Page 112 of Bound

The grey drizzle that seemed endless, when the grimbles took to their burrow in protest, Thorn guarding the entrance with all the patience that only he seemed to possess.

Merryweather found it all the more objectionable, and Wren had to keep a dry towel at the door so she could rest her paws on them until they dried, her coat leaving a fine mist of fresh rain as she shook.

Then she’d retreat to the loft to spend the rest of her days.

Braum had finished her hallway. Just in time, he’d said, eyes up at the skies. Perhaps Harquil simply knew. Had an understanding with the winds and the open air that someone of her blood simply couldn’t appreciate.

He still came. Every few days, his tools gone—and with them, his excuse for being there.

She didn’t question it. Not when he was content with sitting on her new porch, watching the evening stretch onward toward night.

She’d finally asked him why he came so late. Preparing the groves for winter, he said. Chopping wood. This, he added with a pointed look in her direction.

“My father secured a service,” Wren reminded him. Or had she never thought to clarify that before? She couldn’t remember. “He brings a cartload when it’s needed.” He’d need to come again soon. She had stores enough for a few weeks, but she’d begun using more to keep the house warm as even the days grew cold.

She hadn’t finished his gift. She worked on it daily, but she removed more rows than she progressed, finding it especially important for it to be... nice.

She’d prefer perfection, as his craftsmanship seemed to be. At the rate she was progressing, it would be spring again by the time she’d finished, and he’d no need of it at all.

He didn’t have a need for it now, a part of her taunted. Just as he’d no need of her when she refused to budge on... anything.

It spoiled some of the pleasantness in their sitting. In the peace of a quiet evening after a long day’s work. Made her anxious and fidgety, and he noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“If I wanted to fetch more tea, would you let me?”

Her mouth grew dry. “I’ll do it,” she hurried, making to stand and already reaching for his mug.

But he pulled it back and shook his head. “Would you let me?” he repeated, and why was this so hard?

She knew the answer. Locked it away as best she could, and yet it wriggled free more often than she cared to admit. She was afraid of him being there. Afraid of his features twisting and becoming someone else entirely.

That someone had never asked to fetch more tea. He’d sat and waited and smiled at her and fed her lies and pretend comfort.

She swallowed, her throat tight and painful.

Held her mug out to him.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t manage it, but he didn’t linger. Didn’t tease.

He simply went inside and returned with two more steaming mugs, Merryweather at his heels.

Nothing terrible happened.

She just had another mug to warm her hands, and he settled back into the chair that had come to feel a little too much like his.

She should put a stop to this. Then the guilty feelings would go with him, and she’d just enjoy the new things he’d given her and that she’d put a stop to all the mate business before it had a chance to hurt her even more.

“My parents returned,” Braum cut in.

She couldn’t look at him. Stared at her mug instead, skimming her finger across the lip as she struggled with herself. “Oh?” she managed, too quiet and too breathless. “They’re safe?”

Braum laughed. “Ma is not one to allow for risks. For herself or for Da. Makes for boring adventures, according to him, but she’ll just say that it means they’re alive to have more.”

“I’m glad. For you. That they’re home.”

“Be glad for Kessa,” Braum countered with a shake of his head. “She’s a little lost without Ma.”

Wren swallowed. “I know the feeling.” She cut in before he could tell her he was sorry, before he could reach over and touch her hand. She didn’t deserve his comfort, and she did not particularly want his pity, either. “Her mate does not mind?”