Page 23 of Changelings
Reaching down to pat the faithful dog, Sorcha smiled. “Indeed you do. And you have me, and your sister, of course. It’s all right if that’s enough for you, but it couldn’t hurt to see what your life would be like with a few more people in it, either.”
“I don’t know…” Imogen hid behind her hair as she wiped at her damp eyes. “I’ve already had some growing pains with all the brothers.”
Sorcha laughed heartily. “Fates, yes, you’d have your hands full with all of them.”
9
Balar walked so often to his mate’s home now, he’d worn a new path through the forest. He’d seen more than one deer using it, and on a mild autumn afternoon, had even enlisted his brothers in helping clear and widen sections. They complained, of course, but the path was well established.
Once he’d gotten the area mapped in his head, it was easy to find the quickest route from the otherly village to Imogen. And to circumnavigate the boundaries of her land, adding more of his own marks to warn away anything wishing to take a bite out of his lovelykigara—literally and figuratively. Between claw marks, urine, and a few strategic ropes of spend, within a few days, he had the boundaries clearly indicated. It’d be a stupid predator (or male) indeed that crossed that line.
With the path, she was hardly more than an hour’s walk away—frustratingly close this whole time. He just hadn’t thought to look in the depths of the forest, thinking human women preferred to keep to villages.
His wily Imogen was proving every day that what he’dlearned about human women wasn’t much use to him now.
When he complimented her, she flushed and looked away. For a few days he’d thought it a coy tactic, but, no, his praise seemed to genuinely flummox her.
Worst of all was when he winked at her. That little trick sent most maidens blushing and batting their eyes. All it did to Imogen was send her looking away and tugging at her hair. He didn’t know why she thought she needed to show him deference like that. He reassured her again and again she didn’t need to.
Once in a while, she blessed him with a stray thought or quip. They were rare, and he suspected unintentional, but he coveted those moments when she teased him or made some witty observation. Her mind was as sharp as her gaze, hissah-zenda, and he greeted each new dawn with the hope she’d bless him with some new thought that day.
He tried to follow Orek’s cautionary advice. That day in the woodshop, his friend had warned him to give Imogen his patience.
Although he grumbled to know that anyone thought he needed reminding, Balar had been doing his best since the beginning to do just that. As he worked alongside Imogen each day, he filled their time with stories of his past, so that she would come to know him and understand what a good mate he’d be to her. Perhaps he talked a little too much, but her conversation was sparse, and so he shouldered the weight of their dialogue.
He talked of these things rather than asking her what he really wanted to, the truly important questions. Such as how she liked to be kissed and touched. Or whether she would want to move to the otherly village or for him to dismantle his cabin and bring it here to add to her cottage. He didn’t ask if she’d considered how many cubs she may want and whether they’d have her eyes or his. Nor whether she would introduce him to her kin soon.
He wanted to ask. Oh, how he wanted to. But he held his tongue. Was the picture of patience and fortitude.
In the depths of his heart, though, when he lay in his bed at night, alone, there were times he worried. Days and days and he didn’t know that he was any further along than he’d been before.
His Imogen was somewhat difficult to read. And understand.
He knew Diar and Akila thought him a little mad—and very unfortunate. They saw only Imogen’s reticence and frowns. They couldn’t imagine living so alone and secluded, especially not with a female who hardly said two words at a time.
“No one would blame you if you left her to herself,” Akila said one evening.
“I think shewantsyou to stop bothering her,” added Diar.
But Balar only huffed at such nonsense, giving it the answer it deserved. If they were so easily put off and waylaid, no wonder it was him and not them who’d found hiskigara. None of the mantii stories said anything about the bond being easy—the stories told of how it was worth it.
And he knew it would be. They didn’t appreciate the strong line of her back or the elegant swoop of her neck. They didn’t revel in her sharp tongue or the way she sing-songed in a higher-pitched voice to the animals—or how she’d deny it if he ever mentioned it. They weren’t preoccupied with the way her supportive stays plumped her generous breasts and emphasized the enticing curves of her waist. They hadn’t likened the freckles that dotted her nose and cheeks to the stars in the sky, nor the rich color of her hair to freshly tilled earth, fragrant with the smell of possibility.
Let them have her caution and her scowls. Balar would keep the rest, most especially her reluctant smiles—and, really, he preferred that they were only for him. Their rarity made them that much more precious.
When the nights were long, he reminded himself of his littlecollection of her smiles and thought,Yes, just a little more patience. It would all be worth it.
He earned himself another precious smile the next day, even if she tried to hide it and her laugh behind her hand, but Balar saw. It made standing knee-high in the freezing cold river, holding a wriggling fish in his claws worth it.
The blasted thing smacked him in the face with its tail, fighting mightily to return to the water, but Balar held fast. Sloshing and splashing back to the rocky shore, he held out his final prize, adding it to the basket of catches. He grinned at her rather than smiling to hide how his teeth chattered with cold.
Still biting back her full smile, Imogen replaced the woven lid onto the basket. When she’d said that morning she meant to go fishing to round out her stores of dried fish for winter, Balar had readily agreed to help. It was important she see he was a skilled hunter—even if the quarry were only a few trout.
Shaking out his wet legs and tail, he said, “Just as I promised, this is much faster than fishing with the line.”
“Mmhmm,” she hummed behind those closed lips.
Pleased to see her good mood, Balar lifted the basket before she could herself, pumping his legs in a march to get blood circulating again. He hadn’t realized the rivers would be so very cold already, but he’d committed to catching her a whole basketful.
