22. Brett

He was perfect.

Sweet and warm and caring and everything I'd ever wanted in a mate. He kept sneaking out of bed to stoke the fire and add wood, then snuggled up against me like I was the fire he really wanted.

All I could think was... was he too warm? Were the heavy breathing and flushed cheeks because he wanted me again, or something else?

Something that was going to ruin everything.

By midmorning, we were still lying in bed, not just because we'd tired ourselves out or because it was the warmest spot in the tiny cabin, but because there was simply nothing else to do. It had been nice in the night, not worrying about having anywhere else to be, or anything to do, but in the end, that wasn't who I was.

I needed somewhere to be. Something to do. Someone to take care of.

Worse, I was watching Paris closely for any sign of illness, and soon it was going to stop seeming sweet and attentive and start being strange and too much.

A tapping on the window frame grabbed my attention, and I wiggled up out of the blanket shelter to see a bird sitting outside the window. One of the missing pigeons.

As I made my way out from between the blankets, another fluttered down, joining it on the sill. I opened the window and they hopped in, looking at me slightly suspiciously, but not making a run—or a flight—for it. I picked up each in turn, took the messages tied to their legs, and put them in the remaining cage together.

The messages were nothing of particular importance, but I tucked them into my belt pouch to hand off to their recipients as soon as we could get back into town, then gave the birds their treats for making it back, and other food and water.

I checked back out the window to find the world covered in a sound-dampening blanket of white, and gave an involuntary shudder. I hadn't seen so much snow since I was a boy. We almost never had so much, not all winter combined.

There were no words to express how grateful I was for Paris's sharing of the sleigh plans, and then dragging us out to the cabin. Esmerelda might not have made it through the night, frigid and awful as it was, and the birds hadn't come back till far too late to get her out without risking her life for theirs.

I covered the cage with the last spare blanket and crawled back into bed next to Paris. I hoped we wouldn't have to pull out those damned snowshoes and walk back carrying the cage, and even if I was squirming with impatience, the prospect was horrifying enough to risk waiting. If Owen could make it back with the sleigh, he would.

Paris shivered, but he pressed his whole body against me anyway, burying his face in my chest and murmuring my name before drifting back to sleep. My whole chest hurt from the overwhelming emotion. The guilt and shame of what I'd done and what it could mean, yes, but also the new discovery of joy and... and maybe love.

It wasn't till noon that anything changed, just warmth, blankets, and Paris pressed against me, and while it was still divine, I could no longer push down my worry. He was sleeping at noon. Was that a bad sign or a good one?

Then I heard a familiar voice from outside: Brandon. It was still a little distant, and carrying well over the snow. Unless I was mishearing, he was coaxing the horses that they could make it, and they were almost there.

That sounded like something Brandon would say.

I ran a hand down Paris's cheek, and again, it was warm. But... he was wrapped in blankets, so that was fine, right? He came awake slowly, giving me a sleepy smile that made my stomach flip and my cock stir.

"Brandon is almost here," I whispered to him. "I suppose we need to dress if we're going out in the cold."

His smile turned wry, and he nodded. "I suppose. Wish we could stay here, though. It's nice."

And he wasn't wrong. It was nice. It was warm and cozy and smelled of him. What could I possibly complain about?

Except for the part where I'd possibly killed Paris with my unthinking selfishness.

We dressed in silence, still under the blankets, him glancing up occasionally and looking at me, then quickly away when I met his eye, blushing like an untried teen. It was adorable, and if I hadn't been so worried about him, I'd have found it endlessly entertaining and happily taken part in the game of snatched glances and flushed cheeks.

By the time Brandon knocked on the door, we were dressed and about ready to leave. I wrapped the heavy blanket around Paris, ignoring the funny look he gave me when I wrapped it around him and not myself. I was the one who hated the cold most, after all.

Brandon gave me a funny look too, when I hustled Paris out the door and settled him in the sleigh like he was an invalid who needed me to support him. He brought the birdcage along, and motioned to the blankets sitting in the back of the sleigh. "We figured that would be enough. It's actually a quick way to travel. Almost not slowed down at all by the snow, and it'll be quicker on the way back, since we're going back on top of a path we already made." He turned to the horse closest to him, petting her nose and leaning into her. "Right, ladies? We've got this."

The horse he was patting gave a nicker, almost like she was agreeing, and I couldn't hide a smile. Brandon was adorable.

I climbed into the wagon-sleigh next to Paris, and he leaned against me, opening the blanket to wrap it around me as well. I didn't fight him on it, just leaned into him and let Brandon take the lead with the horses. They were his horses, after all, and he now had the most experience of anyone in the clan managing this sleigh contraption.

We warmed back up as Brandon drove the horses, and he kept up some chatter about how they'd settled Esmerelda in nicely in town, and that she was thinking about moving closer to town permanently, just in case we ever had another winter like this, because her old bones couldn't handle it. But it wasn't like anyone's bones deserved such misery, Brandon pointed out, shaking his head.

Tucked against me, Paris giggled, and I couldn't blame him.

Brandon had been right, and it was almost no time at all before we pulled up in front of the house in town. Paris was nodding off again, curled into me, and I almost didn't want to make him go in.

I could carry him, right?

Brandon came around and leaned into the wagon, grabbing the bird cage and then waiting for us, hand out to help me up. When I took it and stepped down into the snow, he pulled his head back, looking surprised. "You're so warm. How did that blanket hold so much heat all this way?"

A stab of worry went through me, but it was too late.

I spun toward Paris, who was standing in the wagon, looking down at me with glassy eyes. Then, he was falling forward, into my arms.

He wasn't warm and cozy. He was burning up with fever.

I snatched him up, swinging him into my arms and holding him against me before turning and striding toward the front door.

"Brett?" Brandon called after me, confused and rushing to keep up. "Is he okay? What's going on?"

Owen opened the door when we reached it, a look of concern on his own features as I faced him. I swallowed hard and met his gaze as steadily as I could, given the circumstances. Given what I'd fucking done.

"He has Avianitis."

Owen's mouth fell open, and he stepped wordlessly aside to let me in. I didn't even think about it, just took Paris straight to my own bed, since it was the biggest in the house, the most comfortable.

It was the very least I could do, and only the beginning.

I would stay with him every moment of the illness, through to the bitter, agonizing end, if that was what the winds dictated was to come.

He deserved better, but it was too late for that.

I'd done what I'd done, selfish and unthinking and horrible as it had been of me, and now I had to deal with the consequences. If only Paris didn't have to deal with them too.