Page 46 of Bound

His head hit the solid wood of the wall behind, the pain bright. Almost welcome in exchange for the twisting roil through his body.

It would pass with time. It had to. The longer he went without her, the instincts would grow accustomed to the lack. He would check on her on market days. Would nod and enquire about her animals, just to watch the brightening in her eyes when she spoke of them.

A hint of the loving woman beneath all the anxiety, the suspicion as she regarded him.

Wondering at his motivations.

Should he have spoken plainly? Told her that he... that she...

Could she be his mate, if he was not hers in return?

The ache bloomed. The fears pushed. Threatened to punish him more thoroughly if he did not get moving.

He knew the way. He did not even have to think about it any longer. There was a pull, a tether. That insisted it was right to go, that anything else was anathema.

The woodlots did not matter. His seedlings. The saplings. The old growth and the new.

Generations of labour, of care, and he...

He belonged here.

He did.

Because... because she did not want him there.

And he would respect it, respect her, would sit and rock and...

He could not breathe.

He moved to the window without thought. Opened first the shutter, then the latch on the window itself. Gulped in lungfuls of air that tasted wrong, for they were not tinged with her.

He laughed.

A humourless burst of despair that hung dully in the quiet of a night strangely devoid of light. As if the stars themselves knew of his troubles and dimmed in sympathy.

He needed a plan. If he wanted to keep his sanity, he would need to turn this... this frustration into something productive. To provide a glimmer of hope that maybe... that maybe he might... mean something to her.

Perhaps not to the extent of a mate, but... a friend, at the very least.

Someone that could come. Could share a cold drink. Could help her when no one else would.

That would be all right, wouldn’t it? If he kept his expectations low, if he did not frighten her. If he waited to see if some of that tension would resolve on its own. If maybe... if maybe she would become glad of his visits. Would relax instead, and smile and beckon him in. To sit at her table, within her home, and feel that he belonged there.

If only as a guest.

He burst through the window. His wings snagged upon the panes, but he did not know if they bled.

Only knew that he was moving.

He would not stay. He wouldn’t.

He’d go home again. After he saw the house was dark and that the doors were fastened.

Because... that was allowable too, wasn’t it? To check after her wellbeing. Never to trespass. He would not even allow his feet to touch her land without her knowledge. Not again.

But she did not own the skies.

And it saddened him.