Page 130 of Bound

And when he turned to her, his eyes were dark and they might have been frightening, if not for the warmth she felt trickle through her. He was a handsome man, her Braum. Had been from the start. Which of course was knowledge she’d tucked away and buried as thoroughly as she could, because it wasn’t relevant. Didn’t mean a thing to her, not when she’d never look at him as someone to admire, someone she might like to touch...

But she was touching him now. Her hand had shifted when he moved, dropping away from his hair and she found it pulled between his warm palms. Rough and soft, all at once. As if he knew hard labour, but took care of himself as well.

He was going to say something. Probably a lot of assurances about expectations and she needn’t fear him. That he would not impose upon her in her bed, even if he was allowed to sleep by the fire, and she couldn’t abide hearing all that. Not now. It was all true, and they were comforts she had offered herself when she grew too anxious at his presence in her life and near her home.

“No, it is my turn to talk and for you to listen.” Her voice was soft and calmer than she felt. Or was it? Some of that anxious roiling was quieter than it had been. As if some of the knots and tangles that had been the state of her stomach for months was suddenly soothed. “I haven’t treated you fairly. You’ve been... more than gracious about it, and I know... I know you understand the reasons.” She chewed at the inside of her cheek, and if he did not have such a hold on her hand, she would have tried to touch his face again.

How long had she buried those impulses? She couldn’t even recall. It had become so commonplace to tuck them away, it stopped being any effort at all.

“I’m not saying I can be a proper mate. Not... not right away.” She grimaced, thinking of her broken wing and how an already odious business would be made even more tedious if she had to be pushed about with a wing to twinge and ache with every movement.

No, she told herself firmly.

What she’d known before... that was before. With a brute and a wretch, and it was not a worthy comparison at all.

It was different when a man cared. Mama herself had said so. And she’d get that wistful look in her eyes that Wren knew meant she was thinking of her father. Sad. Fond. She’d been loved, if only for a while.

It would be different for Wren. For Braum. Because... he’d chosen her ages ago. And she’d choose him now. Each day, if she had to. Until it was as real and as tangible as the bond he felt for her.

“But I’d like you to be mine. And... I’d like to think I’d treat you better than my animals, but I’m not really sure how to care for anything else. So I can promise you food and company and shelter, and that I’ll be happy to see you every time we’re together, and...”

He squeezed her hand. And she’d forbidden him to talk, hadn’t she? Hadn’t meant to, not really, but he was always so respectful of her.

“I want you to be happy,” she finished, not sure what else she meant to say, but knowing that was important. “And to know... that you’re welcome. And you don’t have to keep fixing my house if you do not want to—I’ll even stop trying to pay you for what you’ve done already.” She grimaced again, thinking of the roof. “But maybe, if you’d like, you could help fix the roof, since... since you’ll be staying here too. And maybe you’d like to be dry for this wet winter we’re supposed to have.”

Another squeeze to her hand, and she blew out a breath. She was tired. Would sleep soon, if this wasn’t so important. It was easier, somehow, to talk when the haze of tiredness quieted her anxieties. They were there, always present in the back of her mind, gnawing and niggling, but easier to ignore. “I want you to stay,” she added, in case that hadn’t been clear along the way. “All right, I’ve finished.”

Maybe there was more he needed from her. More thanks. Just... more.

He was still holding her hand, but he took away one of his so he could skim his thumb across her cheek, just as she had wanted to do to him.

“Do I have those herbs of yours to thank for this sudden change of heart?” Braum asked. His tone might have been teasing, but there was a hint of genuine concern in his eyes that made her answer more serious, even as warmth crept into her face at having to speak so plainly.

“I don’t think sudden is the word,” she confessed, her insides squirming in that familiar way as he watched her. “I’ve been... wondering, for a while. If maybe... maybe things could be different. If I could be different. If I... tried.” She chewed at her lip, and it was her turn to squeeze his hand. “You make me want to try. I think... I think I held on a little too tight. To how things were. But they can’t be that way again. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have something good. Even if it’s different.”

He leaned forward, and for a moment she thought he was going to press a kiss to her lips. Her heart swelled and fluttered, and she didn’t want that, did she? That was too close to the other matter, the one they’d deal with later when she was better, and yet...

He moved so it was her forehead instead, and his lips were warm and his hand nestled in her hair for just a moment to keep her still.

Then he moved.

To the cheekbone he’d touched. And there was a kiss, yes, but he did more than that. It was a brush of his lips against her skin, a gentle nudge that was almost a nuzzle as he... he purred.

A soft sound as he breathed out, so subtle she wasn’t certain if she’d imagined it at all.

She didn’t allow her thoughts to turn to her parents. On wondering if Da had ever purred for her mama when they were together. Maybe that was something reserved solely for a man and his mate, something deep and soothing when she was frightened, when she needed him close and to hold her and...

She resented how sore she felt. The broken wing that would keep her from sleeping how she preferred.

She resented it especially now when she wanted to feel what it was to be held by Braum. Not to be carried and flown home during one of her upsets. But if it felt as she thought it might.

Like... like a little bit of home.

His lips moved from her cheekbone, and she held her breath, waiting. Wondering. If... if he was going to kiss her properly. “Wren,” he murmured, and she hadn’t realised she’d closed her eyes until she opened them again at his rumble of her name. “There you are,” he murmured.

Only then did his mouth meet hers. Awkward and askew, her head resting too near the mattress itself, and only belatedly did she think to tilt her chin to help him. But it was warmth and it was comfort, and it made her heart race and her blood quiver, and yes, she cursed her broken wing and the roof and her slippery heels.

For she would have liked more of his kisses, if they were going to feel like that.