Page 30 of The Wulver's Bond
Weed snorted, turning away. ‘Only if you let me sleep in your bed.’
Arran nodded. ‘Then we must go inside.’
‘Are you serious?’ Weed’s eyes skipped back to him, narrowed in doubt.
‘Yes. Though I will heat some water so we can both wash first.’
‘Fine.’
As Arran rose, Weed added in a petulant voice, ‘Carry me.’
He stared up at Arran sullenly, as though striving to look as brattish and unsympathetic as possible.
Arran crouched. He slid one arm under Weed’s knees, and the other around his shoulders. With little more than a grunt he hefted Weed into his arms, and carried him into the warm light of the cave.
Chapter Eleven
Weed stared at the red embers in the cave hearth. Behind him, the Wulver’s rumbly breathing resonated with a soothing cadence. His breath blew peacefully over the top of Weed’s head.
Weed snuggled deeper into the warm sheepskins and against the Wulver’s body. The wolfman’s arm tightened around his waist, just slightly.
Arran had opted to remain fully clothed when he climbed into bed next to Weed. Weed had also kept on his frock coat. He couldn’t quite describe why, but he wanted to keep a layer between his body and Arran’s, like a shield.
He got the sense that the Wulver had intended to have some kind of ‘meaningful’ conversation with him—no doubt he’d be apologising in it—and Weed had inwardly cringed at the thought of having to talk about what they’d just done. But once Arran had folded Weed into his arms and hugged him close, it seemed like words weren’t at all necessary.
Arran had stroked Weed’s back, his arms, his shoulders. He’d huffed long, calming exhales into the crook of Weed’s neck, holding him so securely, sosafely.
Weed couldn’t bring himself to trust this. The world was too comfortable, all of a sudden. The Wulver’s body seemed too warm and soft. He wanted to be back at the mercy of the beast.Back in a state that was vicious and predictable. It was all wrong that the world was gentle now.
Weed’s trembling gradually eased while in Arran’s arms. He didn’t understand why his body was acting this way. Why the act of fulfilling his needs had made him weep. He felt pathetic. Used.
But not used, exactly—he’dwantedto be used, wanted it to be just as brutal as the Wulver had made it. And he’d used the Wulver right back. He’dneededit.
So why did it leave him feeling like he’d lost his footing? Like the whole world had dropped away with nothing for him to stand on, and he was falling into a void…
And then Arran held him. Caught him. Right here, in this bed. Weed was no longer falling.
More silly tears pricked at his eyes. Weed wiped them away with the heel of one hand. Arran stirred slightly behind him, but merely puffed out another long breath. He’d been asleep for a while.
Weed felt his own eyelids drooping. His body was becoming used to sleeping and it wanted to rest. He tucked his chin down and gave in to it.
Weed dreamed that he curled up into a tiny seed and hid inside the Wulver’s pocket. When he asked to see the daylight, giant paws cupped him gently and carried him outside. The sun was warm on his skin.
The Wulver planted him in the earth. He sank into the restful chatter of living things. Then he sprouted, became a tree. He provided shade over a barren landscape, and the Wulver leaned against him.
Together, they sheltered.
* * *
The following day Weed woke alone, but comfortable, in the Wulver’s bed.
Arran had left a plate of fish for his breakfast. The wolfman appeared to be busy with something in the pantry, judging by the industrious sounds emanating from it, and Weed was happy to leave him be. He had the prescient feeling that the Wulver would eventually try to engage him in some long-winded and heavy hearted discussion of the previous night, and Weed wished to avoid it at all costs.
To this end, when the Wulver finally emerged from the pantry Weed was already dressed and fit for action, and he headed off any undesired commentary by immediately demanding to know what activities Arran had planned for the day.
Arran blinked a few times, nonplussed by Weed’s uncharacteristic eagerness. ‘I had expected to go foraging,’ he replied carefully. ‘But if you don’t feel you are up to it—’
‘Great,’ Weed said firmly. ‘I’mgoodat foraging. Let’s go!’
