Page 127 of Bound

“Wren,” Braum prodded gently. “I think we need to talk some.”

She turned blurry eyes to him, even though she wasn’t truly present. The list of things that needed doing was pressing in on her, and her body was failing her and she hated it.

Never mind the roof itself. The workers she did not know who to ask for, and possibly more coins she’d need to borrow from Da when she’d yet to repay him for the last ones.

“Wren,” he repeated, his tone turning harsh and insistent.

She blinked, her brow furrowing. That was no way to speak to an invalid—even she knew that.

“I’ll not leave you.”

Her head hurt. Not the ache at the back of it that had accompanied her waking. But a persistent throb that was a pressure between eyes, heavy and unwelcome. “Braum,” she groaned, and he shook his head.

“No, Wren. I was wrong before. It is not a talk we need, but for you to listen.” She might have scowled if she was not so sore and cross already. “To me,” Braum clarified. “Not cads. Not even your father to your mother. Just me and you.”

She swallowed, eyes too wide. Her heart was beating too quickly, and she glanced toward the exit as if she would make it there. “You’re safe, lovely. Always,” Braum soothed, and her vision blurred briefly because he noticed her. Even when she wished it to be otherwise, he saw. “But if I intend to keep that promise, I must be here.”

Her lips thinned, and his thumb came to her bottom lip, his expression warm, yet... troubled.

“I’ll not insist on living in your home. That is yours, to invite me or to exile me, at your whim. But I’ll be on this property each night—with your hesper, if they’ll have me. At least until I can build a cottage for myself.” Still, that hint of sadness he did not seem able to will away. “I could have lost you,” he continued, his thumb coming to her cheekbone, stroking it so lightly that she wanted to cry to entirely different reasons than before. “In my desire to respect your wishes, in my need for you to be happy, I kept away. I gave you distance and in it, I failed in my most fundamental duties as your mate.”

He was always so careful not to say that—she’d insisted on it, hadn’t she? She didn’t want to be called that, and he did not want to impose himself on a woman that did not recognise him for what he was.

How much of that mattered anymore? If he was just a man, and she...

Not a woman preyed upon in her grief.

Not a girl that had lost her father to tricks of fate and biology.

Just a woman.

That was rather fond of this man. Liked the way he looked at her animals with affection instead of annoyance. Liked the way he spoke so well of his sister. His family. He knew how to love and to love well.

Could she say the same?

She’d apologised to him already. For not being what he deserved. What he wanted. He’d been cross, and rightly so, and she wouldn’t insult him now by offering anything of the kind.

Instead, she’d do as he asked, and listen.

“Will you hate me for it? For staying?” Something shifted in his expression. He lost some of the sadness, and there was a hint of just how lost he felt. The worry he carried, but did his best to hide away from her. To appear calm and unaffected, for she was anxious enough with her own concerns.

A poor friend, indeed. So preoccupied with herself, with sad histories and troubled pasts, she’d not taken nearly enough care of him in turn.

Not from responsibility or obligation. The weighty, unwelcome burden that she’d felt... before.

Lies. All of them.

But she’d believed them. Still had, for a long while after. Of what a troublesome thing, mates seemed to be. Steeped in expectation—selfish to the last.

She thought she’d been protecting herself by rejecting it all outright. There was no one else to look out for her, after all.

Hadn’t been.

Or...

That wasn’t true, either.

Firen was.