Page 95 of Sunder

Silently.

With his mate’s terrible history laid out in front of him.

He hadn’t waited for her. He’d delved into the entire messy business and she was supposed to be cross about that, wasn’t she? They were supposed to share in it, so she could feel in control of her own records.

Why then was there relief?

He’d left her alone. Gone to her family home and brought back the whole of that dreadful shelf.

Then tormented himself while she slept.

She approached quietly. She should say something. Chide him.

Love him.

That was just the whisper of the bond, surely.

Her heart hammered away in her chest.

Or maybe not.

He was hers, and he was hurting, and while she might not have been the direct cause, it was still for her sake.

She didn’t want to frighten him—if their positions were reversed, she would startle badly if he snuck up behind while she was in distress.

But words were small, and touch was better, and so she settled for pushing as much affection and comfort as she could through the cord between them. He didn’t seem to notice, not until her hand was on his shoulder.

He stiffened. Flinched.

Then brushed at his face with far more force than was necessary as he tried to tamp it all back. “Athan...”

“I know I should have waited for you,” he admitted, a strange dullness in his tone. “You’ve a right to be angry.”

She moved her hand from his shoulder to brush through his hair at the nape of his neck, scratching lightly. “You think I’m angry?”

He made a strange, strangled sort of sound. “I am.” It was barely audible, but a confession she felt through her very bones. Her fingers paused, and she almost asked if he was angry at her.

But paused.

Took a breath.

How many times must he reassure her on that front? He did not think her a disappointment. She did. He did not regret her as his mate. He was angry with her parents, with her healers, but not with her. Never with her. She was a child. She’d been hurt and her trust had been abused, and perhaps she hadn’t been the bravest when she’d reached her majority. But he held none of that against her, and she...

She was going to believe him.

Her attention drifted briefly to the pages in front of him. She swallowed thickly when she saw the diagrams, the careful notes they’d taken about the incisions, the appearance of her womb, underdeveloped given her age. They were hopeful results would prove favourable very quickly. She’d been slow to wake, and it was recommended that for any further procedures, a half-spoon less of tincture be given.

Athan slammed the book closed.

He moved so quickly it startled her, but before she could say anything else, could ask if he was all right, if he needed to talk, or... if she should find someone else he might talk to if it was too difficult for it to be her...

He turned in his seat and wrapped his arms about her middle, burying his face in her torso.

While he cried.

For her.

For what might have been.

---