Library

9.2

She found him in their new bed.

She hadn’t meant to take so long. She’d merely grown distracted by deciding where to put the plates in the cupboard. Not that there were so many options, as it was of a modest size, but every time she had decided, she stood back and considered and tried again.

Maybe she’d have Mama come tomorrow. Give her opinion.

Which then led to many more considerations, like should she make something to welcome her? Or let it be simple since they were still settling in?

Da could come, but he did not know what to do with himself when he did not have some metalwork to tinker with. She was not certain she was ready for her new dining table to be covered in shavings and dust so soon.

That led to delving into her trunk for linens. Ones she’d made longer ago than she cared to admit. One corner was not sewn as well, her skill improving as she continued. She could make out which flower had been stitched first, as its petals were not nearly as symmetrical as the ones she had completed last. But she spread it out anyway, proud of her younger self, and the woman she was now, because at last she had a table to use it on, with a mate upstairs that she probably had left for longer than was reasonable.

She did not expect to see him stretched out on top of the bedclothes. On a bed he’d made himself, she thought with a guilty sort of pang. But she pushed it away as firmly as she could. He could make their bed, and she could set up their kitchen. Not everything must be done together.

“Sorry,” she murmured, taking in the state of the room. There were wardrobes. Two of them. To hang clothes rather than keep them in trunks. Which spoke of permanence. No longer at the ready to be whisked away by a mate to a new home. She could unpack and...

Her eyes narrowed.

“Did you unpack my things?”

She went to her trunk and lifted the lid. Most were still in place, and when she opened the wardrobe, only her newest dress was hanging upon a peg. Just to look at it sent a knot into her stomach, her emotions so terribly conflicted about a bit of fabric. She liked the memory of the tailor well enough. Of Lucian helping her to make her selection. Of him wanting to provide her something nice—even indulgent.

But then there was the rest of it. The afterward. Of a wretched supper and horrible threats, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to purge those feelings from a dress that had done nothing wrong, had only wanted to flutter and clothe her.

“I started,” Lucian began absently from his place on the bed. “Then I couldn’t decide if you’d be cross having your things gone through.”

He turned a page of the book he’d propped on his chest. “Oh.” Cross was too strong a word. But she would have been sorry not to move her things herself. To fuss and place them just so. Full of confidence that they would not be packed away again for a long time to come. “You could have,” she assured him. “Though I probably would have changed things about a little.”

He hummed, and she went to the bed, wondering at his manner. A little too detached, a little too disinterested in her.

Had she hurt him somehow? She hadn’t meant to. Maybe it was all the talk with her parents about settling in. That she could talk with her parents about it. To share their excitement, to make promises about suppers and tours and the like.

It prompted her to cross to her side of the bed. To sprawl out beside him, her back propped against the pillows.

Taken from home. The mattress had been supplied, as well as the frame, but all the linens had been stripped and flown over from home.

She didn’t mind. Preferred it, actually.

“Lucian,” she began, her voice low with sympathy. “Is something...” Her attention went from his face to the page he was reading.

Her mouth dropped open.

And she reached for it with nothing but outrage, compassion utterly forgotten.

“What are you doing with my book?”

It wasn’t a screech. It wasn’t. But it was nearer than was proper, but she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not when she was flushed all over with mortification as he was looking at the very diagrams she had studied in her earlier days. When she’d grown curious and insistent that she wanted to know the way of men and women. When Mama’s explanations had led only to more confusion, so Da had presented her with that book and no reason at all.

Left her to blush and hide it amongst her belongings, pulling it out only when she was certain Eris was fully asleep.

Not that it was wrong. It was only knowledge, after all. It held other topics, as well. Small healing, with recipes for tinctures and salves that could help small household ailments. She’d read it all, but yes, she’d focused on just the page Lucian now held open, shameless and bold as he studied the pictures.

Held fast as she clutched and tried to pull it back toward her.

To shove back into her trunk where he’d never find it.

Or burn it.

No, not that. It meant something to her, despite the mortification that shivered through her. “I expect an answer!” she insisted, huffing away from him as he refused to relinquish it.

“I started on your trunk,” Lucian amended. “And then I found this. And I’ve read all the books in my trunk, so I thought I would simply... peruse.” His eyes drifted toward her, and she really was outraged, and he really was a wretch, because he should have put it back when he realised it was of a personal nature.

Was it, though? When it delved into his anatomy just as thoroughly as it did hers.

