Page 100 of Threadbound

For one thing, Bran wasn’t human. It wasn’t that Jamie minded, exactly, but he didn’t know that he wanted to livein Elfhame—this place was beautiful, if eerie and extremely dangerous, but it wasn’t home. And Jamie was fairly certain that Bran felt the same way—if more derisive—about Jamie’s world, what he calledDunehame.

For another, Jamie understood that casual sex was part of fae culture, but it didn’t work for him. And while he was pretty sure that Bran would probably be up for a repeat of their one night together, Jamie just… couldn’t. Not if Bran didn’t feel about him the way he felt about Bran. And he was absolutely certain the fae didn’t think of him that way—in fact, there were times Jamie thought Bran didn’t even like him. That he was resentful of the fact that he needed Jamie at all.

Finally, if Jamie understood his role correctly, he had been necessary to stabilizing Bran’s magic—and now that the bond had been completed, even though Jamie didn’t think he felt any different, Bran didn’t need him anymore. He was useless. Unable to contribute anything and only capable of getting in the way.

And that meant he had no idea why he was still at the Court of Shades. The ceremony was done, and Bran had said that they didn’t need to be in the same world, but nobody—including Bran—had suggested or even asked Jamie if he wanted to go back to Edinburgh. And Jamie had no idea if it was rude to ask. So he tied things into knots.

Ribbon.

Yarn.

Strips of leather.

A few feathers he was pretty sure belonged to Bran.

Some beads Eadar had brought him.

Branches he’d scavenged while outside.

The thing he was making was kind of a mess. It wasn’t athing, exactly. Certainly not his usual bracelet or keychain or even a wall hanging that he’d put up online. It wasn’t atraditional kind of hanging. Not something you’d put in your house to make it look homey or even artsy.

Jamie could almost feel the anxiety and frustration coming off it, which is what he got for knotting while agitated. His momma had always told him that what he felt about a project would stay with the project—that he shouldn’t work while angry or deeply sad, unless doing the knotting would make him calm or happy.

That had not been the case over the past few days. Jamie still didn’t know where he was or what he was doing in the Court of Shades, he was still nervous around most of the fae—Eadar and Bran excepted, although now he was extremely awkward around Bran, too—and he didn’t know what to do with himself or how long he was going to be here.

Which meant he was stressing about the research he wasn’t doing, about the job he wasn’t doing, and about the friendships he was probably irreparably damaging.

All while trying desperately not to think about the non-relationship he had with Bran. Or the extremely hot sex. Mostly that, if he were being honest with himself, jerking roughly on the yarn so that it bit into his fingers, causing a momentary distraction from the tightness in his jeans.

With the ceremony over, Jamie’d gone back to wearing jeans and a t-shirt—pulled from a set of identical clothes that he presumed had been spun for him by someone based on the original set he’d been wearing the day Bran had brought him through the Gate. He didn’t know who. Probably not Bran, since they’d been made before the threadbinding.

Jamie would have preferred Bran to have done it, and that thought made him frown. Because he shouldn’t have cared, and he did.

The next several knots were extremely tight.

Jamie scowled down at his creation. It was… twisted. Dark. Jamie grimaced. That wasn’t at all what he’d intended when he started. He’d wanted something soothing, something that would calm him down. But once he’d made the first handful of knots, he just couldn’t stop thinking about how nothing seemed to have turned out the way he’d thought it would.

A funny scrabbling sound came from across the room, and Jamie looked up, heart pounding in his throat. And then he smiled for the first time in days, seeing Patch scurrying its way through one of the open windows, its big fuzzy bat ears pricked up, moonlight giving it a soft halo.

“Hey, Patch. You came back.”

Patch perched on the sill of the window, wings fluttering a little, its dark eyes somehow pleading.

Jamie got up and walked across the room so that thegealach marcaichecould crawl up onto his shoulder. “Hey, buddy.” Patch thrummed under his hand, and thegealach’s pleasure made Jamie feel the most calm he’d felt in days. The most grounded.

Thegealachrubbed against Jamie’s neck, and Jamie obligingly scratched along the side of its face.

“At least you like me, right Patch?”

Thegealachthrummed louder, and Jamie leaned his cheek against the creature’s warm fur.

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

Jamie followed Bran down the pathway toward the forest. Jamie had wanted to go for a walk in the woods, which, as it turned out, was apparently far more complicated than just walking out the door. Jamie had tried, Patch on his shoulder, and he’d been stopped first by an extremely upset woman with wet looking black hair, greyish skin, and red eyes. She’d dragged him back inside, babbling something about a war that Jamie found simultaneously confusing and deeply alarming. She’d then handed him off to another person with purple skin, horns, webbed hands, and vertically slit green eyes, andthatperson had brought him to where Bran was hunched over a table with another man with similar features—feathered hair, taloned hands and feet—although that man’s were brown and cream, while Bran’s were black.

The other man was Iolair, Bran’s older brother and another boobrie. He’d also not been terribly happy about Jamie’s request to go outside, and had seemed even more agitated when Jamie had asked about the war the first woman had mentioned. Bran had finally agreed to take him out into the forest, although Jamie had the strong suspicion that it was mostly just to make him stop asking problematic questions. Then he’d taken Jamie back to hisrooms and asked him to wait. Bran had also refused to talk about the war.

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