Page 25 of Changelings
Feeling his attention on her, Imogen ducked away as she was so wont to do, hair sliding from behind her shoulder to obscure her face.
“You need not do this,” he reminded her gently. “I don’t want your deference, only your smiles.”
Her lips twisted as surely as Balar’s insides. “It’s not deference. I don’t…I don’t like people looking.”
“Looking at what?” His voice dropped to a whisper.
“At it. Atme.” The words burst out of her, with far more feeling than she’d used to say anything before.
“And why shouldn’t they look at you?” he asked gently, his tone careful even though he was truly baffled. “You are a comely woman, Imogen.”
She snorted. “That’s not true. Not with…this.” She gestured angrily at the side of her face.
Balar went still. “Your birthmark?” That was what she was always hiding? Surely not. It was such a lovely color—but also quite large, there wasn’t really any hiding it. And besides, it was part of her. Like her rich brown hair or full pink lips.
“It’s all anyone sees when they look at me,” she said bitterly.
“Not everyone.”
She flinched, swaying forward where she sat. Her gaze skittered across the ground toward him but didn’t quite dare to lift and meet his.
In that moment, seeing her so rigid, so hunched, Balar worried she might break. Careful, so careful, he moved in closer, wishing to catch her if she did. His hunter’s instincts told him to go slow; he could smell the trepidation in her. But he couldn’t do nothing.
“Humans consider this mark…bad?”
“They consider it ugly.”
He rumbled unhappily before forcing the sound down into his chest, where it turned into a soothing purr. Slowly, giving her time to pull away, Balar reached to take her face in his paw.
She flinched again, inhaling sharply before holding her breath. Her shoulders had drawn nearly to her ears, so Balar didn’t dare anything more than the lightest touch. Holding her cheek in his palm, he gently smoothed the pad of his thumb over her reddened skin.
Her eyes clenched shut, but she didn’t flee.My brave girl.
“Nothing about you is ugly,” he murmured. “Not your stubbornness. Not your sharp tongue. Certainly not this mark.”
A shuddering breath left her as she opened her eyes. She still wouldn’t meet his gaze, but that was all right.
He realized now just what Orek had been trying to tell him. It was more than just patience hiskigaraneeded. She wasn’t just stubborn or cautious—she was hurting.
Firelight caught in the tears gathering along her lashes, but she refused to release them. His heart and histurukboth ached for her. Imogen needed more than patience. She needed softness, companionship, reassurance. His winks and idle praise were far from enough.
The cottage, the isolation, the aloofness…they were the sum of so many hurts. The type of pains that didn’t go away with a few kisses and promises. She needed more—she needed all of him in a way he hadn’t reckoned.
He held a lifetime of hurts in his hand, and if he was honest, the totality of it was daunting.
But what werekigarafor if not softness, companionship, reassurance? He could give her these things, slowly, steadily, until she believed.
He wished he could tell her all this, but before he could, Imogen’s gaze snapped up to his.
So close, he could see every golden fleck in her brown eyes. He could count her freckles and see the stark boundary of her birthmark. It was only for a moment, but Balar saw her terror.
Faster than a breath, she pulled away. Standing, she rubbed her palms on her pantlegs, avoiding his gaze when she mumbled, “I’m turning in.”
Without another word, she strode for her cottage. Whining, Shadow bounded behind her, just managing to get inside before she closed the door.
Silence echoed throughout the meadow. Balar turned his gaze to the fire, ears folding back onto his head.
Ibás, there was so much to consider.
