Page 49 of Sunder

She slumped a little further in her seat.

“It isn’t, though.” Or maybe it would be. Perhaps if he was a healer in their district? But no, that would be even worse. Someone closer to a servant than an equal. She rubbed at her aching head and remembered the fresh tea and took as great a sip as she dared, given the heat.

Better. Far better.

“What do you mean?”

She sighed, using her pointer finger to skim across the lip of her mug. It was a tasteless subject, one that was taught stringently amongst the families, but certainly notdiscussed.Not with outsiders. Which he was. And wasn’t.

“You know,” she hedged. “There are those born to the towers... to the stations that come along with them.” Lawmancers, judicators. That set and upheld the standards of the cities. That ensured prosperity for all and yet... were set apart.

They had a separate fete to encourage intermingling. They did not control the bonds, of course. Only the Maker could do that. But they certainly... presumed.

His head tilted to study her. “How is that different from what I said?”

She groaned, and she fought the urge to appear as small as possible. “Because they’re interested in bloodlines, Athan. Old ones. Back to the beginning of the city. So it didn’t matter if you were a healer or a runner at the Hall. You would not be...” she stopped short of saying he would not be suitable, would not be good enough, but she heard the echoes of old lectures all the same.

Her parents hadn’t tried. Not when they came to realise how... unique she was.

But Lucian’s father had insisted, turning many family suppers into speeches about destiny and sacred rights. Of purity and lawlessness, and so much that had only served to frighten her when she was a girl.

It sat like a weight in her heart, now. Perhaps it had mattered long ago. But surely there were limits.

Mama always said Oberon would not hesitate to argue with even the Maker, if given the chance. Under her breath, of course. And not when anyone else might hear.

But Orma did.

Because Mama kept her close in case the evenings proved too much for her. Would whisk her away at Orma’s plea, acutely aware of the disapproving looks that followed them as the elders in the family viewed their retreat.

Weakness was not welcome in their family.

And Orma had little else to offer.

“I do not want you to be hurt,” she finished. It was too soon to delve into all of this. Into ancient histories and expectations thatAthan could not possibly meet. It wasn’t his fault—he’d done nothing wrong. Only had the misfortune to be bound to her.

She rubbed harder at her temples.

He stood up. She wasn’t looking, but his chair legs scraped against the wooden floor. And suddenly it was his fingers replacing hers, pressing and assessing the minutia of her expressions. It felt better than it should have. Better than her own ministrations by far. No healer wouldseea headache, no matter how they poked and prodded, but she couldn’t deny she liked his touch. His attention. And it had very little to do with the bond glowing from both their chests.

“What are we going to do for you?” Athan murmured. To her. To himself. And she almost bristled. Almost threw back at him that he wasn’t her healer and she did not need him looking at her like that.

But she didn’t.

Because she could not deny that his touch was soothing. That she could feel some of the tension leaving her as she leaned more heavily into his strength, letting him support her head so even her neck might rest for just a moment. “I don’t know,” she mumbled instead, because that was the truth of it. She knew nothing. Didn’t know how to fix herself, fix her family, fix the flutter of fear in her heart at the Brum at her feet.

But she wanted to.

Which was more than she might have said even the night before.

He hummed, a soft, lilting sound that sent shivers through her for reasons she couldn’t name. “We could work on it. Together,” Athan offered. “Help each other.” His hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushed against the delicate skin beneath her eye, and she did not know it might feel so... “I don’t want to be your healer,” Athan promised, and he was leaning, and it couldn’t be comfortable, but she felt no complaintsthrough the bond. He would not kiss her, surely. Then why did her heart beat so, and her lips felt the anticipation of a touch that wasn’t coming?

It wasn’t.

Which didn’t disappoint her.

Truly. Because that was an intimacy she wasn’t ready for, and yet...

Her breath caught as he smiled at her, just a little. “I want to be your mate,” he promised her. “And a mate is allowed to care when the other is hurting. To work together to set it right.” He leaned forward, and she wasn’t pulling away, and he really was going to do it, and it wasn’t right, was it? Wasn’t what she wanted, what she needed...

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