Page 35 of Sunder

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 hischecks.

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.Shewas 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.

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