Page 96 of Sunder

She could not recall seeing her father cry. Not once. He’d hold her mother and his jaw would tighten, and he’d look so severe, as if his gaze could abolish any problem if he stared long enough.

“It’s all right to be angry,” Orma murmured because...

Because no one had ever told her that. Always smooth it over. Tuck it away. Remember to be grateful for all the effort everyone took on her behalf. Be brave. Take the medicine. It’ll work this time. She just had to have a little faith.

And somehow along the way, they’d managed to kill that little flame inside of her. The one that knew, that knew with the whole of her being if she could just reach her mate, everything would be all right.

They hadn’t asked, had they?

Athan did.

He wanted to know what she thought. How she felt. Didn’t ask her to shove it away so it wouldn’t hurt anyone else. He wanted her to talk, to share. And it was all so strange and...

Really rather wonderful.

No, they hadn’t killed it. Because she felt it now, strong and urgent. They should have listened. Shouldn’t have assumed they knew better.

Shouldn’t have frightened her into keeping Athan a secret. Should have encouraged her to find him, no matter his station, no matter his blood. Because she needed him, and he was hers, and that was enough.

Her arms came about him, holding him close. “What brought this on?” she prompted, skimming her fingers through his hair. She felt oddly calm. As if there was only so much room for feelings, and Athan was taking them at the moment. And that was just fine with her. “I must say, I did not like waking up to an empty bed.”

That earned a chuckle out of her mate, and he brought his head up, propping his head against her sternum as he looked at her. There were tight lines about his eyes, and she was struck with how little he’d been sleeping. He’d stopped waking her throughout the night to check her breathing and her heart, butperhaps he hadn’t stopped checking on her in other ways. To see if she was still there, still beside him.

“I didn’t like doing it,” he promised her. “But I couldn’t... I wanted to just get it over with. To see it all written out, and then we can tuck them away and move forward.”

Orma nodded, for she felt much the same. “This is more than we brought with us.”

Athan gave a sheepish sort of grimace. “Your father was awake. A little confused perhaps, but he understood well enough.”

Orma took a breath, refusing to be upset that he’d seen her family without her. She was going to trust him. He would look after her, whether or not she was within earshot.

“Athan,” she murmured, touching his cheek gently. “If you feel some regrets, that’s all right, too.” She didn’t want him to have to pretend. Not for her sake.

It was his turn to reach for her. To cup her cheek and hold her still while he held her attention. “I’m upsetforyou,” Athan clarified. “For your childhood. If there are regrets, is that I couldn’t have endured it for you.”

He had such a way of making her feel things. Where her insides squirmed in a way that was impossibly pleasant. How she grew flustered and found him so endearing, with just a look. A kind word. “Might I confess something to you?”

Something in his tone suggested it would not be more sweetness, not a sheepish admission of his affection for her.

She nodded, because she would deny him nothing. Not when he’d given her everything.

He did not answer immediately. He took a breath, and brushed his thumb against her cheek, and he looked so supremely sad that it made her ache inside. “I’ve been imagining going to the Hall.”

Orma’s breath caught. “Finding a lawmancer. Handing over all of this and trying to find some measure of justice for you.”

Her father was a judicator. One of three. The others were settled in their own towers, doubtlessly aware of the delicate nature of her situation.

Athan wouldn’t know that.

“Athan...” she murmured, not knowing what she meant to say. The concept horrified her. For her private matters to be shown to a stranger. To be talked about, looked at...

It was enough to make her want to be sick.

He ran his hand down her torso, smoothing over her hip. “I do not want your parents banished. Please do not mistake me.”

Her throat felt too tight and her skin itched all over, but she stood her ground because he’d asked her to listen. “It’s the others. The ones that might even now have patients relying on them. And they will sit there, with all the hurt they’ve caused, and think themselvesgood.”

He bit out the word as if it was a poison, and she could well imagine why. Athan was good. A good man, and an excellent healer. If he’d been summoned to her case, regardless of their status as mates, he would have seen a little girl hurting in ways she’d never known. He’d have talked with her, urged her to share all she could. Found a solution that didn’t involve cutting and...

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