Page 94 of Sunder

“Home is with you.”

Athan paused. Looked down at her.

Her smile was thin and watery, but she hoped he might look past that. “I don’t want one without you in it.” She tilted her chin just so, and he took her hint, leaning down so he could place a kiss on her waiting lips.

“Fortunate,” Athan declared as he got them moving again. “As I feel exactly the same.”

She sighed a little, because she’d finally done the right thing. The bond was warm and contented, and it was a welcome comfort when the rest of her was anything but.

She didn’t fuss when he tucked her beneath the blanket back in their room. Didn’t worry he was leaving her. Just gave a little hum when he joined her, pulling her close into the crook of his body. Her head really did hurt.

But this was nice. Needed. And from the feeling that crept along the bond, Athan felt precisely the same way.

7. Mate

Orma didn’t know what woke her.

It was still night out. The lamp had been snuffed when Athan came to bed.

She shifted, squinting into the dark, trying to make out his form beside her. The moon must be sleeping because it was particularly black in the room, so she huffed and settled for putting her hand toward him.

She expected a muffled sound in protest. A sleep-filled murmur that she should go back to sleep and they could sort out anything in the morning.

But the bedding was cold, and there were no protestations, and she sat up with a terrible feeling somewhere between the bond and her gut.

It was a patient, that was all. She must have slept deeper than she thought, and he’d be next door, tending to whatever emergency had pulled him away from her.

But the unsettled feeling wouldn’t pass, and the bond was strangely quiet. Almost... remote.

She’d ask Brum what he thought.

There was a slight chill in the air but she did not bother to dig out a shawl from her trunk. All was quiet in the house, and she crept down the stairs, this time her care coming from nervesrather than consideration for her hip. She peeked in the sitting room, but he wasn’t in his chair. Not sprawled out on her chaise.

She grew doubtful. Maybe she should have looked in the spare room after all, to see if perhaps he’d slept poorly and wanted his old bed for company rather than her.

She heard Brum padding through the kitchen, and the sound was more comfort to her than she had expected. She wasn’t alone. Not fully.

There was a hint of light in the kitchen, and she moved as quietly as she could, afraid of disturbing the Brum if he’d settled.

He was on his cushion, his large head settled between his two paws, and he glanced up at her, his tail thumping in welcome.

Orma swallowed, her attention drifting quickly from the Brum, and toward the man seated at the table.

There were books. Many of them. Far more than her father had sent from their initial visit. The papers were unsheathed and spread out across the whole of the tabletop, a few escaping to settle on the floor instead.

His head was buried in his hands, and she crept forward, afraid of startling him. More afraid of knowing what was happening.

He’d been fine. Seemed fine. He’d petted and held her and whispered all the right things about how much he cared for her.

They’d shared a delicious supper after she’d napped for a while, and he’d kissed her sweetly when they’d gone to bed together.

A small, bitter part of her wanted to ask if he wasdwelling.

But that was petty. Wretched.

And he was hurting.

He was doing his best to hold it back from her. She could feel that now. His body was tense and every so often his shoulders would heave and it took her longer than it should have to realise he was crying.

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