Page 131 of Bound

He pulled away too soon. His eyes over-bright and his breath coming in short little spurts. And she might have been sorrier still, except his thumb brushed against her bottom lip, as if he too was regretful that it needed to end.

“You need to rest,” Braum murmured, his hand coming to curl her loose hair behind her ear. “Do you know, I’m not certain I’ve seen your hair out of its braid.”

That should not have been mortifying, yet it was. Somehow even more so than when he’d helped with her shift.

He must have seen evidence of her embarrassment on her cheeks, for he smiled at her, chuckling softly as he shook his head at her. “A strange woman, my mate,” Braum added beneath his breath. She might have been insulted, had his tone not been so very fond.

“It isn’t strange to want your hair tidy and out of the way,” she protested. She reached out her hand and found his shirt. It wasn’t neatly tucked in to his trousers, not as it usually was, which made it easier to tug on. “Herbs, please. As before. And another cup of water besides. If it’s not too much trouble.”

He leaned down over her, his eyes a little too serious. “Caring for you will never be that.”

She swallowed. Nodded.

Because...

Because he seemed to believe that. Which meant she should probably try to do the same.

She’d drifted off before he returned to her, and she grunted when she felt herself propped up, a strong arm supporting her and keeping her from tumbling. “Herbs first,” Braum rumbled, her head against his chest letting her feel the vibration of his voice. “Then some water.”

Yes. Just as she’d instructed.

But her grouse did not find her voice, and maybe that was for the best, because she should be kind to the one taking care of her, shouldn’t she? Not complain and whine even though she still hurt and she didn’t know when she wouldn’t again. Which really wasn’t fair, not when she’d only wanted to keep her house from drowning and...

He held the cup to her lips, which wasn’t necessary. Her arms worked. Hands too. She could grip his wrist, see? And he had no need to chuckle at her that way, not when he’d already embarrassed her by reminding her of the state of her hair. A comb would be on the list, tomorrow. Perhaps even a bath if she could manage it.

Her hip gave an unhappy twinge. Her wing too.

Maybe not a bath. Maybe just a warm cloth and a proper hair combing, and yes, a braid because that was proper and usual and she really would need something to tug if she had to face her father when she woke up and explain and...

There was water. And she really had been thirsty.

And maybe there was a kiss to the top of her head as well, but she was already asleep.

Which was... really rather wonderful.

20. Hers

Braum only left her because Merryweather had taken her role as sentry by her side. Which really did not last very long at all, when he peeked in again only to find the leptus stretched fully along Wren’s back, sound asleep at her vigil. He hoped her warmth was a comfort rather than an irritant to the delicate bones that had broken, and he fought down another wave of self-recriminations.

She would mend.

He would stay with her.

She... she’d asked him to. In her roundabout, Wren sort of way, full of misgivings and darting eyes and stuttered words.

She’d apologised. To him. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the first he could recall wanting to accept. Because... because she wanted him. Perhaps not in the same way that he needed her, but it was enough. Because it was her, and she’d asked him to stay.

He was elated.

And then, when she was not within his eye line, he was nearly crushed beneath the worry.

That she would change her mind once she was well again. That she would not need his help with her chores and her beloved animals, so he’d be dismissed—what ground they had made together, suddenly forced into an abrupt and agonising retreat.

The prospect of that was somehow worse than the tremulous peace they’d concocted. The comings and goings, the nights he spent flying above her home, until exhaustion sent him back to his cottage and his own, lonely bed.

He hadn’t been there when it mattered, and that still gnawed at his gut and as much as she talked about what he deserved, she never once gave much credence to what she deserved.

Someone to help her. Someone to take on the little burdens as well as the larger ones.

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