Page 91 of Bound
Frowned.
He took it, although nothing in his expression suggested that he recognised it for what it was.
He moved. A twist of legs and motion, and he kept the mug in one hand while the other was suddenly about her middle. He was on his knees, his face at her stomach, and she was too shocked to have much reaction at all. “Wren,” he breathed, and he shook. Trembled?
She did not know what to do. Not in the least. She did not know if this was meant for her comfort or a desperate plea for his own, but a lump settled in her throat, and she had a free hand too and...
She laid it against the top of his head. “Braum,” she answered back, and there was another ripple through him. This was rather backward wasn’t it? Not that she had ever imagined what she might do after telling that particular tale. If she would want to bury herself in that someone’s arms, to sob and have it murmured to her that he was the one that had been wrong. That he never should have done those things, never never, and...
He murmured those things against her. While her fingers drifted ever so slightly through his hair. Dark. Not...
It didn’t matter.
Shouldn’t matter.
But even now, it did.
He stood.
Glanced at his hand holding the mug, the other that she kept outstretched holding her own.
“If I asked for his name, would you give it?”
The voice was grim. Raw. His eyes were red as he looked down at her. Not severe, not angry. But haunted.
She’d had those dreams. Some where Thorn hadn’t come. Others where he’d taken her away to live in the tower, sold her home and only then did he tell her it had all been lies. He’d bring his true mate in and they would laugh at her while they made her walk out of the city.
A silly girl with nowhere to go.
“Why?” she got out, her throat tight and her insides twisting, because...
He wasn’t touching her.
Wasn’t reaching for her. Not like before.
Did she want him to?
He released a shaky breath, his eyes darting away from hers. “So I might bring the law against him,” he confessed after a moment of tense silence. “So he will know the rest of his days that my mate is not without protection. That he should pay for what he did.”
She didn’t flinch at the word, and maybe that was something. But her stomach roiled at the thought of any such event. Of people—of anyone else knowing.
Her father.
She reached for him instead. Her one hand gripping at his shirt. It was too cool to be without an outer coat, but there he was. Standing beneath the shade when she should have offered him a fire.
“No, I will not give his name,” Wren answered. There were no tears left. At least, for now. She sighed and released him. Sitting down and taking a sip of her tea while he stood where she’d left him, mouth twisting and free hand coiling to a fist.
She let him stew. Let him think. Until finally he sat down beside her, scowling into his own mug.
“Why?” It was his turn to ask, and she gave him an indulgent smile, utterly lacking in warmth. “Who would believe me? And why would they?” She shook her head as she watched him grow angry once again, avoiding her attention and looking out to the far pasture instead. “I’m sorry,” she offered. Not for having told him. She wasn’t, although she was certain she should be. But because he was struggling. With all he’d heard.
Or maybe...
Maybe with what he thought his people were. That they were not capable of cruelty. Of using another.
His head turned sharply, and she looked down at her mug just as quickly. “I am sorry,” Braum bit out, bitter and certain. He did not give her time to question the particulars, because he shifted, angling his body so he could look at her—even if she would not do the same. His breath hitched, and she could imagine his fingers curling about his mug, his grip a little too tight. “I do not think I have ever hated someone before, but I do now.”
She shrugged, because she could not undo that. And perhaps it was nice for her feelings to be shared, for the enemy to belong to someone else as well.