Page 145 of Bound

He’d persisted. When she was so stubbornly opposed to him. To their potential. He’d listened and been kind, and yes, he’d been her friend. The dearest she’d known. And all she had was a smile that was too watery, and a wrap he likely did not need when he had woollens bought from proper makers in the market.

A coat too.

And gloves and hats, and he didn’t need this and yet...

He eyed her peculiarly, the article well known by now. There was no way to hide it, not when he’d been about so much during her mending.

She cleared her throat, and gestured toward the table, waiting for him to sit so she could put it on him without tweaking any of the delicate bones in her wing.

“I do not know what instincts are swirling around in there,” Wren began, placing it over his shoulders. Then down his wings, with the slit she’d redone four times, unwilling to spoil what surprise she could by measuring the breadth of their protrusion from his back. “Nonsense about sacrifices and me and that nothing can be solely for you.”

She feared it wasn’t instinct at all, but a remnant of the story she’d told him from before. Of presumption and force and not at all the warmth and gentleness she found between the two of them.

A button beneath the slit so he wouldn’t have to fuss with pushing a wing unhappily through a too-small space. Another for good measure, so it would stay put when he flew. Then a tie about the front, and another button also. Secure and warm as it draped on his shoulders and went slightly high upon the neck.

If it felt strange to him, if it would be an embarrassment to wear in the city when other people would see, she hoped he would say something. It was a common style, not when there were other fineries. But it was what she could make, and she hoped it made a small bit of her point for her.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” she continued, smoothing down the collar, the belt. Fixing it just so while she struggled with what to say to him. “I think... I think I did for a while. Trying to make things fair and even...” she grimaced. “I’m pretty sure I did anything but.”

He sighed, and he reached for her, but she grabbed his hand and held it instead. “No,” she insisted. “I think this got lost along the way. You... you can need things. Want things. And if it’s at all possible for me to give them to you, I will.” A breath. A prayer for courage. “Because I rather love you, you know.” She squeezed his hand and couldn’t look at him, but she’d got the words out and that was something. “And I’d like you to be happy. Here. With me.”

He must have forgotten she was so recently an invalid. Because suddenly he was pulling at her hand and she was brought between his knees as he crushed her to him, his breath against her. “What changed?” he asked, muffled as it was by her own wrap. “It wasn’t just your wing...”

She grimaced, waited to feel trapped or smothered.

But didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Because when her heart pounded, it was because he was near. When she felt warm all over, it was because of the emotion in his voice. “No,” she assured him, her hands skimming through his hair, her fingers brushing against his scalp, and she hoped that the tensing and relaxing she felt through him was a good thing. “I think... I haven’t had to make many decisions in my life. Everything just... happened. My home, my livelihood... all of it was inherited. And then there was the scum...” It didn’t hurt as much to mention him as it used to. There was an ache, but it was muted. As if it was in the past, after all. “And then when I decided I wanted you, let myself admit I wanted you...”

Her fingers skimmed down his cheeks, hoping he’d look at her. He did, and she smiled at him. Suppressed the urge to kiss him, which was new and exciting and she would explore in a moment. “Not all change is bad,” she admitted. “So you were right about that.”

And he smiled. A slow broadening as her words settled, as he got that look of pride about the edges, and then she did lean down.

And kissed him.

It felt different to be the taller of the two. To be the one to instigate it at all. There was an extra thrill that she could lead, could pull back, could do anything at all.

They needed to be going. She needed to be brave and remind herself that a festival was meant to be fun, and at least it was not one of those dreadful fete’s that Firen described.

It would be food. His family.

And holding Braum’s hand in the cart. And maybe stealing a kiss or two on the way there.

She was aware of all of that. The pressing, niggling awareness that they had plans.

And yet...

She altered the angle slightly. Skimmed her fingers close to the nape of his neck.

And was rewarded with his purr. Soft. Rumbling. That settled into her and she felt something respond in kind. Something deep and unknown to her, as if something ancient was waking up.

She pulled back, a little startled. A little...

Something else.

As he looked up at her with heat in his eyes and he swallowed thickly as if trying to keep from reaching for her, from bringing her back to him so they could repeat it all over again.

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