3. Healer

Checking should not include waking her.

But checking evidently involved Athan rolling over in the bed to count her breaths and, occasionally, creep his hand against her neck so he might better feel her pulse beneath his fingers.

She was too tired to protest the first time, certain she was imagining it was happening at all.

The second, the first tendrils of annoyance overcame her exhaustion.

By the third, she awoke long enough to set her hand against his abdomen so she might push him away.

She didn’t. Couldn’t. Not when he was built so solidly, but it earned her a sigh as he moved back—not nearly enough. Not back to his side of the bed where he might sleep and stop his fussing.

“You’re not my healer,” she reminded him, and tried to ignore the hint of pain that filtered through the bond.

“I am your mate,” he murmured back. “Which makes this even more important.”

It didn’t. Or it shouldn’t. Or...

She didn’t know.

Only that guilt won in the end, so she kept still and let him do as he pleased, especially if it meant he’d allow her to sleep awhile longer.

Then a new sort of guilt settled when she rolled over and he was not there. Wasn’t fussing, either. She blinked, sitting upright and trying to make sense of where she was and where he might have gone.

Light pushed through the shutters, bright and insistent.

The hour had mattered little, aside from invitations to dine with her parents or the extended family. The rest of the days were her own, to use or squander at will.

What were they like for a healer? Surely he could not laze about, even with a new mate settled in beside him.

A knot settled in her throat when she realised this might be the time to make her quiet escape. To dress as quickly as she could and open the window and see if the opening was large enough for her to slip through.

She’d go home. Cry to her mother.

And then...

She should do it.

She could see her garments neatly in their pile, situated on top of the chest where Athan held his own clothes.

It would hurt him. Her leaving.

Orma did not know why it should, but it would.

She should do something. Other than slipping away like the coward she was. Dress, at least. Or go to the washroom? She could make it there herself. She was not the invalid he thought her to be.

The door opened before she could decide. She thought he would be fully dressed, ready to approach with the stiff smile she was so used to when a healer came to her bedside.

But he wasn’t. He wore the nightclothes he’d donned before, his hair rumpled from what sleep he’d managed to get in between his checks .

She shouldn’t be cross about it. It meant he cared, even if only because of the bond nestled safely in his chest.

Some of the ties had loosened in his sleep, allowing her a glimpse of the subtle glow to his skin where it lived. A shimmer.

She fought down the strange impulse to beckon him closer so she might undo the laces even further. To see the spot for herself, to touch it. A bit of her, tucked away inside of him.

Those were dangerous thoughts. Unwelcome. Urges that surely were not her own.

Then why was it so hard to tamp them down? To remind herself to look away, to think of anything else but bonds and delicate threads, or else risk losing herself as she had the night before.

Which had worked out perfectly well, hadn’t it? She’d found him. And he was kind, and handsome, and so they were locked away in this room because he had a too-large beast as a companion, and she was too wretched to face it.

And he’d see she was afraid, and then he would offer to evict it once again, and that would be another wound upon her conscience.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, rubbing his hand through his hair and looking her over. She’d sat up, and the sleep-shirt she’d borrowed had suffered much the same fate as his own, one shoulder slipping off and revealing far more of her chest than was decent.

She paled, pulling at whatever fabric and ties she could reach.

It was ugly. She was ugly. Had been twisted and scarred and there was no pleasantly enticing bosom to peep out from the fabric. Just more questions and a history she wanted to bury as deep down as she could.

They’d cared about that early on. Minimal scarring, they’d promise her parents. Keep her pretty.

Then it hadn’t worked.

And they’d grown frustrated.

Better she be well than pretty, wouldn’t they agree?

And then she was neither, and her hands shook and her heart raced, and Athan was coming toward her as she pulled fruitlessly at the ties so he wouldn’t see, couldn’t see...

He took a breath. Held it. Then released it slowly.

Did it again.

And again.

Until it registered, he was modelling it for her. So she would breathe and allow the panic to recede, the tears to stop their welling.

“Doing that well, are you?” he asked when she’d calmed, just a little.

She laughed. Not long, not hard, but it was a better outburst than the sobs she had been close to just a moment before. “I was going to go home,” she confessed. “Or... I was trying to convince myself to go. I didn’t realise how...” she gestured at her shoulder, at her chest. Whatever bits of her he’d seen. The lump settled back into her throat, and she wanted to bring her wings forward to tuck about herself—to hide away as best she could.

The blankets would have done just as well, but that would be childish.

“How I appeared,” she finished quietly. He wasn’t touching her, but that was almost worse. He was just standing, patient and seeming so unaffected. As if he saw a woman panic every day.

As if it was common for a new mate to steal away from home without word of where she was going.

He gestured toward himself. To his mussed hair and rumpled clothing. “You look as well as I do,” he assured her. A lie if ever there was one. “I take it from your frequent protestations, you have not permitted me to take the role of your healer.” Nothing in his tone suggested he was angry at her denials, and she tamped down the urge to offer him a sheepish smile in order to smooth away the offence that was not there.

She shook her head instead, slowly. Gauging his reaction.

He smiled at her reassuringly, as if her answer was expected. “No examination, then.”

She wanted to wilt even at the prospect.

“All that remains is for you to decide if you should like a tray brought with your breakfast, or if you’d care to brave the lower level.” He added an ominous, teasing lilt to his tone, suggesting he thought the lumbering Brum to be a mischievous taunt rather than a serious threat.

She did not share his cavalier attitude, but she wanted to offer him something. Wanted to... try.

“I will eat at your table,” she managed, her heart not quite in it. That should be something special, should it not? A first meal shared. A bed made together, sharing shy smiles as they glanced at one another, both thinking fondly of what had been done in it the night before.

She glanced down at the mess of blankets and linens and was ashamed of herself.

She’d fallen into the role of invalid so easily. She should have tried harder, should have insisted she was better than she was, so she might have sweeter memories than counted breaths and measured pulses.

“Excellent. Dressed or undressed?”

She looked up at him in alarm, and he shook his head quickly.

“I meant...” he gestured toward the trunk where both of their clothing resided. “Should you like to change first? Or have me change?” He huffed out a breath and tugged at his hair before taking a careful step backward.

He did not want to crowd her. Did not want her alarmed.

Did not want her to panic again, she thought with a grim awareness that it was the truth of it.

“I’ve prepared a few things. I did not know what would be to your liking.”

No kitchen staff tending to his meals and cleaning up afterwards. Or perhaps he’d simply dismissed them so they might spend time alone.

She doubted that was the case, but she did not wish to presume he was without some funds.

She wanted to dress. Wanted herself fully covered and proper.

But there was another part, one that was dangerous and slipped away to fetes to watch couples fall in love and dance and see the beauty of their shimmering threads braid and cord and twine...

That one said to take his hand. To go down as they were. To let him see her scars and wonder at them, and maybe even allow herself to think he was marvelling at some beauty he found in them. In her.

“Right. I’ll go to the washroom, shall I? Dress there? Unless you would like to...”

She’d waited too long. Let him fill her silence with proprieties, and she found it terribly endearing.

“I would,” she agreed. “But maybe... maybe we might change after eating. I should hate the food to be neglected.”

