Page 162 of Primal Bonds

“You don’t have to sleep in the chair.” A quiet voice came from the bed.

He sent her a look over his shoulder. Did she mean what he thought she did?

“It’s a big bed,” she said. “You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.”

No, she didn’t. With a philosophical shrug, he sat down and settled the quilt around him. “I’m good.”

He flicked his fingers and the fae lights dimmed to a soft amber. Marjani’s breath slowed, and he thought she’d fallen asleep until she murmured, “Why are you being so nice?”

“I’m a bloody philanthropist. Now go to sleep already.”

“Okay.” A drowsy mumble. “But…thank you.”

He grunted. When he was sure she was asleep, he muttered, “Because I like you. Too much,” and then shut his eyes. As the king’s envoy, he’d learned to sleep wherever he could.

He was deep in an enjoyable dream involving him and his sexy guest when a whimper jolted him awake. Heart pounding, he scanned the room. Had Blaer found out he was hiding a fada?

Marjani gave another forlorn mewl.

Hell and damnation. She was having a nightmare.

He threw off the quilt and padded to the bed. Sensing motion, the fae lights brightened enough for him to see his guest curled in a tight ball, tears streaking her cheeks.

He stared down at her helplessly. “Hey.” He touched her shoulder. “Wake up. It’s just a bad dream.”

A guttural growl ripped from her throat. Claws sprouted from her fingertips.

He jerked his hand away. “Calm down. It’s me, Fane.”

Her breath shuddered in. She raised herself on an elbow. The eyes that met his were an unnerving turquoise, and he knew he was face-to-face with the cougar.

The center of her quartz glowed a similar aqua-blue. She touched it and blinked. Awareness dawned.

“I—sorry,” she said gruffly. Her claws detracted.

He sat on the mattress. “Want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head. “Excuse me,” she muttered and pushed past him into the bathroom. The water ran. He heard a couple of choked sobs that were immediately cut off.

He looked down at his hands and stayed where he was.

When she returned, her face was freshly scrubbed. He rose to his feet. Her eyes met his, red and swollen, the irises back to brown. Daring him to say something.

Lord, he didn’t want to care. For the past six decades, he’d done just fine not caring about much at all, and this woman was nothing to him. But his heart constricted at how tense she held herself—shoulders high, feet apart. Prepared to strike if he offered sympathy.

She spoke first. “You can have the bed now.”

“I changed my mind. If it’s still all right, I’ll share it with you.”

Relief flashed across her face, but her voice was cool. “It’s your bed.”

He reached out a hand. “Come here.”

She looked from the hand to his face. “Why?”

“I think you need to be held.”

Another challenging look. “And why would I want you to hold me?”

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