Page 112 of Threadbound

Bran had learnedhis lesson about following Jamie too closely. He knew he was successful at going undetected this time because no food had appeared on Jamie’s windowsill—or, at least, Bran chose to believe that no food had appeared on Jamie’s windowsill because Jamie didn’t know he was there, not because Jamie was upset with him. Bran was also fairly certain that Jamie wasn’t the sort of person to deliberately withhold food from someone just because he was angry with them—he was too generous and too kind. Although perhaps it was that Jamie knew Bran didn’t like owing him, so he was doing it for Bran’s sake…

The fae shook his feathered head, trying to physically force himself to stop running through all the possible scenarios of what Jamie Weaver might or might not be thinking. He knew full well he was terrible at understanding—much less predicting—Jamie’s thoughts.

Even though he had to keep his distance, Bran could read stress and disappointment in the set of Jamie’s shoulders, the rounded curve of his back, the shuffle of his steps against the cobblestones. The fact that he’d only been on one run in the past four days. And that wasn’t like Jamie at all. Even in Elfhame,Jamie had made a point of running—around the inner wall of the Court of Shades, outside the wall when he could get Eadar to go with him, through the halls when he couldn’t find anywhere else—at least every other day.

Not going for a run through familiar territory for three straight days meant something was wrong—and he didn’t seem sick. Worried, upset, unsettled…

Bran was also worried. Specifically, about Jamie.

Everything Jamie was experiencing, whether it was fear or sadness or something else, was Bran’s fault. The fae couldn’t decide if it would have been better to have just stayed away from Jamie altogether, letting the half-breed live his own life never knowing about Bran’s existence or his fae nature, or whether he should have just taken Jamie and bound them together when they’d come of age… He didn’t know what the right choice would have been—but he did know that the choice hehadmade had only caused both of them misery.

But it was what it was, and the least Bran could try to do was compensate for the chaos he’d caused. Even though Bran wasn’t human, he understood that Jamie had to work for money, and that without money, Jamie couldn’t afford food and shelter. While he’d been staying in Elfhame, Jamie had not been working, and that meant that now he didn’t have enough money to buy the things he needed.

What Bran couldn’t decide was whether or not Jamie would accept money from him. Or if Jamie would be more likely to take it if Bran delivered it himself or left it for him on his windowsill or doorstep.

But even above and beyond the guilt and obligation Bran felt for Jamie’s present circumstances, he really just wanted to see the old Jamie back—the bounce in his step, the half-curve on one side of his mouth when he ran, the sparkle in those brilliant blue eyes. The way he smiled when he liked something Bran said. Theway his cheeks flushed and eyes widened as his skin shivered under Bran’s touch…

Bran shook his head again. This wasn’t a useful train of thought. A useful train of thought would be to think of what would make Jamie smile.

Even if he needed it, Bran was fairly certain that giving Jamie money wouldn’t make him smile—he would take it, because he needed it, but it would make him sigh, a furrow on his brow, as he tried to figure out how to repay it. No, that wasn’t right. Jamie would try to figure out how to beworthit.

Bran also strongly suspected that Jamie wouldn’t ever believe that he was worth it. Which changed his problem from how to make Jamie smile to how to convince Jamie Weaver that he was worth whatever good things came his way in life.

Because Bran knew that Jamie deserved whatever he wanted, even if that meant never seeing Bran again—although he really hoped that wasn’t going to be the answer. Because much as he didn’t deserve Jamie, Jamie was exactly what Bran wanted.

He just had to convince Jamie of that. And then convince him to want Bran in return.

Chapter

Forty-One

Jamie stood staring into his mostly-bare fridge, his stomach rumbling. There were a few condiments—like mustard, which didn’t really go bad, and a jar of pickles that he was trying to save for when he was able to buy decent bread again—but no dairy other than the tiny container of milk for the bookas, and no fresh produce. Staring into the fridge wasn’t going to make any appear, of course, but Jamie couldn’t stop himself from doing it anyway.

There was a can of beans sitting on the counter, but Jamie’d had beans the last three nights, once with a can of tomatoes, once with some chunks of potato, and last night with chopped onion and brown sugar because he was sick of eating so much salt. Packet noodles had a lot of salt, and that had been his lunch for the last week, except for today, when Trixie had brought him a ham and cheese sandwich with relish and told him to stop being a prideful prat and eat it.

It had been the best sandwich he’d had in a long time, even it if did have butter on it in true English fashion. Now he wished he’d taken longer to savor it, since he’d been reduced for the next week or so—until his next paycheck—to considering whether ornot putting a dollop of mustard into his can of beans was a good idea.

Jamie jumped about a foot when someone knocked on his apartment door.

A frown marred his forehead as he let the fridge close and padded across the tiny apartment, wondering who was at his door. Trixie or Rob might drop in to visit him, but every time they’d done that, they’d texted him first, and there were no messages on his phone.

His landlady, maybe? Although he’d managed to scrape together enough money to pay her for this month, and she’d been really nice about the fact that he’d paid her late. Maybe there was a leak or something.

The last person Jamie expected to find on the other side of his door was Bran mac Cairn wearing black jeans, black leather boots, and a black wool coat. He was holding a bag with takeaway boxes that smelled enticingly like fish and chips.

Jamie gaped at him. And then his stomach growled audibly, and Jamie felt his cheeks flush.

Bran’s lips twitched, although he didn’t smile or laugh. “May I come in?” he asked, his voice soft.

Jamie wasn’t sure what to do with the question. Technically, Bran didn’t need to ask, because Jamie hadn’t rescinded his original offer of hospitality. “You don’t need to ask,” he said, finally, stepping away from the door to allow Bran to come in.

Bran took a single step forward, hesitating. “I dinna want to come in if I’m not welcome.”

Jamie’s cheeks flamed hotter. “You’re welcome,” he half-mumbled.

Bran nodded once, the gesture one of gratitude, and stepped into the apartment. Jamie closed the door behind him, and Bran turned, holding out the bag that Jamie recognized from The Chippy—the same place they’d gone together on their seconddate-not-date. Jamie wasn’t sure if that was because that was the only fish-and-chips place Bran knew or if it was because he had some sort of attachment to it…

Jamie shook his head. Bran wasn’t romantic. Especially not about them. That much Jamie was sure of, even if he didn’t really understand anything else about their not-a-relationship.

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