In truth, she possessed little in the way of appetite. But she wanted him to know that his efforts were appreciated, and she was rewarded with a smile as he nodded. “Perfect.”

It was hardly that, but it was the best she had to offer.

He did not hover at the washroom door, but he also did not retreat all the way to the kitchen. Instead, she found him sitting on the top of the stair, his head turning when she made her way down the short hall. He stood almost immediately, his pensive expression replaced by his seemingly usual enthusiasm. “Brum is outside. If that worried you. I didn’t want you to have to make the way down, afraid you’d be startled by him.”

Because Brum was a name, not his species. She really must remember that.

“Does he like to be? Outside, that is.” He did not carry her down, but allowed her to make her way at her own pace. Slow, as usual when stairs were involved. Her hip ached, but only a little, and it might pass altogether as the day wore on.

“Oh, yes. Well... perhaps not yet. He breakfasts with me most days, when I am home to indulge him. But that does not mean he resents more time in his garden.”

She thought of the courtyard at home. All the ornamental vines and trees that had been planted with such purpose. Not by her, certainly, and not by her mother. Generations before, tended by knowing hands that knew how to pluck and water and prune as necessary.

She should have paid attention to such matters, but the suns tired her and the summer heats were oppressive when the high walls did not allow the sea breezes to offer respite.

“Why is it his?”

Athan laughed softly behind her. “He spends more time out there than I do. I try. There’s just always something, you know? Someone to visit, or hours in the infirmary. But I need to make the time. Plants play an important role in healing, as I’m sure you are aware.”

She hummed, mindful of the last step. “A pity he cannot be taught to tend it.”

She should offer, shouldn’t she? Another woman would, eager to take on the role as mate to a healer. To help him as he gave his help to others.

Perhaps that woman would even launder the linens in the infirmary. Wash his tools after a surgery.

The very prospect of stepping foot inside the building next door made her stomach turn.

She followed him down the hall, and then through the kitchen door he held open for her. She could not recall the last time she’d even been inside such a room, let alone to eat there.

But his table was there, pushed against the far wall. There was a large cushion on the floor, and beside it, one of the two chairs.

Food was on the table. Cups, a kettle blanketed in a quilted contraption that greatly resembled the covering they’d slept beneath the night before.

Homey, she decided.

In the sort of way her home had never been, yet felt... right.

There was a fire. Even a stove, although it was small and could not accommodate the suppers of her entire extended family.

But that was all right. They’d never be here. Would never have even considered it.

“Sit where you like,” Athan offered, going to the back door and peering through the window cut inside of it. She did not do as he suggested, instead following so she might catch a glimpse of the garden.

And the Brum.

For all his insistence he did not tend it well enough, all was lush and thriving. There were neat rows of beds, then twining paths that led to a small footbridge. An odd thing to have, given they could fly over most anything. She stood on tiptoe, trying to see if that meant there was a stream running through it, but she was rewarded with the Brum standing on his two back legs, his large front paws pressing against the windowpane as he hollered his displeasure at being removed from the house too soon.

Athan’s arm reached out and held her steady before she could bolt backward, her heart racing and her resentment growing. She did not like to be startled, did not handle it gracefully, and she realised his suggestion to sit at the table had been the correct course.

“You’re all right,” Athan soothed, which was a lie because she was not, and he knew perfectly well through the bond how she felt.

But she said nothing. Just slipped out of his grasp and went to the table, willing herself to calm before she said something sharp she would most certainly regret.

“Orma,” Athan sighed, but she shook her head.

“I’m all right,” she repeated, because if he could lie, then she could, too.

Athan made a snorting sound, and made some gesture toward Brum, and he disappeared behind the door in a huff. “Someday, you’ll have a proper introduction. And maybe you will even come to like him.”

Respect him, possibly, but that was the extent of what she could easily imagine.

She rubbed at her chest, willing her heart to calm, and Athan moved toward her. She fully expected him to insist on feeling her pulse, on counting her breaths, but instead he poured tea into a cup and pushed it toward her. Pulled it back again just before her fingers could wrap about the mug. “One of the leaves contains a mild stimulant. Will that prove too much for you?”

She was not of such a spiteful nature that she would bat his hand away and take a sip simply to prove that she could.

Instead, she sat, hating that he had to ask it. Hating that she had to run through the mental list of all the potions and elixirs she used regularly before she gave a soft nod.

“Excellent.” He pushed the cup back in her direction, and she tried not to feel small and like the girl she’d always been. Everyone had to be so careful with her. Had to make sure she wasn’t hurting herself, had to coddle and hover and...

She was grateful. She was.

Otherwise, she would implode.

Orma stared down at the cup, and this time was her emotions rather than the bond that was a tangled knot inside her chest, pressing and wriggling and making her want to flee.

She didn’t. Wouldn’t. There was the Brum outside. Although she was rather sure if she opened the door, he’d be more interested in being inside with his companion rather than following her. And maybe he wouldn’t eat her.

Maybe.

Athan was making those exaggerated breaths again, but this time she did not follow. Merely sipped the tea, and found the flavours pleasing, and fought not to glare are him.

He’d done nothing wrong. She was being ridiculous, that was all.

She even had to fight down the urge to tuck her legs up inside the too-large shirt he’d let her borrow.

Always hiding, her mother had said, even when she was small. A cupboard. Beneath a clothed table.

She couldn’t say it, then. That the threads overwhelmed her sometimes when there were too many people about for too long. Too many shimmers, too many colours—some clashing, some not.

Athan took the seat across from her, the one that boasted the large cushion at its side. Either to rest his feet upon after a long day, or because that’s where the Brum would sit if he was invited to the table.

She took another, longer sip of tea.

He had a life here. A profession. He knew how to cook, and how to keep a home, and he’d filled it already, not only with furnishings, but with a companion.

She had nothing to offer him. She was not a skilled conversationalist. There were no household chores assigned to her. She was proficient at nothing and had neither the energy nor the inclination to change that.

“Is the tea that dreadful?” Athan asked, leaning forward and watching her carefully.

Because he could feel it all, couldn’t he? The despair creeping over her. The one that reminded her that nothing had changed, that she was still as lost and alone as ever.

A burden.

First to her parents, then to the man across from her that deserved a far better mate than she could ever hope to be.

“No,” Orma croaked out, rubbing at the bare bit of thigh the borrowed shirt revealed. Over and over. Because she could breathe, and she would, and she did not need him hovering about her to do it. “It’s fine.”

He hummed, taking a sip from his own cup. “High praise.”

If he was insulted that she did not have a greater compliment to offer, he did not betray it. “Perhaps we might visit the market together, and you can show me which stall you prefer. Then I can offer something more to your liking.”

She laughed. She did not mean to, and it was a choked, wretched sort of sound. “I haven’t been.”

It was the first time in a long while he genuinely looked surprised.

“Impossible.”

She moved her hand from her thigh to the knot in her chest, pressing tightly. The ache was more memory than reality, but it felt better to touch it. “No, it isn’t. Not when there were people to do it for us.”

Some glimmering awareness settled over him, and she fought not to fidget. “Not a simple district girl, then, are you?”

