Page 45 of Bound

And he turned before he took the skies in the fading light of the almost-evening.

She tugged at her braid.

Took a shaky breath.

And was comforted by Merryweather bumping her head against her knee. “Come on,” Wren urged. “An early night would suit just fine, wouldn’t it? Things will be better in the morning.”

They were her mother’s words, but as she closed the door and bolted it, her breath was ragged.

And she did not find that she believed it at all.

9. Hover

He could not go back.

Would not.

He had the door bolted. Had even closed the shutters on the window and secured them tightly, the summer night stifling in his cottage.

But he could slip out the window.

Could fly back to her, could convince himself that it was reasonable he make a secondary lodging in her barn. He wanted to make himself useful in exchange. He had no particular mastery in mucking out stalls, but he would if it would help, if it meant he could stay, could know that she was safe.

Anything instead of this gnawing, persistent ache in his belly.

That made it difficult to eat the provisions she’d given him. Even though all the vegetables were fresh, the bread soft. Because... because there would be no more of it. No more tree-side meals. No more fresh produce unless he bought it from the market rather than...

Rather than from her.

He groaned.

Rocked slowly.

He did not recall coming to the floor.

He’d been in bed. Body taut with the tension of it. The knowledge that she did not want him there. That she did not want a mate. And could he blame her? With her father tucked away within the comfort of the bond. With a not-wife and a daughter living all alone. Separate. Because they were dangerous.

Fertile outside the bond.

He pulled at his hair, but it proved insufficient distraction.

He’d seen the hatchet in her hand. Presumably she was relatively proficient with its use. She could protect herself from dangers. From predators and people alike.

Or maybe she couldn’t. And those wild animals of hers would scatter because that was the sensible thing to do when a larger enemy was near. Which would leave Wren all on her own. With no one to help, no one to care.

He would go mad.

He was certain of it.

If it meant more nights like this. Locked away with his sister’s words tormenting him. To listen to her. To be what she needed.

She needed so much, although she would deny it. Would look at him with that hint of disbelief when he asked why she did not request his assistance.

As if he was the strange one.

As if everyone grew up as she did.

He hated the anxious tension that seemed her natural state in his presence. It only furthered his resolve that she felt nothing of the instincts that were burned upon his mind, his every muscle. The want of her.