24. Harper
24
HARPER
A edon’s touch was gentle, but the contact was a violent shock. Harper’s breath stalled for all the wrong reasons as panic flooded her. As he pulled her closer, she struggled away, but he only followed her, the weight of him leaning over her as he pressed her further into the cushions and the strength in his body too unyielding to resist. Harper turned her face away, breaking his kiss. His lips fell to the nook of her neck below her ear.
“No!” She shoved him away, a palm thrusting into his chest, and pushed back to the armrest of the chair until it dug into her back. Her legs dangled uselessly off the seat, pinned by his body. Aedon braced himself above her, a hand to either side of her, and confusion filtered through him.
“What’s wrong?”
Harper shook her head, bringing her other hand up to scrub her lips so hard that it rubbed them raw. “I don’t want this.” Her voice shook—not from fear of him, but the fear of what she did not want to acknowledge—the realisation she had had beneath the waterfall of what she did want. That impossibly dark, sinful, and shameful desire so deluded she could never voice it.
“What?”
She met his gaze and held her voice firm. Of this, she was certain. “I don’t want this. Us. I don’t want anything between us—only your friendship.”
“I don’t understand.” His brows furrowed. “Beneath the waterfall. You—We?—”
“It was a mistake.”
He stared at her as though he was a stranger.
“I value you as a friend—nothing more. I’m sorry.” She stopped the torrent unleashing. That she had longed for something more. Thought to find it in him. And instead only found a deep longing for something which she could never have—and should not want—and that she would never get. No amount of having him could replace that.
Aedon remained suspended above her for a long moment. Her spread hand still lay firmly planted in the middle of his heaving chest. He regarded her with utter confusion. And then, the pressure eased as he pulled away. His face closed for a moment, and she held herself still and silent as she watched his internal struggle. This was the part she feared—men, in her experience, did not like being told no. She had seen plenty of brawls at the tavern to testify to the result of their fragile egos being damaged by a woman’s choice. But Aedon swallowed. Straightened. And looked her dead in the eye with something that resembled wary respect. “Alright. I thought there was something between us.”
She shook her head and sat up, folding her hands in her lap.
His expression dropped and the colour drained from his face. “Oh Gods. And I just dived right in there. What a fool! I really am sorry—please, believe me. I would never force myself on you, or anyone. I thought you wanted this too.” He ran a hand through his hair and then dropped his face into a hand, groaning into his palm.
Relief warmed her. He wasn’t going to be an ass about this—a gentleman instead, in fact. “I didn’t mean to mislead you—but the waterfall made me realise I didn’t want this. It’s for the best we remain friends, and nothing more. I’m sorry if you’re disappointed.”
Aedon smiled ruefully, and rubbed the back of his neck with a palm. His eyes slipped shut—before he opened one a crack and shot her a sidelong glance. “Well. I can’t say this is a comfortable experience.” He let out a small chuckle. “But I appreciate the honesty. You’re probably right—look at what’s going on. I think I wanted a distraction,” he admitted, giving her a sheepish grin. “That was disrespectful of me. I’m?—”
“If you say sorry one more time, I’m going to punch you, Aedon.”
He laughed again—this time, spontaneous and genuine—and she warmed, smiling too with relief that this would not make things awkward between them.
“Why are you going to punch him?” Brand said, the scuff of his boot announcing his entrance a moment too late.
Aedon turned to Brand, with no hint of the animosity between them that had plagued them where Harper was concerned. “I have made a monumental ass of myself, and she is claiming rightful recompense.”
Brand smirked. “In that case, allow me to deliver your justice, Harper?”
Harper snorted. The giant Aerian would knock the elf flat. “We do still need him—I think.”
“Ouch,” exclaimed Aedon, glaring at her with mock offence. “You wound me!”
“I think that’s the point,” Brand said drily, glancing between them. “Is everything alright here?” His gaze settled on Harper, his expression impassive.
She caught the implied undertone, and stood, smoothing down her shirt. “We’re good. Thanks. Right?” She looked down at Aedon, still that small coil of anxiety worried that either way, the tentative friendship that bloomed between her and the others would somehow be tarnished or worse, ruined.
But the smile he gave her was genuine, if a little withdrawn. “Aye. We’re good.”
“Good,” said Brand with a sharp nod. “Glad to hear it.”
Harper wondered if he had understood what had passed between them—or how much he had seen. But she had nothing to cringe about, she realised. She had not allowed him to take advantage of her—or allowed herself to compromise in the face of what would have been an easier indulgence, if a hollow one. She had drawn her boundary—and then she had defended it. There was no shame in that, she realised.
Harper straightened, the steel in her bolstered momentarily in the face of so much uncertainty and change. That was what she needed, she realised. The faith in herself to keep the candle of hope burning despite the storm that raged outside her. That self-assurance would help her face whatever tomorrow brought. Ragnar depended upon it.