Page 143 of Bound

And felt some of the tension ease from her. “Just sleep,” he murmured, a rumble from a voice too thick with it.

She hummed in agreement.

And they were a little too close, and it was harder still when Merryweather came later and wedged herself between them.

But in another way...

It was rather perfect.

21. His

She awoke on her back. It never would have seemed such a strange occurrence, except that the state of her wing had made it where she suddenly needed to keep either to her side or her stomach—both unnatural to her preferences, which meant she woke frequently as she battled down the twinges and aches of broken bone.

She was used to a companion in her bed. To the warm lump at the foot. Or in the middle. Or wherever else she pleased.

Braum was different. Not a lump, but a mountain. Broad shouldered and warm, and she found herself creeping closer to him in her unconsciousness. Merryweather did it too, so that made it all right. It was not an invitation.

Each night he held her hand, occasionally placing a kiss on the back of it before he bid her goodnight.

Each night, he would murmur softly that they would just be sleeping.

And her heart would calm and she would make the conscious choice to trust his word. That she was safe.

Safe with him. From him.

But this morning, she woke on her back. And her wing did not hurt. And she could stretch and suppress her groan because he was still sleeping, and it was rude to wake him, wasn’t it? He was working so hard. Tending to her work. Pretending he did not need to care for his trees. Could continue wooing Calliope and Temperance to like him best.

She should let him sleep.

But she didn’t hurt, and that... that was something.

His back was to her. He slept in shirtsleeves of soft grey, the neck too open for decency, but she did not comment on it. Besides, it seemed a shame for him to make use of the little tie about the neck when he looked rather handsome.

Not that she noticed.

She was an invalid, after all. Or had been.

She chewed at her lip, considering. Perhaps she might creep down and start on breakfast. Allow him to wake to the smell of hot tea and sizzling sausages. Or maybe she could milk her own hesper and make sure they remembered her.

She did neither.

And instead reached for him. Just a hand between his shoulder blades, his wings tucked neatly against his body. If she’d seen her father’s like that, she could not recall. It was... nice. Seeing him in a new state. To allow her palm to spread as she felt his strength through the fabric of his sleeping shirt. Felt the ripple through him as he came awake. He wanted to turn, to look at her, but she rather liked this. To feel him without... without feeling embarrassed as he watched her a little too closely, looking for reactions she wasn’t sure she should have.

“Wren?” he whispered, his voice thick with sleep.

“I don’t hurt today,” she answered, responding to the worry in his voice with a squeeze of his shoulder.

She liked the way his muscles coiled. Loosened. Responding to such an innocent touch. That wasn’t fair, was it? To touch if she didn’t want... if she wasn’t willing to...

She swallowed, withdrawing.

And he did turn. Eyes soft and warm, and she felt her insides twist just to see it.

“Already planning your escape?” Braum asked, and her cheeks flushed. “Do not think I haven’t seen those lists of yours.”

She plucked at the blanket that had fallen a little too low while she was sleeping. “Just things that need doing. That could keep until I was well enough to do them.”

He hummed.