She shook her head, just the once.

He tapped his fingers against the table. He did not frown, but he did not appear particularly pleased, either.

She would not apologise. She did not pick him—had even tried to spare him. They said nothing. He did not press her for more, and she did not dare begin. Not when it would mean blurting out far more than she cared to share.

Eventually, he pushed a plate toward her. There were meats, and a few cheeses. Fruits cut and glistening in sweet syrup.

He could not know how little she cared to eat when she was so anxious. When she felt a breath away from crying. When she felt so acutely aware she was in a stranger’s home.

She rubbed harder.

“Orma,” he murmured.

She should stop. Needed to stop.

“What would make you happy today?”

Her hand stilled.

“What?”

She blinked, trying to make sense of the query she had not expected. There was no ready answer, no easy way she could answer him and be done.

He continued to look at her, his eyes soft and... sad.

Everyone was always sad around her. “If you could have anything today. Do anything. What would make you happy?”

It did not work that way. She was not without resources. She could ask for anything to be brought to her room—books she had never read from authors she would never meet. Foods from any of the districts, with new and delightful flavours.

It would mean nothing, her interest in either have waned a long time before.

She felt caged and watched. Her every movement, her every feeling under his scrutiny.

“I don’t know.” Which felt another sort of failure, because what sort of person did not have a secret longing? To dip their toes in the salty sea, to fly above the forest. To find where the river met the sea.

To visit the market and its many stalls. To see all sorts of people she’d only ever encountered during her illicit visit to the fetes.

She did not much care for sand, and there was no possibility she was strong enough to venture outside the city to the great forests beyond.

A throng of people and their threads and colours felt impossibly daunting.

Was she supposed to explain all of that?

She skimmed her thumb over the lip of her mug, unable to look at him. “What about you?”

He hummed, settling back in his chair, his wings settling lazily. He was not a tangle of anxiety. Of conflicting feelings that never seemed to resolve. She envied him more than she could possibly say—wished she could absorb his tranquillity until it was a part of her. Why did bonds not work that way?

“Well, given how little I know you... so this will sound terribly one-sided, and likely make you cringe into your seat.”

She grimaced in anticipation.

“I should like to go to your home. Meet your family. Collect your belongings and bring them home. Watch you make yourself comfortable. Have a proper greeting with Brum.” He sighed, but only a little. “Of course, what I do know is that you have not agreed to live here. That you have kindly offered that I might keep Brum, regardless of the fear you seem to have of him.” He leaned forward, the movement catching at the edges of her vision, because she couldn’t—wouldn’t—look at him. “But none of that will happen today, will it? So maybe we can work out what will set you at ease enough to eat your breakfast.”

She glanced at the food again. Took a piece of cheese. A crust of bread. Could not bring herself to lift either to her lips, but it was more than she’d managed before.

“What you want is... perfectly reasonable,” she admitted, because she needed to acknowledge it. There was nothing wrong with him—he wanted his mate inside his home, and since she had no profession to dictate her dwelling place, it was reasonable to assume she would move to be with him.

“No, it isn’t. Not if it makes you look like that.”

She did not bother to wonder at her appearance. She felt the tension that settled through her entire being, stealing her appetite and making her wish she’d made a different choice about clothing.

She could fly away if she was in her own clothes.

“I don’t know what to do,” she amended. Better to get it all out. To let him see the problem so he wasn’t left hurt and wondering. “I do not know how to go home, but that’s what I want to do. I don’t know how to take you with me.”

He nodded, as if that was the most reasonable thing in the world. “Because of my profession.”

She blinked. Glanced up at him. “Why do you keep saying that?”

He smiled indulgently, and she did not care for it. “A lesson from my master when he took me in. Everyone admires a healer when they have need of one. Until it means odd hours and...” He tapped his finger against his mug before looking back at her. “We are a private people, aren’t we? We keep to our mates.”

Her stomach twisted strangely. “What are you saying?”

He leaned across the table, pushing another plate of food in her direction. Waited until she’d taken another selection, although she paid it no attention, simply added it to the other untouched articles on her plate. “Some feel strange at the prospect of their mate looking at others without their clothing. Of seeing, and touching, despite how professional the reasons.”

She would not think about how much of her the healers had seen. Had touched. Fingers, and tools, and eyes that narrowed, and they’d mates at home. Because it was proper, even if it hurt. Even if it left her feeling strange and dirty and she’d cry for ages after.

Athan would not have done that, would he?

“You are frightened,” he observed, and she did not like that. Didn’t like him plucking at her feelings and speaking of them aloud. They were hers—were meant to be hers.

She took a deep breath. Focused.

Forced herself to look at the cords between them. Willed them to dim. Quiet.

And they did. Wavering and protesting, but listening.

Athan blinked.

“What are you doing?”

The bond might be new to him, but it was not for her. She could not sever it, but she could make it less intolerable. Keep some things to herself.

“He told you all that, and you became a healer, anyway.” She wasn’t ignoring him, but... maybe she was. Because there were things she did not want to answer, and others she had no answers for at all.

“I did,” Athan affirmed, his eyes narrowed. She could feel him working at the bond, tugging and pressing and trying to determine what she’d done. It felt strange—to be so aware of another person. Of the tether that had been so one-sided, feeling full and alive . “And hoped my mate might forgive me. Might see that the work was necessary. That people need help. My help.”

He stopped his inspection and stood, and she did not like it.

Liked it even less when he knelt beside her chair, pulling it slightly so she might look at him without the ability to hide. “I think you need my help.”

Orma’s mouth twisted. “No more healers,” she informed him. “My parents promised me.”

Athan huffed out a breath, but he did not allow even a trickle of irritation to pass through the bond. “You could choose for yourself. I would never hurt you, Orma.” He reached for her hand, and for reasons she could not explain even to herself, she let him take it. It felt good to have his hand surrounding hers. He was warm, his skin was soft, but she waited for the panicky feeling to overtake the pleasant sensations. “You’ve been hurt, yes? By healers?”

Her throat tightened, and she could not breathe, let alone talk.

But she could nod.

Just the once.

“I am so very sorry.”

He had no business looking as he did. As if he knew all of what had happened to her and he was so deeply sorry for it. If he could look at her with all that sorrow for just a few scars and a mysterious elixir, she did not know what he might do if he heard the rest of it.

She did not know what she was supposed to do. Comfort him in some way? Remind him she was sorry, that she did not want him to be tied to someone like her. But the words stuck in her throat, true as they were, and she just sniffled and her feathers shivered as she tried to hold herself together.

There was no need to cry. She’d done plenty of that ages ago.

They were just trying to help.

Just like he wanted to do.

Which is why she couldn’t let him.

He squeezed her hand, and she allowed it. Watched his throat bob, watched him struggle with his own words, and she should offer him something. A promise. An explanation.

Anything.

But she did not have those. But she reached out with her free hand and took a piece of something off her plate. She did not taste it, but she chewed it thoroughly before she swallowed, just to show him she was fine.

He was fine.

He did not have to look so heart sore.

