Page 70 of Bound

“Just leave me be,” she begged him. “I don’t... I can’t...” Her throat burned. Her eyes too.

If there were others milling about, perhaps even watching them, she could not say. Because suddenly he reached for her. Gripped her shoulders tightly and—had she ever noticed how large his hands were before? “This is more than your parents, yes? This is more than being left when your father found his mate.”

The fluttery bit of panic was rising in her chest, and she squirmed. “Leave it be.”

If she had not been holding her pack so tightly, she might have reached for him in turn. To show the earnestness of her plea with... touch.

A whimper caught in her throat and she closed her eyes, the impulse curdling with her panic and making her feel ill.

“Please,” she gave one more attempt, feeling suddenly weak and worn, and the trudge home was an undesirable feat in her present state.

It was almost enough that she wished she knew where her father lived. That she could beg a room, just for a little while. She would talk to no one, bother none of his family if just... if she could...

“Let me fly you home. Get you settled. And then yes, I will... I will let you rest and I’ll ask nothing more of you. Is that a fair accord? Please do not ask me to let you make that trek alone. I... I cannot.”

His tone was steeped in apology. As if it was a failing on his part that he could not do precisely as she’d asked of him. Maybe it was.

But to fly her home? To carry her as if... as if she was the little girl with useless wings that would borrow her father’s now and again. To twirl above their home while she squealed and laughed in delight. Tasting what might have been.

There was no excitement now. Just a resigned sort of acceptance that, despite how she wanted to deny it, she needed his help. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud, but she nodded, and she found it cost much of her own pride to do even that.

Braum sighed. A deep sound of relief as he made sure her pack was tucked safely in her arms and then stooped to bring his arm behind her knees. Then the lift, when the panic finally bloomed because the ground was no longer beneath her. And perhaps that felt natural to his kind, but to her it felt like the last vestige of control was suddenly gone.

And she cried.

He glanced down sharply, and his mouth opened, doubtless to ask her yet more questions. And she couldn’t bear that. Not when she wasn’t sure what would come tumbling out of her mouth.

“Just take me home. I... I need to be home.”

His ascent was gentle, and nothing suggested he found her weight burdensome. She felt it, though. That she was silly and more trouble than she was worth, and why could she not simply get a hold of herself?

She couldn’t enjoy the flight itself. Not the warmth of the morning suns, or the tips of the trees beneath her feet. He did not take her too high, as if he knew her stomach possessed a rebellious nature.

It troubled her that she could not make out the way. Which trails were hers. He might have been taking her anywhere at all, and she would not know of it until it was too late.

She buried her face in her pack, her neck aching, her wings crushed uncomfortably beneath his arm, and tried to stop her from crying.

“Oh, Wren,” Braum murmured, almost lost on the winds surrounding them. “Should I stop?”

“No,” she croaked out, turning her mouth ever so slightly so he might catch the sound.

He grunted. A low sound that rumbled through her. Which meant he felt every hitch of her own breath, every sob she fought to strangle.

Humiliation burned through her. Heating her cheeks and bringing back every word she had spoken throughout this horrible day, taunting her. She wanted to hide. To tell him she’d changed her mind, and she’d make the rest of the way herself if only he’d leave and let her wallow in her own self-recriminations in peace.

But that hadn’t been the bargain, had it?

He’d see her home. And he’d keep his questions to himself.

They were landing. A slow, careful movement that she almost did not sense at all. Another tug of resentment, because they were home after all. And it was not hours. Her feet weren’t sore and...

She cut off her thoughts, morose and complaining as they were. She struggled to her feet, and he held fast until he was certain of the soundness of her footing.

“Thank you,” Wren managed, turning her back and trudging her way back toward the house. She’d bolt the door. Perhaps even indulge herself to such an extreme that she’d don a sleep-shift and pretend it was nightfall. Climb into her bed and everything.

“Would it make it worse for you if I told you outright that you are my mate?” Her throat tightened. “Or is it better to keep wondering? To hope that Firen was wrong, and you were my friend, after all. That we might continue as we were.” A grunt. Or perhaps it was more of a groan. “We are.” He waited, perhaps, for her to turn.

She didn’t.