Page 36 of Heartsong
Frey swallowed hard, swallowed the denial and argument and frustration. He didn’t want to agree to that. He didn’t want to see his mate in pain.
How could the world have come so far and yet his Anna still had to suffer so?
He hated it.
But if a small prick meant easing her pain…
Drawing a long breath, he relented. “I’m sorry, my Anna. I don’t understand your pain nor its treatment. But I do know what it is to suffer. I have known pain and the bitterness of its persistence. I don’t wish it upon anyone, especially not you.”
She regarded him for a long while, those dark eyes roving over him for any sign of deceit or half-truth. She would find none.
Finally, she nodded. Shuffling forward, her gaze didn’t make it higher than his chest as she said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“Ahh,fy nghalon,you may shout at me all you wish, so long as I deserve it.”
And because he needed it, and because he thought perhaps she needed it too, Frey carefully reached to run his claws through her hair. He held his breath, amazed and so grateful when she allowed him to cup her head. His claws were gentle, so very gentle, as they ran across her scalp, just the slightest scratch, as the pads of his fingers worked in small, soothing circles.
Her soft sigh puffed against his palm, and Frey’s heart stuttered in his chest as he watched her lids flutter closed and she melted into his touch.
Goddess, how could I have forgotten so easily? She needs softness, gentleness.
Frey was a strong guardian, one of the strongest in his former clan. He was skilled with weapons and battle stratagem and had seen and won many fights. He was agile, quick, and brutal.
His Anna needed none of those things, and it terrified him.
Holding her head in his hand, feeling the delicate skin and curve of her ear terrified him.
She was so soft, so vulnerable—and could crush him with little effort. Again, terrifying.
He dared to step closer, and she allowed it. Dipping his head closer to hers, he whispered, “I will endeavor not to deserve it again.”
A smile touched her lips, though her eyes remained closed. “That’s a good plan.”
Frey let the tension and terror of the last moments recede. They didn’t leave him, but at least retreated to where he could focus solely on his mate.
If it’d been another night, another series of events that led them to standing so close, his claws twined in her hair, Frey would have closed the last distance between them. He would have finally had his first taste of her. He would be gentle at first, coax and tease her, before goading her tongue with his own. Their mouths would fuse together, tongues dancing in a heated display as old as the goddesses. He would bury both hands in that luscious mane of hers before running down her back to explore the curves of her backside and fit her more securely to him, where she’d no doubt feel his lust for her. They would lick and nip and suck until finally, they broke away for air, their breaths combined in a hot well of promise.
But that wasn’t what Frey did.
She allowed him to touch her like this, and he wouldn’t take more.
“You must rest now,” he whispered to her, though he couldn’t force his hand from her.
A sound of assent vibrated from deep in her throat. Frey’s wings twitched when her eyes slowly opened, lids heavy. Her face was no longer stiff and scowling but relaxed.
“Goodnight,” she said.
“Goodnight,” he murmured, and let her go.
11
Anna woke to a medicine hangover and guilty conscience. Peeling back an eyelid, she humphed to find morning light spilling across the foot of her bed.
In her haze in going back to bed after taking the injection, the one clear thought she’d had was to make sure to get up early enough to apologize again to Frey—that thought hadn’t manifested in setting her alarm, apparently. She hadn’t meant to bark at him like that. Yeah, she was still pissed about the broken injector and would have to make sure her current stock lasted until she could renew next month, but he didn’t understand all that. He couldn’t know what she didn’t tell him.
It was just…she didn’t like talking about her migraines. They already took up so much of her life that having to explain them, describe what they did and how much they immobilized her, made her feel worse. She was allowing them to rule her life in so many ways.
In college, with the university insurance, they’d been better managed. A lot of her health had been. For a beautiful few years, Anna had actually lived. True, times had still been tough; there’d been nights she went to bed hungry and days where she couldn’t focus in class over her empty, complaining stomach—but at least migraines hadn’t been added to the mix for the most part. For those years, she’d had friends, she’d dated, she’d hadfun.