Athan smiled at her gesture, but it was dim and preoccupied. But it was enough to get him off the floor and back to his own seat, although he ignored his own meal in order to stare at her and watch her pick up another piece of her own.

“That should not have happened to you,” he added as she chewed, as if it needed saying.

“The bond should not have woken so early either, but it did,” she reminded him gently. “They wanted to help me. Because it hurt. Every day. In more ways than I knew possible.”

His hands curled, and she was aware of the tendrils of anger flittering through him. At her? Or them? She could not tell. “I should have been sent for,” he insisted. “I should have been there.”

She had to be gentle with him. “They did not know you. Did not know your age. What might happen to me if you came, and you felt the bond, too? You’d take me away, and they’d have no cause to stop you. Can’t interfere with mates, yes? Regardless of the circumstances.”

He looked sickened, and she could not blame him. She hadn’t understood before. What they were truly worried about. She thought mating meant friendship and hugs. Everything else came out in stilted conversations as she grew older and finally asked why she could not go find him.

She wasn’t too young for a friend.

She was vastly too young for the rest that would naturally follow.

Or so her mother had explained with tears in her eyes as she held her close and told her how sorry she was, for everything that had happened. That would happen.

“I would have never, ” Athan bit out, full of the indignation she’d expected.

“They did not know that,” Orma soothed. “Could not have known that. I did not talk much of you, even when they asked. I thought... it would help. If I just kept you to myself. Maybe it did, I don’t know. If they’d known you were not the grown man they feared.” She shook her head. She’d been so young, and she’d learned not to begrudge herself for choices she’d made steeped in fear and confusion.

Athan might.

She glanced at him, waiting.

For him to grow cruel?

For his frustration to turn to shouts and blame?

But, if anything, he appeared sickened.

She took a breath and allowed her fingers to stroke over the tendrils of the bond. His eyes were closed tightly so he could not see the action, which allowed her to work in peace. It warmed beneath her touch, and she pushed what reassurance she could toward him. She was here. She was alive. What did the rest of it really matter?

Athan scowled, which was not her intent.

“It matters,” he stated firmly. She had not meant to push so hard that he would feel her thoughts so completely, and she sat back in her chair, chastened.

“Sorry,” she murmured, taking another bite to appease him. Bread that time. She was sure of it.

He sighed, shaking his head as he wrestled with his own thoughts. “I don’t... I am...” Lucian would be pacing by now. Athan was tugging at his hair and taking deep breaths before he looked at her. He’d wanted to make her happy. That was all. And now he was miserable, and she did not know how to change that. “I am trying to understand you,” he finally finished, his eyes earnest and still so terribly sad. “So I might be a better mate to you.”

How was she to respond to that? “I appreciate that,” Orma began, struggling with her own self. With the guilt that threatened to crush her. With the fatigue that settled so quickly into her bones and threatened to rob of her days. Her nights. “I think... I think you are a good man. Better than I deserve.” He looked up sharply at her, and she finished before he might interject. “I don’t think I can be a suitable mate to you. I don’t... I don’t know how to do anything. I can’t help you with your work. I can barely function most of my days. I cannot offer you...” she stumbled, and she gestured vaguely over his person, then hers. “The bond will want to be consummated, but honestly, that just sounds... exhausting.”

She rubbed at her eyes, laughing humourlessly to herself. “And I’m already so tired.”

He softened, a tension leaving him she hadn’t realised was there. “Then you should go back to bed. A tray after all.”

He stood, ready to make good on his previous offer, but she reached out and stayed his hand. “It’s all the time, Athan,” she corrected as gently as she could. “I’m in bed more than I am out of it. I could easily sleep this day away, and I would wake no better in the morning.”

He sat back down as if a thread had been cut. “And no one has been able to offer you relief? Of any sort?”

She pinched her fingers to the relative size of her bottles. “My elixirs. For a little while. And I pay for it after. But for that moment...” she took a breath. Then another. “I get to feel like a person. Can you understand that? Where I could do things, or learn things, or... be anything at all.”

She sat back in her seat while Athan appeared thoughtful for a moment. “I should like their names,” he declared. Not with the bits of ire that had seeped out earlier. Just a statement of fact. “I should like to consult with them,” he clarified. “Not as your healer, but as your mate. To understand what you are taking, and the effects it has on you.”

A fervent refusal was on her lips. But he looked back at her, grim-faced and as if already prepared for her arguments, and she hesitated. “I don’t want you conspiring,” she admitted. “I don’t want...” she huffed out a breath and she could not force herself to take another bite, not even to appease him. “I just want to be left alone.”

His nose crinkled. “It is terrible to be alone.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it, and he gave a rueful smile in answer. “No, it isn’t. It means you get to sleep. Don’t have to answer a bunch of questions you don’t want to answer. You get to be yourself for a little while. Just as you are. No pretending.”

He let that settle between them, leaving her to fidget and squirm and push a crumb of cheese around on her plate. She should not have said that. It was too honest, too unflattering a description of her true feelings. She wanted him to like her, and that was the wretched part. There was so little for him to admire, so little for him to find appealing, and she was hardly helping her case.

She shouldn’t lie, but she could start anew. She could claim interests from the books she’d read. Knowledge was there, even if experience was not. Speak of her willingness to be a fine mate, even if her abilities would be lacking.

She rubbed at her chest, and Athan sighed, her hand stilling when she caught him looking.

“Explain conspiring,” Athan urged, ignoring the rest of what she’d said. Or perhaps putting it aside for later scrutiny. “A discussion is a betrayal?”

Her throat hurt.

“You’ll want to see the tests for yourself,” she explained slowly. “They all did. Every time there was someone new. Can’t go off the notes of anyone else, yes? They might be faulty. The conclusions wrong. And hear me, Athan,” she leaned in close, making sure she held his eye. “There will be no more tests.”

She could not remember being so firm with another person, and she waited for his eyes to narrow, his mouth to thin.

Waited for him to look like her father did when she’d attempted even a small amount of defiance.

She steeled herself against his protests. Or perhaps the attack would come with sweet words and coaxing reminders that this was his profession, that it would be a reasonable demand for a mate of his background to try his own hand at improving her person.

She belonged to him, didn’t she?

Discussion was a courtesy. He could insist on anything. Demand anything of her, and the bond would make it seem all right. Even if the rest of her wilted even further.

But instead, he held her attention and met her posture, leaning in close over the small table. “I find it disturbing you would find such declarations necessary.”

Her shoulders hunched, and she dropped his gaze. “Are you used to being overruled? Most particularly when it comes to your care?”

It was her lips that thinned. Her eyes that narrowed. “I was a child,” she reminded him. “They knew what was best.”

If he thought differently, he made no argument. “But you aren’t any longer. Should things not have changed?”

She glared at him. She didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, but the feelings came faster than she could reason with them. “ Nothing changes,” she insisted. “Over and over. Pain and fatigue, and I have only to wonder which part of me will scream the loudest and hurt the most. My head? My hip? Or perhaps here.” She pressed her hand to her chest and did not care if he saw her rub slowly. If his shirt had dropped low on her shoulder so he could see some of the scars tangled there. “Every day. Until suddenly I was old enough, and I was told I should go out and find you. Never mind that I knew you would not be to their standard. It mattered to my cousins. My siblings. To be mated well. But not me. Better I was anywhere else. Someone else’s burden.”

