Page 45 of Heartsong
“Yes. I work every day to earn such trust from you. It is not something I take lightly or for granted.”
“I know you don’t.” A shadow appeared in her cheek as she chewed it. “Your people reallybelievein it.”
“We trust that the goddesses will lead us to the right being, someone who will truly be our heart’s song. It doesn’t happen for every guardian, but we pray for it and celebrate when it does.”
“But doesn’t it bother you? Not having a choice?”
Frey frowned, not understanding. “It doesn’t matter. You didn’t choose to have your headaches, nor your hair color. I didn’t choose the shape of my horns nor length of my tail. Having a heartsong is just as…innate. Part of who you are.”
Anna pushed her food around her plate, not looking at him when she muttered, “I’d get rid of my headaches if I could, and I can change my hair color.”
His nostrils flared with frustration. “But you understand what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Anna sighed, “I suppose. But it being intrinsic doesn’t mean it’s good. Lots of things can go wrong with something even innate to you. It can’t be all rainbows and sunshine between every pair of mates. And what about same-sex pairs? If mating is about babies, what about them? Were they forced to be with someone they didn’t want? And what—”
“Enough,” Frey huffed.
Anna blinked at him, startled, but he wasn’t sorry. He only regretted letting her go on so long.
“You are being willfully obtuse.”
“I am not! It’s a valid question.”
“Plenty of guardians had partnerships that were ‘same-sex,’ as you say. There was no forcing pairs together. Some fell in love without ever feeling the pull ofknowing. And…” He hated to admit it, hated thinking about his sister Seren and her unhappiness with her complicated mating before her untimely death. “…not all pairs were happy. We are all individuals. A successful pairing takes effort.”
Anna sat back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest, and Frey felt a frisson of unease skitter down his spine. Her posture was all jutting elbows and arched brows, defiance and refusal.
“So mating isn’t about love. You don’t have to love your mate.”
The words landed between them with all the grace and softness of the hammer striking the anvil.
Frey’s heart sank.
“Not always. But it should always lead to that. Good mates care for one another. I—” He reached across the table and pulled one of her hands from the knot of her arms to hold in his. “I care for you, my Anna. I should like to love you, too.”
Frey didn’t know what reaction he expected—a feminine blush or even just a softening of her stiff shoulders, perhaps. Instead, Anna’s mouth went tight and her gaze fell away, avoiding his. Beneath his own larger one, her hand was cold and unmoving.
Desperation and frustration were a heady, toxic sludge rising in his throat. Grasping her fingers, he said, “You are my heartsong, Anna. There is no changing this. I swear to you that I will ever strive to be a good mate. Matehoodisa choice. Those that work are by choice. I will always choose you, my Anna. I will always care for you and provide for you, for that’s what it is to be a mate.”
Frey was a proud male, but smart males knew when to bend. And when to beg.
“Please,fynghân. Let me be your mate.”
Every single one of Frey’s words drew a tear to Anna’s eyes that she fought to keep back. She blinked against the stinging burn of them gathering along her lashes, willing herself not to cry. She hated crying, and she certainly wouldn’t be doing it in front of this handsome, eager gargoyle-man who was saying such beautiful, right things.
Too right.
Anna never trusted words. People said a lot of things. Sometimes they even believed what they said. But words were cheap, easy. There’d been a lot of them tonight about how this relationship between mates, by virtue of its very nature, was amazing and loving and wonderful.
The relationship between mother and child was supposed to be loving, too. Anna sure as shit never experienced it. Why would she suddenly get a soulmate-level partner who would be all those things?
What Frey promised was what she suspected her mom was always searching for, just in the form of a bad boy biker or dirty-talking cowboy type. The thing was, the Disney princess romance didn’t really exist—especially not with the type of man Shannon Kincaid met. Men weren’t really like that.Lovewasn’t really like that.
What Frey promised sounded nice, sure. Even with a partner who was a giant bat-winged cursed statue from the late Celtic period.
Don’t lie, especially because it’s him.
Right, she was trying to lie less.
