Page 75 of Bound

She was everything.

But there was more. He could see that now. As plainly as he could see that he was not wanted here. He was no more than a trespasser, a drifter that she’d fed and watered and could not seem to be rid of.

He would go. Leave her be and call it his gift to her. He might have to tie himself to his bed for a few weeks to keep from making his nightly circuit above her dwelling, but he’d do it. If that meant... meant she was happy.

Another round of sobs.

And he closed his eyes, rocking lightly, his wings working to keep his balance on his perch.

The shuttered windows would be easier than the door. Only a single latch to break and then he’d...

He waited until she quieted again. It was a shorter burst this time, a few moments only as she wrung her heart out with her tears and then slept? Went downstairs to fetch a meal?

His sister would chide him for spying.

His sister had never rejected her mate.

It was a petulant thought, one born of his own hurts, and he felt a fresh swell of guilt for having allowed it to linger for even the barest second.

He reached into his pocket. To the little slips of paper he took into the market to accept orders as he tended to his own shopping. The thick he should have sharpened that morning, but he’d slept later than he’d meant to, finally able to rest knowing that he would see her. Interact with her. No hiding and skirting about the edges of her life but welcomed.

If only for a day.

He scribbled his message with a hand so poor that he hoped she’d be able to read it at all.

The great beast in the grimble field gave a bellow at his descent. It kept behind its fence, but its fur stood out thickly, giving it an even greater mass as it warned Braum not to approach.

He had no intention of doing so, although he hesitated outside her door for a moment to see if she would come back. To see what had troubled the beast and... perhaps have reconsidered talking with him.

But he heard no footsteps.

So he tucked his note into one of the cracks in her door and hoped...

He did not know what he hoped any longer.

For her peace. For her tears to leave her. A hearty meal and comfort from her leptus.

But for himself...

He dared not hope for anything at all.

14. Help

Wren was stiff all over.

She’d forgotten the rest of her chores, and evidently found a tight ball a superior sleeping position—one that now left her knees aching in protest, her neck sending shooting pains as she tried to coax it into moving.

She’d left Temperance and Calliope out. They’d be fine.

Mostly.

They’d be cross with her for missing their evening grain, and milking them in the pasture was always an adventure, but everyone would live.

She turned her head toward the window, squinting slightly. There were no bright suns piercing through. It must be early yet. Or... late, depending on her point of view.

Her stomach flitted between a queasy warning and a sharp tug of hunger, and she wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a cup of tea.

And for neither of them to be prepared by her own two hands.