Page 34 of Sunder

Whispers in the near-dark. As she’d dreamed of doing back when she cared to consider such things.

“Would it be so terrible to come to know me now?”

Orma’s lips quirked about the corners. “Now is for sleeping,” she reminded him. “But... maybe later it wouldn’t.”

He hummed, and she was left with the distinct impression he wanted to touch her. Just the brush of his fingers across her arm where it peeled out of the covers.

And she waited, a little breathless. Wondering if he might. If she wanted it. If she should reach out and pat his arm and thank him for his hospitality, because that would be the polite thing, regardless of their mating.

But before she could decide, he was rolling back, the cot dipping as he did so. “Have pleasant dreams, Orma,” he murmured. “And keep breathing.”

She did not laugh, but she wanted to.

She should ask him how he’d imagined his first night with his mate. Learn more of his heart and his mind and everything in between.

But she closed her eyes instead, and the bedding felt different and the pillow was not as soft, and she was not used to sleeping with a shirt that boasted sleeves long enough to cover both wrist and hands.

It should have made it difficult.

It should have made her squirm and roll about a few times as she sought some form of comfort.

But she didn’t.

Because there was a peace she hadn’t known in ages, and she did not have to wonder about bonds and threads and if she’d be cured.

She wouldn’t.

Hadn’t.

But for tonight, for that very moment...

That was all right with her.

3. Healer

Checkingshould not include waking her.

Butcheckingevidently 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.

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