The words were bitter. An outpouring of hateful doubts that had plagued her for longer than she’d cared to remember.

They knew he would not be suitable, yet they sent her anyway to the fete where the other unmated gathered. Away from their towers, all the families of the oldest blood. Without tarnish.

A history long forgotten by everyone else.

Clung to and flaunted, with high towers and overflowing coiffeurs.

He sat, too stunned to offer any sort of reply, and she was too horrified at herself to continue. She should attempt an apology, but she was afraid to open her mouth once more, uncertain what else might come pouring out.

He did that to her. Or the bond did. Something.

Coaxed out subtle poisons she had not known were there.

“Athan, I...” she began, because he wasn’t saying anything, and he realised how damaged she truly was. He wouldn’t want her—not that he ever had. He was kind, that was all. And he’d be kind now. Let her stay, give her a meal, and then he’d escort her back to her parents.

Visit on occasion. Just often enough for the bond to be satisfied.

Then back to his life and his Brum, and the house he’d built for himself without want or need for a mate.

That would be all right, wouldn’t it? More guest than mate.

Why did she ache all over just to picture it?

“I should not have said that,” she insisted, growing panicky just at the memory of what even now hung between them. “Please, I... just forget about it.”

But he couldn’t, just as she couldn’t, and she hated this awful feeling in her stomach. The one that threatened she would sick up what little breakfast she’d managed, but mixed with a curdling sort of pain that radiated outward.

She wanted one of her draughts. The kind to calm her nerves and put her to sleep so she needn’t remember how awful her tongue might be when she did not keep tight control of it.

“I don’t think I will,” Athan answered. Not in a cruel way—there was not a hint of malice in his eyes, in the corners of his mouth. He was sad. Terribly so. And it flowed so steadily through the bond she feared she might choke on it. “You seem to have already decided what I wanted. What I longed for. Did you do that because you watched me longer than you’ve claimed?”

There was no accusation, but she flinched from it all the same.

“I saw you as a child, and I saw you last night. There were no other times.” She was not used to being disbelieved, and she did not wish her mate to think her a liar.

Was it a lie to withhold about her visions? She could not decide, and it added another layer of misery to her potent list of current ailments. “I speak true,” she added, because it mattered. “I...” she swallowed, her hands shaking so hard she twined her fingers together so he could not see. “I want to tell you something, but I also... don’t.”

Her hands were settled on the table, and Athan reached out and covered her joined hands with one of his. “You can share anything with me,” he promised. As if his word was enough. As if she should assume he was trustworthy. That he was as good and kind as he seemed without the benefit of time and consistency to act as proof.

She hummed just a little. Because she wanted so badly for that to be true. But it had ruined everything before, hadn’t it? When she was too little to know any better. To realise there were some things it was safer to keep tucked away.

“No more tests,” she repeated. To herself. To him. She’d consent to nothing. She’d find one of those sea caves she’d read about and hide herself away before anyone else could get to her.

He could.

He had a bond of his own, now.

Which meant putting a great deal more trust in him than she had.

“So you said,” Athan reminded her.

She waited for the bond to take over. To remove her inhibitions and do the work for her. But it cared nothing about such declarations. What did it matter if she could see what others couldn’t? The cords were finally settled, and it was far more interested in reminding her how good his hand felt around hers—that he was warm and strong, and wouldn’t it be nicer if she walked around the table and placed herself in his lap?

The idea was mortifying.

Yet...

She did not want to think about yet. About how parts of her warmed all over at the mere thought of it. To see if it felt different to be embraced by one’s mate instead of a parent.

Except she was not a woman to him, was she? Just a broken girl, more project than mate.

“What sort of healer are you?” she asked instead. Because that mattered, too. His nature, his approach.

He looked surprised a moment, then smoothed his thumb against the back of her hand. It had no business feeling as it did—all warmth and distracting tingles. Did it feel the same to him? Or was it the same sort of touch he might give to any other, a simple comfort and nothing more?

“I could tell you those I studied beneath and the books I studied for so long I had whole passages committed to memory. But that is not what you mean.”

Her lips thinned, and she shook her head. “Do you care for research?”

That was what mattered most, wasn’t it? Anything but to be another specimen. Especially to him.

“Ah. While I respect those that dedicate themselves to that pursuit, I admit my passion is more for the individual. For whatever ails them.” He glanced up at her. “Does that disappoint? Would you have preferred I commit to a specialty?”

She frowned. She would have preferred he was a stonemason or a fisherman. Or one of the sailors that travelled to distant shores and was happy to visit her when he came to port again.

She did not say it. Wouldn’t say it. Not when he was looking at her, as if he had already proven himself a disappointment.

“No,” she assured him. “But...” she took a deep breath, summoning courage she was certain she did not have. Not when her heart fluttered so and her hands trembled. “Imagine... you’re summoned to a little girl. And her parents tell you she can see bonds. As clearly as any other feature on a body—a wing, a cheek marking. A nose. And she used it, no matter how inadvisably, to seek out her mate before it was time, and now she suffered. Greatly. What would you do?”

He was very still. He did not lean back, did not withdraw from her. Just searched her eyes for confirmation it was her, that she was that little girl, and he was sorry, and this was wrong, but he was... curious.

Wanted to know more.

Which was reasonable, she reminded herself firmly. It meant nothing. Or at least... it did not have to mean what she feared it did.

“I would listen,” he said at last. Which was not at all what she was expecting. “To all she had to say about it. Every bit. And then I would go to my books, even though I knew none of them described anything like it.”

Not true. Some did. Ancient ones. She’d seen the crumbled tomes for herself, the pages worn with time and water damage.

They’d been forgotten, after all. Shoved into a room at the top of the Hall, because they weren’t relevant any longer, were they?

He huffed out a breath, and his hand went to his hair, pushing through the dark strands, his wings tucked down low. “And if those failed me...” Which they would, and he’d grow frustrated, and reach the same conclusions as all the others. Experiment. Probe. Take meticulous notes to add to those crumbling tomes for healers in the next century to marvel at. “I’d do my best to see to her comfort. So she wasn’t scared and aching for the rest of her days.”

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t.

Even so, he got up from his seat, and suddenly she was standing, too.

And was pulled into his arms. Not to carry her anywhere, but just... to be held.

Because perhaps her eyes were dry, but something else in her wept. For the girl she’d been. For the woman she’d longed to be. And he felt it. He knew.

He smoothed her tangled hair. Let her bury her face in his chest, which really was inappropriate, wasn’t it? Except the bond promised this was right, this was what she needed, and it was her right to receive it from him.

She did not trust the bond. Not in the least. Somehow, along the way, it had become her enemy. The source of too much grief, and now it was wheedling impossibly deeper inside of her. Urging and whispering.

She shuddered.

Felt his arms tighten about her. “You can trust me, Orma. I swear to you. I would not have done what they did.”

He couldn’t know that. Hadn’t seen her huddled and small and poisoned from the bond that now was supposed to be her comfort.