“See what floats about in that head of yours,” he continued, as if... as if that should be anything shocking given what they enjoyed doing with one another.

It didn’t make it any different if it was written on a page. Or if it was... drawn.

They were not people . Not exactly. Just... parts. And their functions.

All reasonable in one’s education.

“You are being terribly unfair,” Firen complained. “You’re making it seem... sordid.”

He turned his head, his thumb in the pages even as he closed them. As if he actually intended on completing his perusal despite her upset. “Sordid,” he repeated.

She fidgeted, smoothing down her tunic. She should change, and perhaps she would. Slowly, and with no care for just how much skin Lucian would see while she did it. Then she would put on her thickest nightdress and keep to her side of the bed, and wait to see what his apology might be for embarrassing her.

“Did it displease you?” she asked tightly. “That I had some knowledge of... of intimacies before you had your way with me?”

Lucian rolled his eyes and did close the book then.

Handed it back to her.

“I have quite a different recollection of that night,” he answered, and she’d hurt him along the way. Which was not what she’d wanted, and yet she’d been careless and it happened, anyway. “Mostly that you were intent on having me .”

She must be careful. He’d already expressed his concerns that she indulged him rather than was an equal participant in their affections. Old wounds. Worries that came from a world she did not care to know.

She rubbed at the spine of her book, old and cracked. It could use with rebinding, but she couldn’t bear the thought of it. “I didn’t...” she huffed out a breath. Held it back out to him. “I might have overreacted.”

He hummed. Took it back. Opened it to much the same place he had been, although he had to thumb through three pages to get the exact spot. “Have I ever given any objection to your knowledge?”

Her cheeks burned, and she plucked at the bedding beneath her, abashed. “No.”

“Do you think I did not have similar books?”

Her mouth grew dry.

“More than one?”

He turned, and there was a glimmer in his eye that spoke of mischief. “A library can be full of many things. And I intended to put what I learned to good use.” He smoothed his finger down the page. The one on... on female anatomy. With its tight script and arrows that seemed so impersonal before, but not felt almost lewd for him to touch it so.

Her breath caught, and this was ridiculous. It was just a book. And it was just a long, elegant finger.

It shouldn’t make her squirm. Shouldn’t make her think... anything at all.

But it did.

Which must have been his aim, because he glanced at her.

And smirked.

Which was absolutely intolerable. This was not a game she was prepared for, did not know how to win. If victory came at the denial, or if it came from conquest. Her bond suggested the latter. Suggested it with a sudden flare of warmth that spread and thrummed with such ferocity it left her breathless.

“Is this because I left you alone to tend to the kitchen?” She plucked the book out of his hands because if he was going to touch something, it would be her. She did not throw it, but shoved it under her pillows, then turned her attention back to her mate. “Is this what I am to look forward to when you miss me?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked entirely too at ease while she...

Wanted.

“Perhaps.”

Insufferable.

That’s what he was.

Teasing when he should be apologising.

Looking at her if he might simply lie there while she would push herself over him and do as she pleased.

Not tonight.

That would be her compromise. They might love, but he did not get to lie there and be lazy while she took her fill.

He could pursue her.

Whisper sweet words into her skin if that’s what he wanted from her.

Not be wretched and then lie there waiting for her to take her fill. Be the one to seduce and...

She got out of the bed. Wasn’t cross. Honest. Not about the book, and not about talk of their first night. Of his feelings when hers mattered as well. And there was far more to object to about that night than who began the first seduction.

She unbuttoned her tunic. Negotiated it about wings and arms, and tried not to be frustrated by either. It wasn’t in any sort of alluring way, just the shucking of cloth that most certainly needed a good soak. The cabinets had been grubby, but she’d seen to that. Seen to much more than that. And if he missed her like she suspected he did, he might have come down to help rather than poke about in her private things, making her think of private things when she was not in the mood to do anything about them.

Movement caught her eye, and she saw Lucian had also removed his shirt.

Then eased back against the bedclothes.

Calm.

Waiting.

Her mouth twisted, and she saw to the bindings about her breasts, unwrapping the loosely pinned cloth and adding it to her pile.

Let him look. He certainly would not touch them. That would mean getting off the bed and fetching her, and he seemed content to lie there and stare. Which really was infuriating.

She should take to the washroom and deprive him the view. But she’d already washed her face and hands and tended to her teeth, so it seemed far too much bother for a simple tiff between them.

