Page 106 of Feral

“Och, Daphne! Stop being so naive!”

If he’d slapped me I couldn’t have been more hurt. And he saw it, written in large letters across my face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But this is what I mean! My baser instincts. Fighting and fucking, it’s all tangled up together and I’m afraid.Youmay trust me but I don’t trust me!”

I approached him slowly, my heart in my throat as I tried very hard to put aside my hurt feelings and focus on Fraser. It was foolish to think that one night of mind blowing sex was going to wash away all his fears about his primal side, but that was exactly what I’d done. Now, I had to pivot. If Fraser needed me to say it, to show it every hour of every day until he believed that he could be trusted with me, then I would do just that.

His fur was rippling, tail swishing back and forth in agitated motion that told me exactly how distressed he was. Still, I didn’t fear him. Maybe thatwasnaive, maybe it was just that I was blinded my new love. I didn’t know, and didn’t care. I took his hand in mine as he watched with a wary look that was very much like a frightened animal. I turned it over, palm up and pressed kisses to the calloused hand until every inch had been touched by my lips. At the same time, I ran one hand through the fur on his shoulder, soothing and slow.

When I looked up at him, his gaze was less wild but he was still afraid.

I repeated the process with his other hand until his chest was rising and falling at normal rate and he took me in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against my hair.

“I know.”

I wasn’t sure what else to say. He still thought I was being blind to his true nature. Words were ineffective. So I’d have to use actions. The only question was, what action?

I have all day to think of it. At least I got him calmed down. That’s a start.

“Come, Gran made a feast this mornin’, and I don’t want ya to go hungry.”

“Yes, please! I’m starved.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised at all that Fraser scooped me up in his arms and carried me, bridal style, from the room.

“You know I can walk,” I said with a smirk.

His smile was back, the one just for me and no one else.

“Aye. But I like havin’ ya in my arms.”

I snuggled against him.

“I like it too.”

He carried me downstairs, where the most delicious smells were coming from the dining room. But as we passed the front room, I spied a Werewolf I didn’t recognize at first, kneeling on the floor in front of a large trunk. Her fur was a beautiful steel gray and she had glasses perched on the end of her long snout. I gasped as I realized that it was Gran. I had expected the women to change tonight but I supposed that today was technically the first of a three-day full moon cycle.

“Oh, Daphne, would ya stop a minute and talk with me?”

I planted a small kiss on the top of Fraser’s snout and he set me softly on my feet.

“Don’t be too long. I’m not sure I can keep Lowell from eatin’ all the food.”

“Oh, I can make more,” Gran said, waving her fur covered hand at Fraser.

I shrugged and stepped into the living room. I wasn’t there more than a few seconds when the most beautiful sensation hit me. It was the kind of soul touch an artifact would do, reaching out to interact with someone. Only this didn’t have the slick feeling of malevolence that some did. My curiosity piqued, I walked further into the room. As soon as my eyes fell on the trunk in front of Gran, I knew that I’d found the source.

It radiated a sense of warmth and family. This was an heirloom, as were the things inside most likely. Heirlooms were the first stage of creating an artifact. Generally, when they remained with the family of origin, they were stable, benefiting the family as they were meant to do. It was only when the chain was broken or the item was corrupted by misuse that an heirloom became a danger to its owners, and therefore, in need of being with the Archive.

This trunk and its contents weren’t in danger of any of that, but still, I felt very much like an interloper as Gran began to take some items out to show me. When I sat down beside her and laid a hand on the oak trunk, even more emotions came over me, like a gentle wave of warmth. Love. Gratitude. Sacrifice. Devotion. It was emanating from the trunk in such a gentle way that I doubted anyone who hadn’t spent much time around artifacts would even notice the delicate power contained here.

“This is beautiful,” I whispered.

Gran gave me a gentle smile.

“This is the trunk that contains our weddin’ heirlooms.”

---