Page 94 of Bound

And he’d listen. For some reason, she was sure of that. Of him.

And it frightened her.

“I can’t be what you want,” Wren reminded him. She’d been honest with him from the very start. Perhaps she hadn’t known all he felt, exactly what he’d wanted, but this was worse. If he wasn’t a liar after all. If he was not playing games with her and was bonded to a woman that couldn’t want him, didn’t want him, then...

“You do not know what I want,” Braum countered. And she waited for his hand to begin rubbing, and there was that horrid part of her that wanted him to do it. Either to prove to herself that he wanted more than she could give, or because there was the constant itch of human skin that did not care much for the bone and feathers protruding from her back. “We could discuss that, if you like, but I’m not sure you’re ready to listen.”

Her mouth twisted, and she did not allow herself to glare and huff at him. “There is nothing wrong with my ears,” she insisted, and if it was a little sour, then she simply couldn’t help it.

“No,” he agreed. “You’ve fine ears.”

Her cheeks shouldn’t flush with heat. It was mortifying, her reaction and yes, the way it pleased her to receive any sort of compliment from him at all.

It was pathetic, but even acknowledging it and chiding her reactions did nothing but add to her embarrassment.

“What I meant,” Braum continued, withdrawing his hand as if in anticipation of her response. “There is little point in discussing my wants until you’re ready to believe them. To accept just how much, or how little, I need.” She peeked at him, and his eyes were serious. “You’ve been hurt. So badly. And I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

She nodded. He thought her broken. It shouldn’t twist about inside her to think he was giving up on her. The note had come before. When she was a half-blood without a mother, without a people, who he thought was merely mistrustful of the unfamiliar.

He knew better now. There was no helping. Just trudging onward, finding little moments of peace. Contentment was more constant than happiness, anyway.

“There is something we could discuss,” Braum pressed, his hand disappearing into a pocket before pulling out the coins she’d given him. “Never in all my years, have I heard of mates paying one another.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him not to use that word. But perhaps she needed to hear it. For it to belong to another context, another man, rather than...

That other one.

The cad.

The brute.

Something settled. Soothed.

Her father was someone’s mate. And while their bond was complicated, he never would have treated her the way the wretch had.

“I will concede, however, that you do not see me in such a way. Not yet.” The last he added beneath his breath, an amendment for his own sake, and she did not bother to correct him. “I will take it. I won’t argue with you. So long as you agree that it’s mine.”

Her brow furrowed. “Of course it’s yours. I gave it to you.”

He nodded, and she grew suspicious of him when he did not elaborate further on such an unnecessary clarification.

She could have pressed him on it, but that would have led to an argument, and she did not think she had it in her. He was taking his payment, and she could not ask for more from him. Not when it had only cost her a story.

She swallowed thickly.

Her story.

A weighty price. More than the crowns tucked into the pouch that went back into his pocket. Secrets for him to carry, for him to keep safe. And a piece of her trust along with it, that he would not use it against her. Would not...

Her heart fluttered.

She sat up straighter, suddenly alarmed that she had not extracted his promise before.

“Braum, please do not tell anyone. About... what happened. Please.”

He stared at her, and her panic grew. “I will not speak to you again if I hear of it at the market. I can be stubborn when I need to be, so believe me when I tell you that. Not your sister, not to anyone. That story is mine and...” She tugged at her braid fiercely. “Do not make me regret giving it to you.”

He scowled. Not at her, but at the ground. Sparing her, it seemed, because his tone was one of deep offense. “I wanted the law for you. I wanted justice. You trusted me with the truth of your parents. I should hardly think you need to worry about something as personal as this.”