His hand came to the back of her neck, to the knot where she carried so much of her tension. His thumb pressed inward, and she had to fight to keep back her moan of appreciation. “Will you believe me?”

He was not being fair. He shouldn’t be trying to coax responses from her, vocal or otherwise. These were her queries to him, so she might judge more of his character. “I want to,” she allowed, because that was as much truth as she could offer.

He was too close to her, and they were improperly dressed. A mistake on her part. They should be properly buttoned and laced during their interactions, otherwise it made the bond do strange and cajoling things. Wasn’t it nice to be so intimate? To feel his arms about her? She should stay there. See what it felt to place a kiss where the bond glowed brightest beneath the too-thin fabric of his sleeping shirt. It was what made him hers, and she’d sheltered it, nurtured it for so long...

She shook her head, muzzy-headed and feeling far too strange. How many of these desires were her own? Long-buried and held strictly under her control?

And how many were his?

It weighed on her. How little she’d asked of him. So preoccupied with her own protection, her own mistrust, she’d neglected to offer even the small courtesies.

“What did you want of a mate?” she asked, muffled as her voice was because she hadn’t brought herself to move. To wriggle out of this first embrace, born of comfort rather than moving her from one place to the next. “Or, at least, what were you looking forward to the most?”

He hummed, his cheek brushing against the top of her head as he considered. Or was he breathing her in? Relishing the way the bond flared and pulsed. Warmed them all over.

This was important. They should have started with this. No flights in the dark.

Just this.

“That would have to be shown, I think,” Athan murmured at last. Which set her pulse racing, because if he thought it too indecent to speak it aloud, then she would well imagine the turn of his thoughts.

She did not want to mate. Not now.

He’d be gentle with her.

He would be slow, and careful, and mindful of her scars. The too-tight ligaments that made some movements painful. He was a healer, after all—he would understand her body better than she did. How to touch, where to press.

How to make her feel so much better than she ever had before.

Orma frowned.

And his hand curled about her cheek as he prompted her to look at him. “I do not think it is what you are imagining,” Athan answered, his small smile betrayed by the line between his eyes. Worried. For her. Because she did not respond as she should, did not know how to be easy, even with her mate. “Although I will not be dishonest and suggest I had not looked forward to that aspect as well.”

His thumb pressed more firmly into the knot at her neck, and she squirmed. It did not hurt—or if it did, it was the sort that also felt deeply right. That if he just worked a little harder, a bit longer, she might unravel. Might melt into his arms, and all the terrible thoughts and doubts would simply disappear.

“I do not want it without you,” he promised her. “Not until you want me, too.”

It was the sort of thing that should never need to be spoken. What sort of mates did not want one another? But it was a relief, a gift meant solely for her. Because she needed to hear it. Needed that sort of oath.

Even if it shamed her.

It felt wrong to talk about such things so soon—never mind that she was certain many couples would not have waited even half so long to satisfy the bond. That was its purpose, wasn’t it? To keep the lines going.

Why would he want her to carry his young?

He adjusted his hold and urged her face up to look at him. “Why are you so worried about this?” he asked as gently as he was able.

She gave him a look. She didn’t mean to, but it slipped out before she could think better of it. As if he was slow, and a little bit foolish not to realise the importance, the significance. “Because that’s what this is all for, isn’t it? Which means you’ll have expectations about it. Ones that I can’t, or don’t want to fulfil.”

“Orma,” Athan stated firmly. More firmly than he’d been with her thus far, and it startled away her sardonic expression. “Find something else to worry about. Please. I will not grow impatient with you.”

He said that now. When they’d known one another for less than a full day, and he was still full of hopes she’d get better. Be better. And all would work out and her worries were for nothing.

“It’s not like I get to choose,” she bit out. “Worries come on their own.”

He smiled at that. Moved his hand from the back of her neck to cup her cheek. “I suppose they do. So maybe we can distract you from them.”

She did not ask how. Did not let him be the one to decide on the method he intended—not when there was something weighing on her.

Made far more prominent when that very being gave a mournful wail, suggesting he had not listened to Athan’s command to go along in the garden, but was waiting for the door to open so he might reside at his rightful cushion, as expected.

“See? You found something.”

He gave a little tug to the bond, and it was a strange, lurching sort of feeling in her chest. She could not help her hand rising to rub at the spot, a frown settling on her features.

“I should meet the Brum,” Orma declared. “Properly,” she added. Because she was going to delay matters of her parents and Athan as long as she could. Until guilt became so tangible, it was like a cloak she wore about her shoulders, intolerable in its weight.

But this...

Brum was a living being, evicted from his home because of her.

Which wasn’t right. Wasn’t fair. And she did not think she could tolerate that guilt for very long.

“Really?” Athan asked, giving her a dubious look as he glanced between her and the door. “You do not seem ready.”

She rolled her shoulders and took a breath, his hand falling away from her.

She didn’t miss his touch. She didn’t.

Her skin was sensitive, that was all. So the newness of gentle brushes and firm massages was... tantalising.

It certainly didn’t mean anything.

“You also ate little.” This he added with a hint of disapproval, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“So did you.”

Which earned her a smile, which had no business being as disarming as it was. He could convince anyone to do anything with a look like that, most especially when the bond warmed and settled so sweetly with his good humour. “Fair enough.”

He picked up the plate and took a large bite, and gave her a pointed look. She certainly was not so ill-mannered that she would shovel large quantities into her mouth simply to appease him, but she took up her bread and walked over to the door.

She wasn’t so brave she would open it without his presence, but she could peer out the window down to the beast below.

He’d shoved his enormous frame as close to the wood as possible, his too-large head lolling to the side to look up at her.

Had he sensed her? Smelled her? She knew nothing of the quality of their senses, but it was more than apparent he knew to look for her.

His mouth hung open, his tongue lolling out strangely.

Perhaps he was sick.

Surely he would not do that otherwise.

She felt Athan come up behind her. “Would you like to go out to him, or have him come inside?”

If she was willing to venture out, she could escape into the house if necessary. She glanced down at herself, remembering her state of dress. Was she really going out in such attire?

Her mother would be horrified.

Which didn’t bring her pleasure. Didn’t send a thrill through her that she was doing something brave and more importantly, different.

Wasn’t that what drove her to visit the fetes in the first place? Something, anything, that might distract from the endless monotony of her own life.

“I’d like to go out,” she insisted, although it was his hand rather than her own that settled on the latch.

“Right,” Athan said to himself. Then repeated it. Then pulled the door inward, the Brum getting to his feet immediately.

And pushed his way to the kitchen, ignoring her declaration entirely that their meeting should take place out of doors.

She had feared he might leap at her, might topple her over with his weight, but instead he came to her side, pushing his head into her hand as if fully aware he could manipulate anyone into anything. In between the great tufts of fluff were hard nubs of... horn? Either shorn low, or just beginning to grow in.

Athan followed, giving her an anxious look.

Waiting for her to run, she realised.

While the Brum seemed satisfied with the touches he’d forced, and went to his cushion and settled with a great huff.

Because he should have been there from the start.

And Athan was cruel for having ejected him.

She did not know how such dark eyes could express so much, but it was all plainly evident on his features.

