Page 79 of Sunder

She started fumbling through the pages, past diagrams and talk of scars and the salves that were showingdisappointingresults.

There were dates written at the top in blocky numerals, days and weeks and months, and there was a potion. Was it the one she wanted? She squinted at it, her tears blurring her vision and making it all far more difficult than it should have been, so she shoved the book at him and pointed, hoping it was the one. “There, see? Can you make it?”

Athan took the book but barely glanced at the page. “What are you hoping it will do for you?”

He closed it, and she would have been furious at him for it except that he kept his thumb tucked between the pages. “Talk to me, Orma,” he insisted, and she was rather tired of hearing her name at the moment. She did not particularly want tobeher, and her hands were shaking as she tried to push past him, to climb back into the bed and tuck the covers over her head and be the child she felt she was.

But Athan stood, and he was blocking her, and he was looming. Not angry, she noted with a peek up at his face, but there was a strength to him she was not about to ignore. She had to appeal to his sensibilities as well as his desire to please her, and bullying him about it would not get her what she wanted.

“It will calm me down,” she answered, gesturing toward her tear-stained face and then putting his hands under his view. The shivering extended her from her fingertips to her elbows, and it was not beyond her notice that it was the same area that started this whole mess in the first place.

She should have brought them with her. Her mother kept those stores, and she’d neglected to ask for the last of them.

A mistake.

“Why?” Athan asked, and she did not mean to glare at him. She truly didn’t. But her heart was racing, and her throat was tight, and even so, that horrid pulse of the bond reminded her of touches and kisses and threads and skin, and it wasawful.

“What do you mean, why?” Orma bit out, full of horror and more anger than she wanted to admit to. “Look at me!”

She thrust her hands closer to him, and he caught one, the other still holding the book. “I am,” he promised her. “And do you know what I see?”

“A mess,” she grumbled, rubbing at her nose with her sleeve and refusing to look at him. Not when he would not help her.

He brought her hand to his chest. To the place where the bond glowed beneath his buttons and laces. Coaxed her to rub there, as she did so often to her own chest. She should pull her hand back. Should ask him what his intentions were, because that was a presumption and an imposition, and why he should think she should want to was beyond her.

“I see my mate,” Athan countered. “I see her hurt and sad. I see her wanting her mate in ways that frighten her, and it saddens me.” He kept her hand moving until she was doing it of her own accord, her mouth growing dry as the subtle motion distracted her. “Saddens me even more that she thinks she needs to hide it away. Drink a potion until she feels nothing at all.”

Her lip quivered.

“You don’t need to hide from me, Orma,” Athan finished, his hand curling about her wrist to gently play with the thread there.

It caused a shiver to run through her whole body, and it wasn’t fair, wasn’t right, and he was being cruel.

The thought settled wrongly.

He wasn’t cruel. He was hurt, and he was trying, and she wasn’t.

Or maybe she was. Only her attempts were feeble and useless, and it was just so much easier when she could swallow a potion and sleep the day away and not have to wrestle with all of thesefeelings.

“Yes, I do,” Orma insisted. And she reached out and hit the book he was holding with a little bit more force than she intended, but his hold was steady and it didn’t budge in the least. “Those will show you that. If you learn anything at all, it’s that I need to keep it all to myself. Don’t share it, don’t confess it, otherwise it’ll get poked at and scrutinised and it won’t bemineanymore.” She was panting, her breath sharp and panicky. But he needed to understand. “It isn’t safe.”

He tossed the book on the bed.

Tugged her up, so she was standing.

And grasped her face between his palms so she could not turn away from him. “You are safe with me,” he swore to her, the bond flaring and pulsing, and it wasn’t arousal this time. It was the assurance that only one mate could give to another. “Not to be poked at, not to be scrutinised, but to be treasured. To feel those thingswithyou. To enjoy each other.” He did not kiss her, only tucked her into his body and held her tightly while she waited for her heart to calm and her breath to quiet. “I hate them for what they did to you.” It was a confession, softly given with his voice so low she would not have heard except for how closely he held her. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

Her throat burned and her eyes along with it.

Orma opened her mouth, her platitudes ready. They were helping. They cared about her. He didn’t see her condition, and it may seem harsh, but it really was necessary. Every bit of it.

And if any went too far, pushed too hard, her parents always had them replaced. Always.

She couldn’t get the words out. They stuck and spoiled in her mouth, and she buried her head against his chest and breathed him in, letting the bond do its work.

Calm her. Soothe her.

In ways that an elixir never could.

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