Page 30 of Sunder

Which meant he would have to sleep elsewhere if she did not permit his company.

Better it was her bed, so she did not have to feel as if she was stealing from him. He did not have a tower that boasted other rooms—and the ones he had might hold a Brum inside them, and surely he could not sleep when it was near? What if it grew hungry, and he was not awake enough to stave off a killing bite, and then...

Her stomach tightened.

She did not want him sleeping elsewhere.

Did not want him here, either, but the alternative was too gruesome to tolerate.

Athan got to his feet, and she waited for him to sit where she’d offered at the end of the bed.

“You should have your privacy,” Athan began, and her eyes widened, already full of objections. Most particularly, that she did not know the mechanisms for locking out the Brum, and if he wasn’t there, then she would not sleep at all because she did not wish to be eaten. He looked at her, drifting over every bit he could. “However, I am concerned for your condition.”

She relaxed, but only just. “You should stay. Not for... I do not wish to...” Her cheeks grew pale and words failed her, but she needed to be clear, needed to ensure she was understood.

The bond might have wants, and he might have expectations, but the very thought of...

He leaned down.

Cupped her chin with his palm, and he had no business doing that, not when her heart had finally calmed and now it fluttered rapidly back to its previous upset. “Consider this your sickbed until we are certain otherwise. It would be a poor mate indeed that would press advantage during such a time.”

This thumb touched her cheekbone just the once, and her mouth was too dry, and her skin was too sensitive, because it felt... itfelt.

Not a hurt. Not an ache.

But a sweetness she did not know skin might feel.

She wasn’t sick. This was just... her.

But he did not know that. And it made it easier, for the moment. To let him dote and play the healer, and let him think he could find the right tincture, the right salve, and all would be right with her.

Before she could grow flustered, could blurt out more of her sorry history, he refilled the water cup and handed it back to her. Watched as she swallowed great gulps of it, thankful for the distraction, as well as the moisture for her parched lips. Herhand shook, but just a little, and there was a nervous fluttering in her belly that was strangely pleasant.

She might come to like him.

The thought did not feel intrusive, not as the bond often did. It was quiet, and hers, an admiration for his care and his consideration, and despite his unfortunate profession, perhaps he was a good sort.

She wished Lucian had seen him long enough to make his own judgement. That she might ask for his opinion and ensure it was not a girlish fancy—or a worse, the bond smoothing over the hard bits for the sake of the offspring they would make together.

Her throat tightened.

She looked down at herself, to the layers she surely should shed. She’d have to return home in crumpled clothing if she didn’t, and her mother would take one look at her and reach all sorts of mortifying conclusions.

She hadn’t noticed Athan rifling through his trunk, pulling out tunics and shirts and inspecting each one carefully before moving on to the next. None of them smelled peculiar, so it must not have been cleanliness that troubled him. Did he wash his own clothing? He likely could not afford a personal washer, but maybe there was a service?

Her nose crinkled, trying to imagine her clothing entering a vat with a bunch of strangers’ underthings, dried and folded and returned to her where she was not supposed to worry about contamination.

Her eyes narrowed, trying to make out what he was looking for. Perhaps the light caught some more than others, suggesting the fabric had worn thin in places. Others had suspicious stains, usually smattered about the sleeves.

Blood?

Such garments should be disposed of, surely.

He shook out another, nodding to himself before he turned. It was a dark grey, but appeared clean and with no marks, suspicious or otherwise. “Would you like to change? I’ve no women’s clothing, I’m afraid, but it is... fairly new.”

It was a simple shirt, with the customary ties to accommodate much larger wings than her own. It would gape at the neck unless she made a few extra knots to keep it properly closed, and her legs would be...

Beneath the covers, she told herself firmly.

---