Page 47 of Bound

That she would not know the pleasure of flight, the freedom that came with it.

A birthright that should have been hers.

He wished he might change it for her. Not simply for his own selfish reasons that he might recognise him. Might embrace him. Relax into him as she pulled him close, allowed him to comfort her, to massage away the tight line of her shoulders, the doubt that hung around her like a mantle.

He wanted those things.

Craved them. Needed them.

But her needs mattered more.

He needed rules for himself. Boundaries. Even as everything in him cried out that those were for other people. Not mates. They were to be so attuned to one another that such things were simply unnecessary.

But Wren was different.

He would not enter her land without her knowledge. And if she asked him to leave, then he would. He would...

Braum swallowed, her home coming into view.

He wanted to land so badly. To remain guard at her front door. To keep out all dangers so she could sleep long and well.

But he shouldn’t.

He could not betray a trust he hadn’t earned. Wanted to earn.

Hated that her life thus far had made it where she was leery. Watchful. Waiting for him to disappoint her, to prove yet again that she was right to doubt him.

So he circled. Took four times before he could convince himself to go back. That she was fine, that her home was fine, that nothing would happen before dawn. When he could...

But he wasn’t going back. Not yet. Not until he could come up with a reason she might accept. One that did not include talk of fetes and mates and why her entire body had stiffened at the merest suggestion of it.

Braum squeezed his hands tightly. Grit his teeth and forced himself back to his cottage.

But he could not bring himself to pretend that it was where he belonged.

10. Friend

Life settled. Just as she liked it. Fresh milk in the springhouse, Temperance and Calliope in their preferred pasture. A fine fence to keep them from wandering about. And Wren found that having something new, something sturdy and fine to look at outside her kitchen window, refreshed her vigour for keeping a tidy home.

She took out the carpets to beat—and how long had that stain in the corner been there? Which meant a good bit of soap and a scrub brush. And perhaps some fibres came away along with the stain, but it was clean and that mattered most.

She couldn’t bring herself to set it over the new wood fence, so she took it instead for Thorn to oversee as it dried. That fence was older—presumably not put into place by her parents at all. There were stone pillars every so often as supports, the stones smooth and aged.

Thorn’s head picked up as she placed the heavy rug over one of them, her muscles straining from the weight of it now that it was partly sodden.

“Don’t let them chew on it, if you please,” Wren called to him.

He huffed. Laid his head down again, and she was certain it would be her responsibility to keep any curious grimbles away from her rug.

Her mother would have rolled it up for the summer. Tucked it away in the loft until autumn. She claimed it trapped heat inside and the wood of the floor was preferable.

But Wren couldn’t manage going up the stairs on her own, so it stayed where it was. Holding the summer heat in its fibres and making Wren feel guilty every time her bare feet rubbed against it.

No. Her home, now. Not her mother’s. And Wren’s home had a carpet all year long.

She sank down against the pillar. The grasses were long on this side, and she considered allowing a few grimbles outside the gate to take care of the rest of it. She’d need panels to keep them contained, and an irritated Thorn to take the other side, but she could manage it.

But there were flowers beginning to emerge. Ignorant to the heat that would greet them as soon as they pushed from their pods. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with allowing a bit of overgrown beauty to take up the edges of her fields.