Page 32 of Bound
He had tried so hard not to stare. Either at her, or at the contents of her home. There at least had been reasonable confirmation that she held no other male as her...
His mind rebelled before he could supply mate.
He was her mate. He was.
Braum groaned.
Opened the door.
He needed air, that was all. To seek a cool breeze to calm his blood and keep him from doing something he would surely regret.
But the night was still, the stars bright and almost mocking as they reminded him how easy it would be to return to her now that he knew the way. There was light enough, even without a lantern.
He stalked back and forth. Willing himself to tire.
She was alone.
She’d asked him not to tell anyone.
A kernel of trust, perhaps, that she would find him capable of keeping a confidence.
That was how he’d seen it at the time, but now...
She was alone.
With only bits of wood and iron to protect her.
He went back into the house. Dressed himself. Smoothed his hair. He would go to his sister’s. That would keep him sane. He would sleep in her front room, would not even wake her, but it would keep him accountable for his actions.
It was justification enough to take to the night sky. To break free of the thick trees—some mere saplings, others large and awaiting the need for their lumber. And if he entered near a trance, then was he truly responsible when he did not turn toward the city? Instead, a simple glen that suddenly was of the greatest importance.
It was wrong. Intrusive.
But he would not see her. Would not trouble her at all. Just... be there. In case danger found her. That couldn’t be wrong, could it? He had permission to be there, after all. So long as he had something he could fix, could convince her that his work was repayment.
She’d shown him her legs. Drawn up the fabric and let him see as if it was nothing. As if his blood hadn’t heated and he hadn’t wanted to touch. To soothe and to explore and...
He landed early. Did not want the great beast in her field to hear him and frighten her with any sort of alarm.
Guilt warred with the insistence of ancient instincts that this was right. He belonged here. Belonged wherever she was.
He walked the rest of the way. Avoided the house entirely because...
She would not forgive him if she saw him. He knew that as well as he knew he needed to be here.
He settled on the barn. Where the hesperslept in their large stalls, heads tucked toward bellies, oblivious to the near-stranger that settled into the hayloft above. There was an obvious depression where the leptus apparently had slept for much of the day. He’d worn his cloak. Settled into the clean straw and it should not have been comfortable. Should have poked and made him feel ridiculous. But as he settled, he found his eyes could finally close. That he could breathe, deep, full breaths.
It could be better. If he was inside. In a bed shared with her. Where he did not have to imagine what it might be like to have her close. To feel as if...
As if he was whole.
But this would do, for now. For as long as she needed. If he could just have this...
It would be enough.
8. Slip
Wren made a double portion for breakfast. Did not ask him if he needed it, not when he was already sitting beneath the tree when she peeked out the window at first light. She couldn’t imagine why he needed to start so early, but presumably it was to have most of the work down before the midday suns became intolerable.