Her hands moved to her waistband, the little drawstring that held them in place. Not her finest clothing, by far, but practical. She pulled at the string, and she could not account for why she did so, but her eyes shifted just enough to see that Lucian mimicked that motion as well. The pull of the cord. The graceless yank and pull as she allowed them to drop—while he looked even more ridiculous as he shimmied free while still in his reclined position.

“What are you doing?” she asked, utterly exasperated.

“Preparing for bed,” Lucian answered easily. They were down to their small-clothes, and she wondered if he would shed that as well if she did.

“How exactly do you imagine your sleep clothes will reach you from over there?” she asked, quirking her brow. “Or have you some talents you have not cared to share with me?”

She hadn’t heard him move. Which was unsettling, to say the least. Made her jump when his hands were suddenly at her waist, when he could bring his mouth toward her ear.

She shrieked, her hand coming to her chest, and she had to suppress the urge to smack his arm in reprimand.

But his grip held her fast, and his chin came to settle on her shoulder. “Why are we quarrelling?” he asked, his hand coming to spread against her middle, bringing her back fully against him.

She wanted him to touch her all over. Wanted him to kiss her, to turn her about, to lead her back to their new bed and love her.

“I want to be seduced,” Firen blurted out. As if he hadn’t. As if she had always been the one to instigate their affection. Which was a lie, surely. But suddenly felt a weighty truth as she grabbed hold of his arm and held him there. “You don’t get to just... be over there and expect me to do all the work.”

He chuckled lowly, and his hold on her tightened. His lips found her neck, and he... nibbled.

Which was the oddest sort of sensation. Tickling and warming her all at the same time. “Not doing my part, am I?” Lucian asked, not shifting in his hold, not straying to any of the parts of her that thrummed with awareness.

Firen did not argue with him. Did not make allowances and apologies that she’d reacted too strongly. Again. But she confessed the little niggling voice that kept her from simply sinking back against him. To letting him do as he pleased and being swept up in the pleasure of it. “I get to be immodest with you,” she murmured. “And I get to want you. And to seduce when it pleases me.” She swallowed. “And that does not make me a poor mate.”

Lucian stilled. “Some would argue,” he answered seriously. “That would make you an excellent mate.”

She turned her head as best she could so she could look at him with wide, entreating eyes. “Would you?”

He didn’t sigh. Didn’t tell her she was being ridiculous. Didn’t ask where she was getting such foolish ideas.

She could not even name where they had come from. Perhaps it was how little she understood of his world. She tried to imagine Orma undressing freely. Climbing on top of the mate she loved and whispering her intentions into the dark of their shared room.

And she couldn’t.

They seemed... more proper than that. As if all the joy and fun of it was stripped away, leaving only a perfunctory act when the bond urged them together.

He turned her around. Gently cupped her face in his hands as he leaned forward. Kissed her once. Twice. Just a brush of warmth, a glimmer of how much more there could be. Had been.

And there was the temptation to clutch at him. To pull him back and hold him there. To forget the rest and indulge. Because she was being silly, and everything was fine. They were fine. They could have this and not... and wouldn’t...

He pulled back, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You are magnificent,” Lucian stated, nothing in his eyes suggesting it was an exaggeration merely to pamper her vanity. “And I would defy anyone— have defied anyone that would suggest you are anything but mine.” He kissed her then. With a bit more force, with his hand cupping the back of her head, keeping her to him.

And then...

He purred.

A rumble of sound that turned her muscles to liquid, and left her helpless against him. Made her trouble, her doubts, seem so terribly unimportant. He turned her around again so she could feel it for herself, feel the subtle vibrations against her spine.

“What do you think I was doing?” Lucian continued, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Allowed his hands to creep up to her uncovered breasts. “But seducing you?”

“Oh,” she managed to breathe out. She thought he’d done rather a terrible job of it if that had been his intention, but she didn’t say that. Maybe she’d simply mucked up receiving it. “Well.”

He chuckled at her. A warm breath of sound that interrupted his purr, and she did not like that so much, but she did like to hear him laugh. Even if it was slightly at her expense. “Are you pleased with your kitchen?” he asked, and it was such an odd turn to their conversation, yet filled her with such excitement that she could hardly complain. Most especially because he was still touching her. Still moving his thumbs against that particularly sensitive spot against her breast, still pressing his lips to her throat, her cheek, her temple.

Waiting for her to answer him.

“Very pleased,” she murmured. “Although I’m going to have Mama come look and see if I’ve got things just right.”

