Page 153 of Threadbound

Jamie tried to do everything they asked of him, if only to help alleviate the load. Rob and Trixie, too—once Trixie returned from having administered the draught to the Holly King, something she’d seemed in a trance about for a good hour or so afterward—were doing their best to be of use, but there was only so much two ordinary humans and one mostly-ordinary halfbreed could do.

Jamie had all but thrown himself into the work, trying desperately to distract himself so that he wouldn’t stress nearly as much about the fact that Bran—who was already exhausted from opening a portal between realms and from expending further magical energy to brew the draught—had put on honest-to-God armor and a sword and had waded out into magicalbattle. Jamie had been terrified for him. Terrified that he would be badly injured or, worse, not come back at all.

It had also been a harsh reminder that Jamie didn’t reallyknowBran. He wasn’t from the same world as Bran, didn’t share common experiences or even beliefs. They were so different—soverydifferent. How could they overcome that kind of difference? Was it possible to love someone you didn’t shareanythingwith besides a single, magical golden thread?

Even though it made no sense, his heart ached at even the thought of Bran in pain.

On top of all that, Jamie found himself annoyingly worried about Mad Ally. He’d known the man for a day—barely—and yet he wondered if the wulver was injured or even dead, whether he would return and whether Jamie would be able to develop something like a relationship with the creature that was, apparently, his father.

Jamie wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, he’d dreamed for most of his life about the absent father who would come find him and give him—and his momma, although her time was long past—a better life. On the other, Mad Ally had, regardless of his circumstances, left Jamie and his momma to fend for themselves. It had killed Nell, and Jamie certainly wasn’t without his scars, both physical and emotional.

Jamie drew in a long, slow breath, trying to slow his pounding heart and settle his churning stomach. The smells of blood and bile in the infirmary weren’t helping with the latter, and neither was the fact that Jamie had no idea how long it had been since he’d either eaten or drunk—not that he wanted to do either. What he wanted was for Bran to be safe and whole. And his.

He released the air from his lungs, trying to push his anxiety and fear out with it.

He didn’t really succeed.

“James?” Trixie’s voice was soft, coming from near his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“You should talk to him,” she half-whispered. “He’s been watching you for the last fifteen minutes.”

Jamie knew Bran was awake. He’d seen Maigdeann talking to her brother and had felt a surge of relief that was so powerful it made his knees weak. Relief that had been followed by anger. He knew it was the result of fear and stress, that Bran hadn’t really done anything to warrant Jamie’s rage. But he also couldn’t help feeling it. “I can’t right now,” Jamie grumbled back.

“James Weaver, you go over there and talk to him right now.”

Jamie sighed again. He knew she was right. That putting it off wasn’t going to make it any easier—or make him any less likely to say something stupid. He just wished he didn’t have to do it in front of an entire infirmary full of healers and patients.

And then the point became moot, because three fae came in half-carrying four bloody comrades between them, leading to Jamie—and Trixie—suddenly having things to do other than worry about the state of Jamie’s relationship.

Reassuring the injured. Cleaning wounds. Stitching gashes. Bandaging. Helping the injured to drink down the apparently-awful-tasting mixtures shoved into their hands by Maigdeann, who was a good deal busier than either Jamie or Trixie. Or Rob, for that matter, whose experience meant that he was just as covered in blood as Jamie. Eadar had Trixie helping to mix together salves and poultices, so she was a good deal less covered in blood than either Jamie or Rob.

Another lull, but when Jamie looked over at Bran, it seemed that the fae was asleep, his eyes closed and his breathing steady, if a little shallower than Jamie would have liked. He wasn’t about to wake Bran up to tell him… whatever it was he had to say. Which he wasn’t entirely sure of.

That he had never been so worried in his life? That he was absolutelyfuriousthat Bran would risk his life? That he loved Bran? That he didn’t know what he’d do without him?

That he didn’t want Bran to leave him.

They, whatever they were, might be messy, contradictory, and confusing, but that didn’t matter, because they wereFate. The golden thread—that sometimes, when he looked at it from the right angle and in the right light, he could see glimmering from under his heart—that tied him to Bran wasn’t just magic. Sometimes, Jamie wasn’t sure it was magic at all—it just was. Neither he nor Bran had a choice—they were inevitable.

Jamie was just afraid thatinevitabledidn’t necessarily mean what he wanted it to mean—they were bound, but Bran himself had said that bondmates weren’t always lovers. And even if they were, Jamie understood enough about fae culture to know thatloversdidn’t meanin love.

Yes, Bran had said he loved Jamie, but Jamie knew that not all love was forever. And maybe this was, but…

I can’t lose him.

You won’t.Jamie whirled, because the thought that had just run through his mind wasn’t his. Bran’s green eyes were open—and full of pain—and focused on him.We are part of each other. Always.

Jamie swallowed.I’m scared.

Me, too.

The admission is what got him.

Jamie crossed the room and wrapped Bran in his arms, pulling the fae’s smaller body tightly—but gently—against his own.

I have to do this, love, Bran’s voice whispered in his head.

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