulled back. Teasing her always backfired on me. I suffered more from the tension it created than she ever did.
Trying to shift the mood, I asked honestly, "So… what's the plan today?"
"I want to gather clay soil. I need to make utensils," she said, her eyes meeting mine, filled with determination and hope.
Her gentle beauty always made it difficult to resist her, and once again she was asking for something strange. Still, if it made her happy, I would help. Always.
The home we'd built together looked like a human hut, but in truth, it was much more than that—far classier and more refined than anything I'd seen in the human realm. Her influence was unmistakable. She intrigued me. Even the words she used—"clay," "utensils"—sounded strange and foreign.
"It's a kind of soil, good for molding," she explained, sensing my confusion. "Like the red dirt you gathered yesterday by the lake."
"Oh… red sand?" I finally understood. I still didn't know what she intended to make, but with time, she always explained things in her own way.
Sitting beside her, I watched her gather the red soil onto a flat stone. Then she began to mold it. At first, it looked like playing in the mud, but the longer I watched, the more I admired her focus. Slowly, she shaped the clay into something that resembled a hollow bowl.
"That's a pot," she told me. Then she kept going, shaping more pieces—things she called cooking utensils.
"You eat this?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.
She burst into laughter. I felt awkward, but I didn't mind—it was a sound I wanted to hear more often.
"No! You cook with it," she smiled, proud of her work. "Once it dries in the sun, I'll heat it in fire to harden it. Then I can make stew, soup, and real food."
I offered to help, but she refused. "You won't guess what shapes I have in mind," she said, guarding her creative process.
Instead, I carried the finished pieces for her. They were heavier than they looked. I used logs of wood to balance them one by one, taking care not to press or damage them. As I was about to return to her, I glanced at the sea and remembered something important—the night stone.
"Wait here," I muttered before diving in.
Beneath the waves, in a dark corner of the ocean, I found a cluster of the glowing stones. I gathered as many as I could carry and emerged from the water, soaking but triumphant.
When I saw her panicked expression, it pained me. I hated causing her distress—but this was worth it.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing curiously at the stones.
"They're night stones," I explained, smiling. "They glow in the dark. During the day, they absorb sunlight. I thought they'd help you see better at night."
Her smile lit up her face.
It's the small, thoughtful gestures that soften a female's heart.
While I carried the clay pieces carefully, she held the stones up toward the sun, watching how they shimmered. Her curiosity was infectious.
I liked every expression she made.
Back at our home, I followed her instructions and arranged the molded pieces on wood planks to dry under the sun. Then I turned to watch her, now fully immersed in arranging the stones on the ground. She handled them as if they were made of glass—delicate, precious.
And for the first time… I felt something ridiculous. Jealousy.
Was I… glaring at the stones?
Why did they get her attention so easily, while I had to fight for it?
I finally walked over and crouched beside her. "Isn't it still early to rest?" I teased.
"What are you doing?"
"Going for a hunt. I'm out of wild meat."
She perked up immediately. "Can I come with you?"
That look. That irresistible look in her eyes.
"It's wild and dangerous. I'm going deeper into the forest this time," I said, trying to stay firm.
But of course, I gave in. I always did when she looked at me like that.
She trailed beside me with quiet enthusiasm, her steps light but full of curiosity.
And I—sighing to myself—couldn't help but smile.