Page 29 of Bound

She sighed. Made use of her napkin. And if it hid her for just a moment, then that was just as well. “It’s one meal,” she told herself. Told him. Except he claimed he would need part of tomorrow as well, which would mean another, wouldn’t it? Anxiety tugged at her throat, made her hand curl into a fist beside her plate.

And still, he watched her.

Until he sighed.

Picked up his plate and his cup.

And went outside.

It should have made her feel better. Should have settled her home to rights where it was solely hers again.

But instead there came the regret, the feeling of failure. Of being an inhospitable wretch of a hostess, that she could not even give him a moment’s rest in her kitchen for his labours.

She picked up her own plate. Her cup. Even the napkin because she was civilised, even if... even if she hadn’t quite managed it well enough on her first attempt.

He was settled beneath a tree near the pump, his legs out in front of him as he took his time with the last of his meal. She blinked, warring with herself. With old hurts and ones she feared she was inflicting with no true intention of doing so.

She approached him slowly. He had plenty of time to tell her to turn around, to go back to her kitchen and her discomfort and leave him be.

He canted his head back ever so slightly, but he did not speak. Not even as she settled on the other side of the tree with her knees pulled up so she could rest her plate there. It was not precisely comfortable—not with her wings squished against the bark. But it was cool. Cooler even than the kitchen, and the guilt eased. If only a little.

Merryweather found them. She had a sense for when Wren was eating, and it did not matter how well her hunting had gone for the day—she seemed endlessly hungry. She crossed the yard with all the determination of one about to be fed, as if it was commonplace to find her keeper seated outside with a plate.

She sniffed the edge of Braum’s boot once, and Wren was relieved to see that he kept still for her perusal. Then she sat.

And stared.

Full of expectation.

“Merry,” Wren urged, delving into her own meal to find a scrap of meat about the right size for her mouth. “Leave him be. He’s worked harder than you have.”

Merryweather did not seem to care for fairness. She wanted the newcomer to feed her as quickly as she had trained Wren to do so, and he chuckled softly before doing as Wren had done. “I do not mind sharing.”

Wren huffed out a breath. “You should. She will never stop insisting on it.”

Merryweather approached his outstretched hand and took his offering daintily, mindful of her sharp teeth. It was rare she hurt anyone, and when she did, it was on purpose. And usually only when she had kits and forgot herself when Wren approached too quickly and handled them a little more than she cared for.

“And how did you come to a leptus for a companion?”

Wren shifted slightly, wondering if she should feel offended that Merryweather had been captivated by a stranger. “I don’t know, really. She came one day and decided to stay. It was easier just to accept it.” She peered around the tree trunk as best she could, but could not catch a glimpse of his expression. Only the curve of his wing, his legs. The way he kept his hand out for Merryweather to sniff as she finished her offering. “You don’t have to indulge her, truly. She feeds herself most days. Just likes to pester all the rest of them.”

Merryweather stretched lazily, her mouth opening in a yawn to show the two rows of teeth that served as a distinct reminder that she was made for more than nudging and bed-warming. But her fur was soft, and her claws could retract, and Wren was grateful for her company.

Even if it seemed it was being seduced away as Merryweather stepped nearer, two paws coming to step onto Braum’s lap as she inspected him more closely.

Or, in truth, his plate.

He did not push her away. Did nothing but give a quiet sort of half-laugh. More breath than sound. It was... pleasant. To sit. To fiddle with her food and even to eat some of it, delving into her own meat so she could hold out her hand and try to coax Merryweather into letting him be. “You’re as bad a hostess as I am,” Wren groused, but with no true vehemence behind it.

Merryweather did not seem to share Wren’s guilt on the matter, although she left Braum alone long enough to come and steal the portions Wren offered to her. “You’re very patient,” Wren observed, petting Merry’s soft head as she chewed.

He turned his head, peering over his cup to look at her. “You think it a hardship to be here?”

She blinked at him, startled. “Well, I don’t. It’s home. But you probably do. Especially when at some point you’re going to realise you’re poorer at the end of it than you should be.”

Braum sighed, and she glanced away from him. She hadn’t meant to bring it up again. Really, she hadn’t. “Sorry,” she murmured because she didn’t want to upset him again. “I just...”

“Experience, you said,” Braum cut in. “A debt you could not pay?”