She couldn’t lie—her heart was pounding. But it was harder to be afraid when it was lounging so, his attention drifting between her and Athan, before reaching his head up to bump against the table itself.

Athan rolled his eyes, and rather than scold him for the rattling cups and sloshed tea, he reached over and passed him a crust of bread.

“He... might be rather spoiled,” Athan admitted, looking strangely bashful about it. “You’d understand better if you saw him when he was young. He fit in my palm, if you can believe it.” He demonstrated the size. “They’re rather an incredible species.” His eyes were bright, but his nerves were steady through the bond. “Quite intelligent. They can learn all manner of tasks, although it can take a bit of convincing before he’ll actually do any of them.”

Athan wanted her to like him.

Not just tolerate him.

Not a begrudging acceptance, but to love him as Athan did.

Athan gave his head a long stroke before the Brum curled into a small a ball as possible on his cushion—evidently satisfied simply to be with his person.

Who was supposed to be her person.

Her throat ached.

They were more bonded. Knew each other better—and that was her mate and he was a... Brum.

What was his kind called again?

She couldn’t remember. Should remember. Because he was clearly of great importance to Athan, and she was doing everything all wrong. Not paying enough attention. He’d tire of it quickly. Of her selfishness and preoccupation.

She wanted an elixir. Something to make her feel better.

Feel... different from this heavy weight she carried in her chest.

“Would you like to...” he gestured toward the Brum before delving his own hand back into the thick fur.

How did the creature not overheat? Not that the sea breezes allowed for the summers to go on for too long or to become too unbearable, but he seemed more prepared for the snowy mountains rather than Athan’s garden.

“I don’t know if I... should,” she answered in a stilted attempt to collect herself.

Her feet were frozen in place, her heart was beating too quickly, and Athan was his own tangle of nervous energy.

One of them had to be calm.

One of them had to be sure and bold and...

Did he mean for it to be her?

His head canted slightly to the side as he regarded her. “Why shouldn’t you?”

She didn’t want to blurt out the reason, but the words swelled and came of their own accord. “He might eat me.”

Athan stared a moment longer, then he laughed. A quick burst of sound and relief, while she was left to feel a crippling embarrassment that he was mocking her.

Except that wasn’t right. The bond related nothing of the sort, and yet she had to stop from huffing from the room so she might nurse her wounded pride.

She’d thought she lost the last of that a long time ago.

“First,” Athan interjected when she’d almost decided to leave the room. “I would never allow that to happen.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth so she could not see his lingering smile. But she felt it all the same, and she frowned slightly. “Second, he would never, ever try.” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced down at the beast. His tail thumped at her scrutiny, swishing against the floorboards as it was too long to be contained to the cushion.

“You cannot know that,” Orma objected. “Animals have minds of their own. And he might be... hungry.”

Athan reached onto a plate and took another piece of bread. Tossed it to her. “Not if we feed him,” Athan reminded her. “Take care of his needs, so he knows we are a part of his herd and not his prey. Although,” he reached down and made a great show of covering Brum’s ears—hidden as they were amongst so much fur. “He is quite lazy. It would take far too much effort to hunt you down, and he’d grow tired of it quickly.”

He patted the Brum’s head affectionately. “But do not tell him I said so. He likes to think he is my best helper.” Athan nodded down at him. “He’d like to be your friend, if you’ll let him. You might start by sharing your breakfast.”

She glanced down at the bread in her hand. Back at her mate and all his optimism that she did not share. Or... maybe she did. Infectious as it was flowing freely through the bond. While she tended her doubts and all the possible misfortunes that might befall her, he had a steady dream of hopefulness that set her feet moving. She did not dare kneel down, but she bent, her hand outstretched with her offering.

She was going to lose her fingers. Or maybe just one. And he was a healer, and he would have to live with the outcome after he’d patched her up, the guilt and the horror because he was the one that suggested it and...

Brum was surprisingly dainty as he took the bread from her hand. His breath was warm, his nose was slightly wet as he nuzzled briefly at her palm, and took it in his jaw to eat properly down on his cushion.

No blood.

No lost fingers.

Just a tail that continued to thump against the floorboards.

“There now,” Athan praised, as she stared down at his companion. “You lived!”

She did.

And she lived through allowing her pointer finger to press once against the too-large head. Perhaps he wasn’t so large. Perhaps it was just his fur, so thick and full, that made him appear so.

The creature looked up at her, and there was its tongue again. It appeared... pleased. Very much so.

She would not be jealous of the Brum. She refused.

Orma didn’t long for cushions on the floor. To be petted and pampered and treated like a pet.

But she could admit, if only to herself, that she wanted the ease between them. The settled routine—of knowing where to be and how to be. No frets or worries between them.

“Won’t you sit with us?” Athan urged, nodding toward her vacant chair.

She should tell him she needed to dress. To wash her face and prepare to go home.

But she’d promised to eat at his table, and her few meagre bites likely did not count for much.

She settled nervously back in her chair, trying not to flinch every time Brum’s tail brushed against her. It was not barbed, but it was heavy, and he had a tendency to look up at her as he did, as if it was done with intention.

She did not know what it meant, but he did not appear to be bullying from her seat. Perhaps he did not blame her for his earlier banishment.

Which was good.

“How can I help you relax?” Athan asked, finally beginning to fill his own plate with the food he’d prepared.

Her posture was stiff, but she tried her best to force her shoulders down and get some deep breaths into her lungs. “I am not... I do not think I have a very relaxed constitution,” she admitted, reaching out for her mug. It had lost some of its warmth, but she took a sip, anyway. If she was a different sort of mate, she would offer to brew fresh. But that would mean she knew how to use a stove, and where he kept the leaves, and...

She ate a little, because she knew it would please him and because she need her strength for later. She could not stay. It was possible Lucian went to her home and... explained. Or tried to. But if he didn’t, then her parents deserved to hear it from her directly. To be involved in working out all that came next.

It didn’t matter how much the very prospect made her insides squirm.

“Now, I should think acknowledging one’s challenges would help, but you’re working yourself up into a panic.” Athan was watching her, and so was Brum, for that matter, and she really needed to stop doing this. She was undesirable enough at her very best, let alone when she was shaking whenever her thoughts took a turn. “What are you thinking about?”

She addressed the plate rather than him. “Going home,” she answered honestly. “Telling my parents all that has happened.”

“Ah.” Athan took another bite of his meal before he reached out and added more steaming tea to her cup. “I hope you are factoring my presence into your imaginings.”

She looked up sharply. “Why would I do that?”

If he was disappointed in her answer, he did not show it.

“Because,” Athan answered with all the patience she did not posses. “I am your mate, and they are your kin. Therefore, we have an attachment, whether or not they are pleased with it.”

A lump settled in her throat.

“And if they are not, I would not have you subjected to it all on your own. Not when it is my profession they will object to.”

She slumped a little further in her seat.

“It isn’t, though.” Or maybe it would be. Perhaps if he was a healer in their district? But no, that would be even worse. Someone closer to a servant than an equal. She rubbed at her aching head and remembered the fresh tea and took as great a sip as she dared, given the heat.