He hummed, which was an entirely novel sensation when it pressed against her from behind, when his lips were still pressed against her skin. “A fine idea,” he agreed.

She swallowed, trying not to simply lose herself. “I thought so,” she demurred, and tried her best to keep still and not start squirming. She’d wanted this, hadn’t she? To let him lead in this dance, and it would hardly be right for her to give him only a few moments before she tired of it and took over. “You did a very nice job with the bed,” she added, because she should compliment his other efforts as well as his more... physical accomplishments. She could be pleased in many ways, whether it was little domestic tasks, or how well he loved her.

He snorted, his head shaking as he glanced at it. “It is hardly the first bed I have made, nor will it be the last.” She eased back against him, allowing herself to simply enjoy him. Enjoy what he was doing to her.

With her.

“Not so spoiled, then.” A declaration. A tease. She knew just how well he could scrub, as she’d watched him with much appreciation as he’d helped her conquer the soot in their loft room. He was no stranger to hard labour in the pursuit of cleanliness, and she found herself glad of it. For those tasks not to seem beneath him, most especially when eventually it was the washroom and laundry that needed their attention.

She liked it even more when she thought of their future fledglings. When messes were a daily sacrifice. When order was exchanged for tiny wings and bright smiles.

“Lucian,” she asked, not wanting to pose it at all. Needing to. Now they were alone. Now that the thought had taken root in her mind. “I’m not asking for it now. Promise. But... will you want a child with me? Someday?”

She needed him to say yes. Needed for it not to come from obligation. Not even because of his care of her—an indulgence, and nothing more. But she supposed she could not dictate such things. Could not make him want something he didn’t, not even to please her.

“You can tell me no,” she added, heart breaking just a little, but knowing it needed to be said. She would not trap him into any sort of vow. Would not push and wheedle and try to change his mind. He had choices, just as she did. “I’ll be all right.”

His hands stilled in their ministrations, but just for a moment. His mouth worked sooner, smoothing against her throat just the once as he seemed to struggle with his answer. “I want to want to,” he admitted. As if... as if that made any sense at all. “It is not you. Not your family that gives me pause.”

Her heart ached, but not with disappointment.

Well, perhaps a little.

“Yours?” she asked, so gently that she hoped it could not hurt him.

He gave it no voice, but she felt his nod, and when his grasp tightened it no longer felt quite the seduction it had a moment before. Comfort, instead, and she was breathless from the intimacy in it. There could be passion—oh yes, there could be that. But there could also be tender touches, the only change coming from the emotions behind them. The need for security, for solidarity. That they were together and would remain that way, even when the foes were shadows of past wrongs.

“Someday,” he murmured, so quietly that she almost did not hear it at all. But it made her heart swell, made her soften all over toward him.

“All right, then,” Firen declared, needing nothing more of him.

Not true.

She needed more.

But it was action more than words.

“I’m quite patient, you know,” she added, luxuriating against him when his hands became to move back toward her more intimate places. “Known for it, in fact.”

He snorted, and she caught at her smile by biting at her lip, not wanting him to see how his disbelief amused her. Never mind that he could feel it for himself. This was a game she was happy to play. “You do not believe me?” she asked, tilting her head, her eyes wide.

And Lucian knew just how to play also, for he brought his face toward hers, close enough that her eyes closed of their own accord. “Not in the least.”

She smiled, unable to help herself. “Then I am in good company, for I do not think patience is your finest attribute either.”

His hands smoothed down her back, settling on the waist of the last of her clothing. “And what is that, I wonder? My finest attribute.”

There were a great many things she could say. Should have said.

But he was nibbling at her again, and his purr was the faintest rumble to her ears, and it turned her thoughts in a direction that...

Well...

She reached up and cupped his cheek, her thumb coming to the corner of her mouth.

And he kissed it.

Just the flat of a digit that she had no idea might like to be kissed. “Your mouth,” she blurted, and watched his brow furrow as he pulled back just a bit.

“My mouth,” he repeated, as if that response was the farthest possibility from his mind.

“Your kisses,” she amended. “Which is probably a shame because it means I’m going to be selfish and hoard them all to myself, so no one will know just how fine you are at it.” She smiled at him. A little sweet, a little coy. “Just me.”

He did not seem to have an answer for her, whether an objection or an acquiescence of her praise.

Instead, he picked her up, the movement so sudden that she startled.

Only to be placed into their new bed. On quilts that were familiar, even if their surroundings were not.

