Page 43 of Sunder

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 shareanything 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 aboutyet.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.”

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