Zawla (The Hallans #1) Read Online Bethany-Kris

Categories Genre: Alien, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Insta-Love Tags Authors: Series: The Hallans Series by Bethany-Kris
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Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
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“Try,” he tells me. “Show.”

I grin. “You want me to try it?”

He nods seriously. It’s just as sweet and cute as when he’s confused. “Show.”

Bothaki’s gaze trains on my hand lifting the cube to my lips, and doesn’t leave as I pop the cube into my mouth and chew. The second the heavy fruit that, texture-wise, reminds me of apples, hits my tongue, I understand what he means.

I know what he wants to show me by trying his food.

Even just a piece of it.

It’s far fresher than mine, and I don’t even know how old it is. Juices flow through my mouth with every crunch of my teeth, a candied sweetness so good I make a little moan and my hand flies up to hide the sound.

Not that it works.

Very dark eyes watch me like I’m the only thing in the room. I’m all too aware of just how close he sits and that if we inched slightly closer, our bodies would touch. He heard the sound I made. No doubt about it.

“That’s very good,” I whisper after I swallow the bite.

“Bey?”

“Yes, good.”

Bothaki nods, clearly satisfied, and points at the items I set to the side.

The paper flashcards and black marker.

“Show?” he asks.

It seems we’ve both found a new way to learn.

“Yes, Bothaki, I brought these to maybe help us both show things to one another.”

SEVEN

“These are books,” she says, showing me the picture she’s drawn, but also motioning to the library beyond the glass.

I almost laugh. Of course I know what books are, even though we don’t use them on my planet.

“Do you have books on your planet?”

“Spa—” I begin to answer in my language, but pause and instead say, “No.”

She smiles at me speaking in her language before asking, “How do you remember your history? Or teach the children where you’re from? What about just reading a book to enjoy a story?”

I look down, trying to figure out how I can explain it to her. How to use the words I know of her language to tell her that the marks on my body are for more than just denoting lineage and my status, but allows those with similar markings, my blood relatives, and true mates, to transmit memories. Our histories, our stories.

That’s it. Maybe I can show her rather than tell her.

I swallow, that new nervousness I’m finding comes when I’m near her filling me as I extend my hands to her. Laying them palm up on my knees, I wait to see if she’ll put her small hands in mine. She looks down at them for a second.

“You’re going to show me?” she inquires.

“Yes.”

Her teeth sink into the corner of her bottom lip and I can’t seem to look away from it. I wish I could feel her lips against mine. I yearn to hold her in my embrace and have her sink into me that way, her body knowing it’s being held by the only one it belongs to. She begins extending her hands, and it feels like eternity until they meet mine. But when they do … I thought just the brush of her fingertips that I got before was better than even the best memories of home. But this, having her hand in mine, her skin against my own, feels like I have the entire galaxy in my palms. And I would never need anything more.

I quickly search my mind for what I want to show her first. Hallalah’s animals? Our stone homes and palace? My parents? But my mind settles on the most serene of images, and I know that’s what I’ll show her first, reminding myself that I’ll have time for all the other memories later. I must have that later.

I mentally push the image towards her, envisioning it traveling from my mind, taking the path of my markings to my palms where hers meet mine, and into hers where she should see it play out behind her eyes the way it once did for me. I watch for her reaction, wait for the smile I’m sure will come. But instead, her brows raise.

“I’m ready,” she urges me.

She … can’t see it? I don’t understand. I know it’s not because she’s a different species. Hallans have mated with other species before, albeit never a human from Earth, and this has always worked. I try it again, but I can tell it still doesn’t work.

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

“Hyt bolla leaja.” I don’t understand, I say in my language.

Her lips drop into a frown. I hate the sight of it, so I hurry to try and explain. I motion at the markings on my chest and she leans closer, squinting her eyes in the most beautiful way, searching for some clue in them. But when I chuckle, she goes still, her eyes slowly coming to meet mine. I find such softness there that I have to stop myself from reaching out and stroking her cheek. She sits back with a small smile on her face, hand going to her hair to fix a single strand that’s come out of place.


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