Page 55 of Sunder

When he lay on his side and pulled her into him, for her curves to match his as his arm went about her middle, her body forgetting what it was to relax, to be pliant and soft when he wanted her to be.

But then his voice was at her ear. Soft and gentle. He did not delve into her clothing, had not even kissed her yet.

“I thought of this for longer than I care to admit. Just this. When we would lie together in our bed, and we could tell each other anything at all. And my mate would trust me with her worries, and I would do all I could to ease them.”

Something bent inside of her. Wobbled.

Broke.

And suddenly she was soft against him, huddling and revelling in the way his arm tightened about her. Which should have felt silly and wrong because he was near to a stranger, but the bond flared and warmed and whispered just how right it was.

How it should always have been.

He didn’t tease. Didn’t mock. Just nuzzled against the back of her neck and it had no business feeling as good as it did. “What got you so tangled up and sad?” he asked again.

And it was easier, here. Even though it was daylight outside. Even though nothing had changed, she found her tongue loosening and the malaise yielding into a deep-felt sorrow. “I have to go home,” she answered him. “And I don’t know what that means. What will come of it.”

He did not answer her right away. Not with false promises and soothing placations. But when he spoke, he kept his voice carefully measured while his thumb worked against her. Not rubbing, just... circling. Her breasts were small, and she wasn’t even certain he realised he was touching the underside of one of them.

She should say something.

Didn’t.

“We could stay here,” he reminded her. “And you can worry yourself sick over it. Or we could wash and dress and go speak with them. Make a plan for what comes next, with all the information we need to make it the best outcome possible.”

The choice was obvious, but she was a coward.

And it took far more effort than it should to answer him, voice small. “I’m frightened.”

It wasn’t who she wanted to be. Bold and fierce and ready to conquer anything. But it was who she was, and it seemed ridiculous to pretend otherwise.

“I know,” Athan soothed, holding her close, and yes, pressing a kiss to the top of her tangle of hair. “But I am not. If you can make introductions with Brum, I can face your parents.”

Which wasn’t a proper comparison at all, but she accepted it as it was meant. He appreciated her effort and was willing to make the same.

She wanted to give her complaints. All the reasons they shouldn’t and she wasn’t up to it, and he should go to work or do... something. Just leave her there.

But she wouldn’t enjoy it. The knot of anxiety would simply tighten, would leave her shaky and starved, without the ability to sleep away the worst of it.

“What do you say?” Athan urged, this time placing a kiss on her shoulder. Which really was presumptuous of him, because that was for mates and they...

Theyweremates.

The subtle glow of their threads was knitted so tightly together she had to squint to make out the patterns.

They were tethered. Entwined.

And maybe she needed him to be better. Tofeelbetter. The aches she felt were physical rather than emotional. He listened.

He cared.

Not as her healer, but as the mate he was.

She swallowed thickly, feeling...

She did not entirely know.

But she did not want to waste away in this bed, nice as it was to lie with him. Not with the rest hanging over her. Tugging at her. Robbing her of her the peace she should find in his arms.

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