He covered her, not with more blankets, but with himself. As he kissed her thoroughly, until there were no other thoughts in her head but him. Of the pulse that quickened and quieted in turn, of the thrum of her skin, desperate for more sensations.

He moved downward and placed a single kiss in the dip between her breasts, and it felt so intimate a gesture that it took everything in her to keep still, to let him lead, to see what he might do next.

She did not expect for him to sink down beside her. For his arm to come about her middle as he pulled her back into him. “I do not think I deserve you,” he confessed, his voice so tight, so small, that it made her ache just to hear it. His hold tightened. “But I want to keep you.”

She wriggled around so she might face him. Might take his face in her hands and kiss both his cheeks. His temple. Brush her thumb at the lines at the corner of his eyes where he held such tension. “Thankfully, the Maker disagreed with you. Because here I am.” Another kiss, this time to his mouth. The one she loved, most particularly now that it was not quite so prone to grimacing at her. “And I am not leaving you.” The ache, the pull in her heart, the one that was an offer she did not want to make, but needed to. “Even if you had told me you could not offer someday. I would stay. And love you anyway.”

His eyes darted about, as if he was afraid for them to settle on her. Afraid for her to look and see. To know how deeply she affected him.

But the bond told her. Made her burrow closer and hold him to her. To press skin against skin until his breath calmed.

Until his eyes were dry.

Not that she would ever tease him about that. It was a private moment, shared and experienced between the two of them. “I love that you try,” Firen added. “That you want to be different. And I think...” she nuzzled into his chest and felt the bond pull and warm. Settle more deeply than it had before, and it felt so right that she could not suppress her sigh. “I think you love me, too.”

He hadn’t said it, but he’d shown it. Bit by bit. When he’d chosen her. When he’d put her first. When he’d respected her mother, when he’d listened to her father’s stories.

If it wasn’t love, she wasn’t certain she needed to know any other kind.

“I am a poor seducer,” Lucian complained, as she reached out and tried to grapple with the edge of a quilt to bring it over top of them. She failed, but Lucian didn’t, and he covered the both of them well enough.

“Really? Because I’m rather enjoying myself,” Firen assured him, rubbing little patterns into his chest. Runes she’d seen on doorways, that meant nothing and yet... did now. Because it was a place shared with him. A language of her people that she had not learned, but perhaps she would.

“We still could,” Lucian offered, but it was half-hearted. A concession to her needs. Quiet though they’d gone as they lay there. He could rouse them easily enough if he tried, but there was something nice in this, too. The lying together. The knowledge they could come together in the morning without thinking of her father at work downstairs. Of having to dress properly in order to use the facilities in the main house.

Perhaps it was not quite how she’d imagined spending her first night in her new home, but she found she had no complaints.

“Maybe part of the seduction is waiting for daylight,” Firen teased. Kissed him once on his bare chest, just because she could. “I told you I’m patient.”

Another chuckle, softer this time. Full of fondness.

“I do love you,” he told her, so quietly that if she had not felt the words against her ear, she might have doubted he spoke them at all.

She hummed. Pulled the quilt higher on her shoulder and enjoyed being nestled against him while it lasted. He’d roll away, eventually. When he thought she was sleeping and would not notice.

But for now, she had him pinned. Made all the better when she brought her leg on top of one of his. “You’ve nothing to say?” Lucian asked, his fingers finding the tidy ribbon at the end of her plait, pulling it free. She should stop him. It would be a mess come morning if she didn’t.

Maybe she would have him comb it, after they loved in the morning. Since it would be his fault when it tangled. “Oh,” she mumbled, turning her head so she could glance at him. “I already knew. But thank you for telling me.” She smiled at him, and even tilted her chin to indicate she would like a kiss, but that only earned an eye roll from her mate.

“Such a romantic, you are.”

But he did kiss her.

And she sighed happily as her head dropped back down to his chest.

“I have to be at the Hall early.” His fingers were stroking through her hair, skimming across the bare skin of her back. Over and over. “Vandran’s schedule is... rigorous.”

Her eyes opened.

“Oh. Well. Then I suppose we should do this now.”

She popped up, leaning over him as he watched her try to cover him as best she could with herself. “I thought you were resting,” Lucian laughed at her, tangling his hands in her hair and pulling her down to him.

“And I thought we could have a leisurely morning. We can both be wrong.”

And when he touched her, there was nothing half-hearted about it at all.

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