Page 68 of Bound
He reached out. Touched the hand curled about her braid, and she flinched.
And he flinched in return, withdrawing just as quickly.
He was crouched before her. His face etched with concern, and she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t...
She made a choked sound and broke away from the stall. From him.
She’d forgotten her pack, but she could not bring herself to care. She needed somewhere quiet, somewhere hers, and the streets were bustling with the beginning of business and she was supposed to be doing that too. Laying out her wares, making her coins.
Shopping for oil. For a fence he should not have built. Not for his friend.
She ducked beneath an arch, away from the press of people.
That, too, needed sweeping. It was a simple alleyway connecting the main street with one of the residential roads. She laughed hoarsely, realising that her father might live just there and she would have no idea. Settled with his mate. His true-born children.
A few filtered through the alley, so she huddled to the one wall. Forced herself to take deep breaths. She was fine. She would go home. Bolt her door and... and wait.
For what exactly, she did not know.
To feel better. To forget today had ever happened. For her father to come and make her feel like the fledgling she had been. For him to fuss and make her some tea and try to coax her—no matter how unsuccessfully—to tell him what was wrong.
“Wren, let me take you home. I... I will cover your wages. Just... please.”
She almost laughed. Because he’d followed her. Because he offered that so easily. Was he truly so wealthy? Or did he simply feel guilty for another wasted day at the market?
He sounded pained. As if her rejection hurt in some way, and that bothered her in some hidden place. One that was crowded out by the emotions she couldn’t control, of memories and feelings that were nearly dizzying.
She didn’t laugh. But she could hardly bring herself to respond to him, either.
He didn’t touch her. But he stepped closer when another stream of people cut through the alley. She could feel them looking, or perhaps the attention was only imagined, which made the fluttering urge to flee grow all the more. “Braum,” she managed to get out, tugging at her braid, her wings twitching for a flight they could not make. “Just...”
He stepped closer still, his wing stretching outward.
Shielding her. From onlookers?
It should make her feel caged, as she had in the stall. But her gratitude won out, and she shut her eyes again as she faced the stone wall of the alley. It was cold here. The overhangs were too close together, their shade blocking too much of the suns.
“Just what?” Braum entreated, his voice tight. Low. “Let me help you,” he urged, an entreaty that was becoming far too familiar coming from him.
Her pack was over his shoulder. She recognised that numbly as she peeled open one eye and tried to appraise him critically.
It shouldn’t matter that his expression was drawn. It shouldn’t matter that he looked at her with such concern.
She’d been a fool, yet again. Allowed him to coax her with talk of friendship, of favours and help and let her believe it was all normal.
But it wasn’t, was it?
“What do you want from me?” she asked him, and knew it was not the first time.
His eyes grew sad, and she could not abide that. Not the twisting guilt that she’d somehow put it there, nor how it bordered almost on pity. Why shouldn’t he pity her, when she fell near to pieces at such a commonplace subject as bond-mates?
She shivered.
Tugged harder at her hair.
Until his fingers curled about hers. Halting. Entreating. “No more than you are willing to give.”
A desperate sort of laugh burst from her throat. And she turned and placed her forearm against the stone of the wall and buried her head there because there was no escaping after all. No quiet moments, not until she could extract herself from the city she tried so desperately not to hate.