Better. Far better.

“What do you mean?”

She sighed, using her pointer finger to skim across the lip of her mug. It was a tasteless subject, one that was taught stringently amongst the families, but certainly not discussed. Not with outsiders. Which he was. And wasn’t.

“You know,” she hedged. “There are those born to the towers... to the stations that come along with them.” Lawmancers, judicators. That set and upheld the standards of the cities. That ensured prosperity for all and yet... were set apart.

They had a separate fete to encourage intermingling. They did not control the bonds, of course. Only the Maker could do that. But they certainly... presumed.

His head tilted to study her. “How is that different from what I said?”

She groaned, and she fought the urge to appear as small as possible. “Because they’re interested in bloodlines, Athan. Old ones. Back to the beginning of the city. So it didn’t matter if you were a healer or a runner at the Hall. You would not be...” she stopped short of saying he would not be suitable, would not be good enough, but she heard the echoes of old lectures all the same.

Her parents hadn’t tried. Not when they came to realise how... unique she was.

But Lucian’s father had insisted, turning many family suppers into speeches about destiny and sacred rights. Of purity and lawlessness, and so much that had only served to frighten her when she was a girl.

It sat like a weight in her heart, now. Perhaps it had mattered long ago. But surely there were limits.

Mama always said Oberon would not hesitate to argue with even the Maker, if given the chance. Under her breath, of course. And not when anyone else might hear.

But Orma did.

Because Mama kept her close in case the evenings proved too much for her. Would whisk her away at Orma’s plea, acutely aware of the disapproving looks that followed them as the elders in the family viewed their retreat.

Weakness was not welcome in their family.

And Orma had little else to offer.

“I do not want you to be hurt,” she finished. It was too soon to delve into all of this. Into ancient histories and expectations that Athan could not possibly meet. It wasn’t his fault—he’d done nothing wrong. Only had the misfortune to be bound to her.

She rubbed harder at her temples.

He stood up. She wasn’t looking, but his chair legs scraped against the wooden floor. And suddenly it was his fingers replacing hers, pressing and assessing the minutia of her expressions. It felt better than it should have. Better than her own ministrations by far. No healer would see a headache, no matter how they poked and prodded, but she couldn’t deny she liked his touch. His attention. And it had very little to do with the bond glowing from both their chests.

“What are we going to do for you?” Athan murmured. To her. To himself. And she almost bristled. Almost threw back at him that he wasn’t her healer and she did not need him looking at her like that.

But she didn’t.

Because she could not deny that his touch was soothing. That she could feel some of the tension leaving her as she leaned more heavily into his strength, letting him support her head so even her neck might rest for just a moment. “I don’t know,” she mumbled instead, because that was the truth of it. She knew nothing. Didn’t know how to fix herself, fix her family, fix the flutter of fear in her heart at the Brum at her feet.

But she wanted to.

Which was more than she might have said even the night before.

He hummed, a soft, lilting sound that sent shivers through her for reasons she couldn’t name. “We could work on it. Together,” Athan offered. “Help each other.” His hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushed against the delicate skin beneath her eye, and she did not know it might feel so... “I don’t want to be your healer,” Athan promised, and he was leaning, and it couldn’t be comfortable, but she felt no complaints through the bond. He would not kiss her, surely. Then why did her heart beat so, and her lips felt the anticipation of a touch that wasn’t coming?

It wasn’t.

Which didn’t disappoint her.

Truly. Because that was an intimacy she wasn’t ready for, and yet...

Her breath caught as he smiled at her, just a little. “I want to be your mate,” he promised her. “And a mate is allowed to care when the other is hurting. To work together to set it right.” He leaned forward, and she wasn’t pulling away, and he really was going to do it, and it wasn’t right, was it? Wasn’t what she wanted, what she needed...

The kiss did not come.

But she was pulled into his embrace, the angle and his hold making her toes skim across the floor until they left it entirely. Supported utterly by him.

And he did not seem to mind. Seemed to... like it.

“As right as we can make it,” he clarified.

Which was realistic of him. Because she’d never be as she was. Never be fully... whole.

The bond glowed and hummed, and she closed her eyes so she was not blinded by the flares of shimmering lights. She had only to say yes. Had only to put her trust in him, and it should have been so easy. As natural as the next breath she took. He was her mate. He would never hurt her, never let her be tied down and prodded at and...

Her parents had.

The thought came unbidden, sharp and unwanted.

She couldn’t think like that. Wouldn’t think like that. They were trying to help. They loved her.

Did that mean Athan would do the same?

“I’m frightened,” Orma confessed, and it was easy because he was holding her so close.

He let her down, but did not move away from her. Kept touching her, kept his thumb at her temple, rubbing gently in just the right spot, and it was enough to bring tears to her eyes. He wanted to take care of her. Couldn’t she feel it? “Of me?” he asked, his voice so very gentle that it made her ache.

“Of what happened,” she clarified. “Of what might happen if I say yes. My parents wanted what was best and still...” she gestured to herself.

There was anger, and it wasn’t her own. And she reached out and smoothed her fingers along his chest. Because that wasn’t right. There wasn’t need for it. Everyone did the best they could.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head. And he was going to move away from her, would go back to his chair and talk of breakfast and Brum and she would be left with the guilt that she hadn’t been willing to try.

That she’d disappointed him with her trepidation.

She didn’t trust him.

Which was a horrid thing for a mate. Because she was horrid and broken and...

She took a deep breath.

The Maker had tied them together, anyway.

But he didn’t move away. Just brought her back into his arms and cupped the back of her head as she pressed it into his chest. The threads had no warmth, but she could swear she could feel them. Brushing against her cheeks, nestling and soothing.

Promising her in dangerous whispers she just had to say yes, and everything would be better. It wouldn’t be like last time, because to hurt her would be to hurt himself. And what nonsense was that?

“I won’t pretend to know their conclusions. Why they thought they were doing right by you with their actions,” Athan murmured into her ear. Because it was private, and theirs, and the Brum did not need to hear it. “And I won’t speak against them,” although he wanted to—she could feel that plainly enough. “But it was wrong. Even if their reasons were loving ones.” Her tears welled, and she burrowed closer. “And I will not do that to you. You have my word.” He scoffed lightly and shook his head before he placed a kiss to the top of her head. “You can have much more than that, if only you’ll believe me.”

She was going to answer him. Going to give as much of an assent as she was able.

But a bell rung, sharp and startling, and she pulled out of his arms, looking around for its source.

“Door,” Athan sighed, a hand going through his hair as he glanced down at himself with a grimace. “A patient, most likely. Just... let me refer them to another healer. Don’t move.”

Don’t leave, was what he meant to say. Don’t slip upstairs and dress and escape out the window. Because he wouldn’t know where to follow. Which of the towers she called home.

She sank down into her chair, glancing down at the Brum. He did not seem bothered by the bell or by Athan’s hasty retreat.

But she was.

She passed him another crust, tossing it this time because she dared not get so close to his mouth without Athan to intervene.

Voices raised, and a knot formed in her belly. Because she knew that tone, regardless of the distance down the hall.

And it wasn’t a patient after all.