Page 113 of Bound
Braum’s brow furrowed. “Mind what?”
She glanced at him. How could he manage such a relaxed posture when her whole body was tight and anxious? It was the cold, that was all. She’d need to bring her blanket if they were going to keep meeting like this.
Should they? Keep meeting like this?
“That your sister misses your mother. That she loves someone other than just... him.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his head tilting so he could still look at her. “She loves their fledglings,” he reminded her, his voice a soft rumble.
“A part of him,” she argued with a shrug.
“She loves me,” he stated even more firmly. “And our parents. And he loves her enough to love her people, too.”
Her father loved her. Had loved her mother too. But it hadn’t been enough. Not more than the bond.
It wasn’t all the same, her father had tried to explain. The need came first. The knowing. The affection, the love—that sometimes came quickly, sometimes slowly.
She’d wanted to ask which it had been for him, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say it. Hadn’t wanted to know. Not when... when a part of her still wanted to think that he loved only them. That he missed them and wished things could have been different.
But now...
There was a new man she wanted to ask. The one that claimed to be her mate. The one that worked hard to make her happy, to be what she needed. To listen to her when she fought through the tangle of too many memories.
Even when she did not know what she wanted.
The pastures were lonely places at this time of year. Calliope and Temperance were tucked into their stable, and Thorn had all of his grimbles neatly in their burrow.
But Merryweather was there. Curled into a tight ball, her long tail completing the circle—only the movement of her ears betraying she was still slightly awake and paying attention to them.
Tucked on her little seat. That he’d made. And Wren had spent a full evening crafting a cushion for.
There were evenings when Wren would come out alone and Merryweather would take Braum’s chair instead, her movements surprisingly delicate so as not to set off the rocking of the chair on its rails.
But when Braum was there, she’d keep to her cushion.
And it was... nice.
Perhaps more than nice.
She didn’t have people for Braum to love. Her father, maybe, if she was ever brave enough to introduce them. But he’d befriended her creatures from the start, the ones that had become her new sort of family, even... even if that might seem sad to some.
He’d never mocked her for it. Never urged her to move to the city, to spend more effort at endearing herself to the true-born Harquil.
He just... let her be. And tried to fit himself in where he could.
“Braum,” she murmured, feeling a strange sort of ache. The one that had urged her to make him something, to make sure that he knew she was grateful. That he was... welcome.
Not because of mates or heavily discounted labour or any other reason than she liked him. Liked sitting here. Liked that Merry liked him.
He sighed. A resigned, sorry sort of sound as he glanced her way. “Already?”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head, taking a long pull from his mug and looking as if he was about to stand. “Nothing. It’s all right. I’ll wish you a good night, then.”
He was smiling at her, but there was a hint of tension about his eyes rather than the warmth she preferred to see there.
“No, I-” She reached out. Came just short of touching him before she curled her fingers and pulled her hand away. “That’s not what I was about to say.”