Page 75 of Sunder

She’d thought it had just been affection—little touches that soothed the bond and the haggard emotions the text instilled.

She’d stopped reading after it became a list of formulas. The description of herbs was not so bad, but having to read about ratios and weights and then the administrations themselves—most particularly how unfortunate it was that the one that held the most promise was also the one most often to induce persistent expulsion from the patient.

Not her name.

She’d closed her eyes after that. Her head ached, but she did not know if it was a phantom pain, the sort that was remembered rather than experienced afresh. And Athan’s fingers delved, petting and smoothing. Sometimes against skin, other times the fabric of her not-quite-day dress. Too thin, her mother had said. Suitable if Orma was going to layer it properly, but Orma liked the softness of it against her skin when she hurt, so it had become one of her favourites when there was no company and nothing to pull her from the house.

Athan seemed to like it for the same reasons she did.

Except she peeled one eye open, and it was a diagram of the threads she’d described to them. The points and curves over the wrist, the twist at the elbow. He was tracing them, but on her.

It made her insides squirm, but she did not know if it was in an affront to the process, or because he was tickling at the cords he couldn’t see. They were thicker than they had been. A little brighter. Shimmering in the sunlight. So very real and yet... not. Look at them too long and they would dim. Describe them in too much detail and it felt a sacrilege. These were sacred, and they had been poorly depicted by a pen and ink.

Athan glanced at her, then back down at her wrist. Her sleeve had pushed up toward her elbow, leaving him delicate skin toexplore. Except it wasn’t her skin, was it? It was the bond he wanted to feel. The nature of what tethered them together. That should bother her, shouldn’t it? Perhaps his methods were softer, more gentle, but he still was testing her, was trying to poke at something ancient and mystical.

She almost pulled away, but his hand went about her wrist. Not tightly, not restraining. Just... holding her. “Can you feel them?” he asked. And she almost groused that he should keep reading if he was so interested. But she didn’t. “When I touch?”

He thought she could tell what was the bond and what was the distracting sensation of his skin against hers? The brush of fingertips against flesh she’d no idea could be so sensitive. He trailed his fingers back from her wrist, up toward her elbow, this time watching her face for any hint of reaction.

She wanted to squirm. To remind her of their vows. She was not an experiment, and he...

His thumb found the soft skin of her inner elbow and he pressed ever so lightly where the threads coiled.

She gasped, eyes wide. Alarmed and... intrigued by her own responsiveness.

She had played with them as a girl. When they were friendly and just a part of her—no different from picking at her own feathers or idly investigating her toes. She’d stopped after it had all grown horrid and painful. Tried to forget. Didn’t see beauty any longer, just the source of so much terribleness.

The bond pulsed.

Her blood followed.

He was watching her rather than the book, and she fought down the urge to come closer to him. To curve along his side, to seek the same point on his arm so he could feel it for himself.

The bond was heavy in her chest. If she moved, if she did that, she would be inviting far more than kisses. The knowledge of itwas like a stone in her stomach, a keen awareness that she must tread carefully.

She didn’t want to.

She wanted to pluck the book from his hands and indulge in her newfound sensations. Wanted to trace patterns into his skin and urge him to do the same to her, until there were no thoughts, no pains, just a sacred art meant just for them.

Her breath caught in her throat and Athan stilled. “Orma?” he asked, and even that made her heart race all the more, and she swallowed, her mouth too dry and her thoughts too lurid.

This was not supposed to accompany those awful texts. Those must be separate. Exploration could not feel like experimentation. Nothing he did to her could come from the expense of her younger self.

“I don’t feel well,” she told him, which was true. She felt sickly all over, her muscles tight and her heart beat too quickly in her chest.

He closed the book and sat up, his expression changing immediately to one of concern.

Athan was touching, but it was different. He felt her temples, her neck, then frowned at her and she scrambled up, her skin too tight. She didn’t feel at all herself, and she blurted out a need for the washroom and scampered off before he could voice any objection.

She didn’t need it. Or, at least, all she needed was the cool water the tap provided her as she washed her face and hands. When that wasn’t enough, she even brought it up to her elbows, trying to cool her skin from where he’d touched.

Tears pooled as she took slow, deep breaths, willing herself to calm. She was fine. Everything was fine. This was natural. He was her mate, and he was attentive and kind, and it wasn’t wrong for her to feel the pull toward him. It was good. Instinctive.

She was hiding. She could acknowledge that with a rueful glance down her person after she’d washed her hands a second time. He was going to worry, and then it would lead to tucking her into bed and telling her they’d resume in the morning.

All because she couldn’t handle a few touches on her skin.

Or maybe that was the trouble. If she hadn’t liked them, she could have put an end to it with a few firm words, and that would be all.

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