Conall
I've broken something. Something essential.
I can scent the soft salt of her tears through the door. Hear her carefully even breaths.
I've been so focused on keeping clear lines, on getting out of a binding ancestral promise, that I let myself deny the essential truth right in front of me.
I let my stubborn pride drive me to the point where I've hurt her.
My mate. The denial has been lifting slowly, my hound making it impossible to sustain. Now I see it clearly.
I listen as she showers, the water stops and the blow dryer starts. And I sit, thinking about every single thing I've done wrong and exactly how I'm going to fix it.
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, when she comes out of the bathroom.
She smells clean and distinctly herself.
She's wearing jeans and a pink blouse with little flowers on the bodice.
No makeup, and I love how open her face is without it.
The freckles across her nose are darker without foundation covering them.
I breathe out slowly to keep from getting lost in the sight of her.
She won't meet my eyes. She moves straight for the door.
This has to end. I reach out and place three fingers gently on her wrist. She stops, which surprises me, though she still won't look at me.
"Ivy, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"You lied," she whispers, and there's something so fragile in it that my chest aches.
"I honestly didn't mean to. When you first arrived, I thought the spark was just the protection spell snapping into place.
Then, as I got to know you, saw how fiercely independent you were, how much you cared for the people here even though you barely knew anyone, I started to wonder if there was more.
My hound certainly thought so, but I told myself it was just an overreaction to the spell transfer. That it had confused him.
"But when Laz suggested using your blood to close the spell, the thought that it could hurt you knocked every last doubt out of me. That's when I started to suspect."
She stands there, her wrist still in my hand, eyes still on the door. When she finally looks back at me, my throat nearly closes. Her eyes are glassy, full of tears.
Her voice is steady anyway. "You didn't want me for your mate. I get it. You don't have to explain."
God help me, she really thinks she understands. She thinks I'm rejecting her. That I don't want her. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I stand abruptly, and she jerks back. Flinches. I file it away, but make a quiet vow to myself and my hound to one day find the man who taught her that sudden movements mean harm.
I move slowly now, giving her no reason for fear, and bring my thumb to her cheek, catching the tear that's rolled down her face.
"I want you," I say, low and fierce. Another tear slips free as she gasps.
"And not just because you're my mate. You're stubborn and kind and beautiful and tough.
You came to an island full of monsters and just…
adjusted. You were kind to the people here even though you didn't have to be.
You're fixing a spell that isn't your problem.
You murmur in your sleep, and you can't cook and—" My forehead comes down to press against hers.
"I'm sorry I didn't recognize you for what you were to me right away.
I'll spend every day proving that you can trust me. "
At the word “trust,” she winces just a little.
I want to punch her ex. And myself too, for not helping the situation.
"I know I haven't done a great job of it so far,” I continue. She snorts, and that’s fair.
"We could go down to Laz. I'm sure he has some kind of binding promise spell that would turn me into a frog if I ever lied to you again, or a fly if I betrayed you in any way.
" This earns a small laugh, and I bask in it.
She pulls back slightly to search my eyes. Whatever she finds there makes her sigh. "I'll think about it." A hard tightness at my center unclenches. "Can I talk to your hound?" she asks.
I cock my head, surprised. Of all the things I thought might be the biggest obstacle for a human mate, I assumed the hound would top the list. Apparently, I'm the biggest obstacle, by a considerable margin.
I let go of her and pull my shirt off over my head, then start pulling down my jogger pants.
"What are you doing?" she asks, eyes wide. I smirk.
"I'm not ruining clothes if I don't need to." I wink. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. I pull down my boxers. Then she goes very still, her eyes unabashedly finding me. Finding how firm she's made me just by being in my proximity.
My joints pop and twist. It's never a pleasant feeling, but living with it has made me mostly numb to it. My hound roars up within me. I'm still there, still in control of my actions. But my needs, thoughts, feelings merge with his.
And what he needs right now is her.