Chapter 21 #2
His tail lashed behind him, so much so he finally had to shove it into his belt to keep from batting her skirts.
“And what have you done with yourself all day?” she asked, voice falsely lighthearted.
“Visiting with Balar and Imogen,” he said through tight lips.
If Maeve knew anything about why Sorcha might visit Imogen, she didn’t let on.
“I hope they’re well. The children missed you, they asked over you at luncheon.” Leaning into him, she rested her cheek on his arm. “It was lonely without you, honestly.”
He rumbled noncommittally, not sure what to think.
“Did she not say anything about it to you?” Imogen had asked. Not since the early days, when they’d both decided not to be mates.
Perhaps he’d begun to think there wasn’t anything to say.
Either she hadn’t heard of any new opportunities or…
maybe, his foolish heart hoped, she’d begun to consider staying.
He wanted to believe the latter, of course.
Maeve was a boisterous, bubbly young woman who liked to talk.
She was also direct. Aside from her flirtations, she said what she thought, no matter how harsh it might be.
Surely, then, if an opportunity had arisen that would take her away, she’d have said something by now?
He wanted desperately to believe that. The anger bubbling inside him burned his throat, and he wished desperately for it to go away. Yet, he also suspected it hid something far worse, far more devastating.
Heartbreak loomed on the dusky horizon, for Soren had foolishly done what he’d told himself he wouldn’t.
He’d fallen in love with his beautiful, beguiling, intelligent kigara.
She was nothing like he’d expected but everything he needed—bold, vibrant, driven, she would excel at anything she put her mind to.
Anything at all.
Like being our mate, argued the turuk.
Like making her dreams come true, Soren countered.
Maeve had what it took to realize every dream and ambition she had. Could he truly stand in her way?
“You’re very quiet tonight,” she remarked, voice softer than before, almost…careful.
He didn’t like it, didn’t like hearing her tread gingerly. She was as unsure of him as he of her.
“Has there been any word on your inquiries? About a different position?”
Maeve’s gaze cut to him, far sharper than a moment ago. That troubled expression returned.
Soren’s stomach sank to his toes.
“No, there hasn’t been,” she said, but Soren didn’t know if he believed her. He despised that sucking, nauseous feeling of uncertainty.
She was quiet a moment before admitting, “I ended up writing to Lady Aislinn myself after Sorcha didn’t hear back.
I actually offered to bring her to the school.
Princess Isolde visits Dundúran in the summers, and I thought she could come as well.
The children would love to meet her, and…
” Maeve cleared her throat, and Soren didn’t imagine the flush that colored her cheeks.
He couldn’t remember a time he’d seen Maeve embarrassed before.
“I thought perhaps, if the princess visited, there’d be a chance to impress her.
She’s still of tutoring age. Not much younger than Kiri, actually. So I thought…”
She thought to ingratiate herself with Lady Aislinn and the princess during their visit, possibly earning herself a new position with either of them. It was ambitious, and perhaps even ridiculous, but if anyone could do it, could charm their way into a princess’s retinue, it would be Maeve.
The plan was self-serving. It didn’t sit well in Soren’s gut, using the students like that. Maeve likely understood that, hence her embarrassment, and it made him think…if she would admit it, then perhaps she truly didn’t know about the message from Lady Aislinn regarding the new position.
Perhaps she’d wait until summer, for the chance to meet the princess.
But then again...perhaps she’d no qualms not telling him even if she did know about the new position.
She could use the students, so why not him?
Maeve had always told him her intentions; she never pretended to be something she wasn’t.
Perhaps it was he who’d fallen for his own lies, believing she was something she wasn’t, felt and thought things she didn’t.
These were ugly thoughts he didn’t like thinking, but they stuck to his skull like tar, dark and oily.
He drew in a long, steadying breath, reminding himself that it’d be too easy to give into his anger and hurt then. He was presuming again. He didn’t know.
The answers, the truth, though, would likely hurt. It was why he’d willfully ignored it for some time now.
He had to be smarter now. Harden himself for whatever the truth was, for although it was an assumption, he didn’t think it unlikely that that truth would mean heartbreak for him.
His mind hurt nearly as much as his heart, so when Maeve forced another smile and said, “But I haven’t heard anything. Nothing’s decided, so there’s no use worrying over it,” he was grateful.
No use worrying. That wasn’t true, either, but Soren determined he needed to think on this longer.
Look back at what she’d said and done. And, perhaps in a day or so, she might have more answers for him.
Perhaps she truly didn’t know about the new offer from Lady Aislinn, and the next time they met, she would put him out of his misery, one way or another.
His turuk threw itself against the cage of his mind, demanding out, but Soren held fast. There was nothing for the beast to do now. They didn’t have enough information. They didn’t have their mate’s heart. Raging about it accomplished nothing.
He had no right to ask her to stay. What were they, really? Colleagues—or friends perhaps—who fucked? Any deeper care they shared for each other had been kept secret—all the easier to leave behind.
He’d no true claim on her. She never expressed wanting a mate or husband and had told him clearly from the beginning that she meant to leave. That she wouldn’t be bound to her home and family. She wanted to see the world, to experience amazing things.
Soren had no right to stand in the way of that. He knew that from the beginning, didn’t he? He’d let himself believe a delusion, and that was his own fault. The heartbreak of that was his own to bear.
And…perhaps, once she’d seen the world and experienced all she wanted to, she would return home. Not forever, perhaps a visit. And if Soren’s heart could weather that, perhaps that would be enough.
It was a sad hope, but it was all he’d allow himself for now.
He needed to be honest—and to let her go.
The rest of the walk to her family’s estate was quick and quiet. Although she glanced up at him now and again, waiting for some signal that it was time to speak or hurry off the path to one of their secret spots, Soren kept his gaze forward.
Soon they were at the property line, dusk just beginning to settle in vibrant hues across the sky.
She pulled her arm from his and turned to stand before him. The uncertainty he saw shining in her eyes cut him to the quick.
Unable to help himself, Soren took her dear face gently between his paws and kissed the crown of her head. He stole one little nuzzle of her fragrant hair, trying to memorize every note of her scent.
“Good night, Miss Maeve,” he said, stepping back.
She gripped his wrist. “Will you not…?”
Running his thumbs over her cheeks, he said, “It’s late. I wouldn’t want to keep you.” Even though that’d never been an issue before.
He saw how struck she was by his denial when he’d never refused her before. He hated the way her eyes widened and her mouth turned down. It was as though he could feel her heart’s disappointed pang in his own.
Soren didn’t want that. He never wanted her to look at him as she did now—confused, unhappy. It would be nothing to wipe it away, to pull her off the path and into his arms for another night of pleasure.
But the situation would be the same in the morning, the sweetness of the night faded away.
He had to be strong. He had to think. This had to run its course, whatever its outcome.
For his own preservation, he turned away from her and her sad eyes. He thought he heard his name catch in her throat, but then he was running, running fast, and blindly leaping into the sky.
Coward, coward, coward, beat inside his head with every flap of his wings as he flew higher and farther from her. Coward.