Page 47 of Sunder

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 mannerof 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.

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