The Hidden (Shadowed Wings #1)(36)

I rotate the football shape in my hands and suddenly recognize it as the yummy fruit Tysa got for me the morning of the alarms. I look up just in time to see Zeph crack his fruit over his knee and slurp a huge bite out of one half. My stomach rumbles, and I mimic his actions. I hold the bumpy fruit up high and bring it down hard on my knee.

“Motherfucker!” I shout as the only thing that feels like it breaks is my damn knee cap. I drop the fruit and grab onto my knee, rocking back and forth as I grunt in pain.

“What the rut did you do now?” Zeph accuses as he rushes to my side. He tries to move my hands, and I slap his big asshole-ish mitts away.

“Fuck off, I can take care of myself,” I snap at him, and he narrows his eyes at me.

“Clearly,” he snarks, matching me glare for glare as he trundles back over to his side of the fire.

I look around the cave for a rock and spot the perfect one. I hobble to my feet and grab the fruit. I limp over to the rock and smash the turquoise football fruit on its edge. I release a battle cry of triumph as my fruit splits open, and do a victory dance back to my fur. I catch Zeph watching me, and I shoot him an I told you so with my eyes as I bite into the inside of my fruit. The same delicious pineapple and strawberry taste fills my mouth, and I have to slurp up the juice to keep it from making a mess of my face.

“What is this called?” I ask before I slurp and bite into it again.

“Duda fruit,” Zeph answers flatly, digging into his own meal and going back to ignoring me.

“It tastes like pineapple to me. Do you guys have that fruit here?” I ask. He doesn’t say anything. “I used to hate pineapple when I was younger. That just seems funny to me because now I’m obsessed with it. My gran used to get it on pizza, and I would always pick it off. Holy shit!” I exclaim suddenly, looking down at the turquoise fruit in my hands.

“What?” Zeph demands, rising to come to me and searching around me for whatever has me so stunned.

“She called it dude pizza,” I inform him quietly. “I thought it was like a joke about surfers or something, but she was talking about this fruit.” I look up at Zeph and take in his face as the fire’s light flickers over his features. “She was missing this.” I hold up the fruit and stare at it with new understanding.

“What about the rest of your family; did they ever talk about anything that might give you a clue where they come from?”

I think back and try to look at my few memories of my mother and father, but nothing stands out. “My father was from an island. I don’t remember the name, and my gran hated talking about it.”

“What was his name?” Zeph asks, his focus on the wall of the cave and not on me.

“Awlon...Awlon Umbra. He had black hair and lime green eyes that always lit up when he saw me,” I tell him, a small smile sneaking across my face at the memory.

“Awlon the Dark was the last reigning prince of the Ouphe,” Zeph announces, and he looks at me with even more scrutiny than he did before. “He died though, he was murdered by a servant,” he adds, and he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of these facts. “Your mother?”

“Noor. Her name was Noor.” I try to recall her maiden name, but it doesn’t come to me. I know it was different than Gran’s, but I can’t remember what it was.

Zeph gasps and then starts to cough. My gaze flashes up to his, and I can’t tell if he’s choking on something or trying to cover up his reaction to my mother’s name.

“What?” I demand, handing him the waterskin.

He takes a deep pull, and I wait impatiently for him to explain what sent him into a coughing fit. He shakes his head at me as he swallows another mouthful of water. “The name Noor is common around these parts. You’d have to check the archives with her full name to see if you have any other family here,” he finally explains, and I sag with disappointment. “We should sleep; we have a long walk ahead of us tomorrow, and we both need to heal.”

I nod at Zeph’s retreating back and watch him settle on his side of the fire, his back to me. I can’t shake the suspicion that he’s not being straight with me. Then again, it’s not like I’ve been in the loop about anything since I got here. I finish the rest of my meal and wash the sticky juice from my hands and face with some water from the skin. I lie on my side again and scoot closer to the fire, feeling cold. It’s like the elements and my memories are working in tandem to make me feel empty and freezing.

I debate for a second about scooting even closer to the stone ringed fire pit, but the image of me rolling into the fire in my sleep keeps me from closing the distance. A shiver runs through me, and I pull as much of the fur around me as I can while still lying on it. Zeph releases an irritated huff.

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here,” he observes, annoyance painting every word.

I flip his back the bird and try to stop my sudden shivering. “Psst...Pigeon,” I call. “Want to go all feathered and save me from hypothermia?” I ask, but she doesn’t stir. “Who’s a pretty gryphon?” I say in my most playful voice usually reserved for cute puppies and kittens. Nothing. “Fine, but if I die in my sleep from the cold, you only have yourself to blame,” I warn her.

I pull the top of my shirt over my mouth and try to breathe warm air into the makeshift cocoon. Zeph grumbles and stands up, grabs his fur, and tromps over to my side of the fire. He lies down, his back touching mine, and silence fills the cave again. After a while of lying with Zeph at my back, I start to warm up. Apparently, he’s an asshole and a walking, talking space heater, who knew? I snuggle into my furs, my shivers chased away by his close proximity, and I fall asleep to the memory of my dad’s happy-to-see-me eyes.