2.2
The light was too bright as it glittered off the shimmers, a lantern held high as a man took in Lucian’s hold on her squirming frame.
“What is your business here? Let go of her!”
She did not much care what he thought he saw, of the way Lucian growled low in her ear that she would pay dearly for this entire escapade when she had sense enough to listen to him.
“She is kin, I promise you,” Lucian answered as calmly as she could. She made to kick him again, but he squeezed her so tightly for a moment she had to focus on her breathing.
Which let Orma take greater control, if only for the moment between her last inhalation and the slight burn of too little air.
Enough to close her eyes, to be sorry when he loosened his grip so she could take a full breath.
When it meant she was lost, pushed aside, buried under this new horrid creature that cared nothing at all for anyone but herself.
Untrue.
There was one other.
And it was certainly not the man standing with his lantern.
The threads wavered, brushing past him. Pushing and reaching and urging her to do whatever she must to follow them.
“I said let go of her!”
“She isn’t well,” Lucian offered back, pulling upward. “And I made you a promise.”
Flying upward.
And she screamed.
Angry. No. Furious.
Because she’d been the fool to make him promise, to talk of looking and watching and assessing the man for herself before she allowed any instincts or bonds to overwhelm her.
What a fool she had been.
The man was calling after them, and then there was another figure.
And it hurt.
Her chest felt as if it was going to wrench itself open. The threads—no, the ropes—yanked forward desperately, knowing what would happen if they were parted once more.
“No, no, no...” she repeated, shaking her head wildly as she was wrenched away.
Again.
“Orma, I swear,” Lucian was growling in her ear, and the wind was rushing about them, unseasonably cold. Or maybe that was just her, shivering and teeth chattering with something that felt all too near to despair.
“Please,” Orma gasped out, uncertain if she was begging Lucian or the bond itself. To settle, to quiet, to go back into the dormant tangle she’d been able to—not ignore—but live with.
That wasn’t quite right, either.
She’d survived it.
She wouldn’t survive this.
Better he drop her now. Crush her wings first, and then she’d plummet and then...
He was still growling. Was shaking her lightly because he wanted her attention, didn’t he? Wretch that he was. Ruining her. Ruining what was meant to be.
“Wait!”
It was impractical to yell while in flight. Currents and wind and sound made for a terrible combination, and yet, she heard it.
Urgent. The bond was still reaching. Searching.
Not on the ground any longer.
But in the air.
Because...
They were being followed.
Not by the man with the lantern, but by the one she’d needed all along.
It was too dark to make out more than his form, and even that was quickly obscured when Lucian suddenly plummeted.
Then pulled sharply upward.
Trying to outmanoeuvre their pursuer.
No.
Her mate.
He’d spoken to her.
Called to her.
And she wanted so badly to answer him. To let him know she was there, that she wanted him, that she was sorry she’d been frightened and had brought Lucian at all, because he was spoiling it and she wouldn’t forgive him for this. For being like the rest of their family, brute that he’d proven himself to be.
But there was the rest of her. Shoved down and locked away inside herself that insisted that was wrong, that he was listening to her, fighting for her, to offer her the choices she’d said she’d wanted.
“Stop!” came that voice again. The one that sounded anxious and worried, and her head lulled to the side and there he was, more than just a dark figure against a rapidly retreating city. The clouds broke, and the moonlight hit him just so, and he caught her gaze, if just for a moment. And the bond flared. Pushed. Ripped her open and tumbled free, and her mouth opened to scream at the feel of it, but she could conjure no sound at all.
Because it was settling into him. Pushing and squirming, and while he seemed surprised by it, there was no pain. No agony.
Just a surge of movement as he flew nearer still.
He was strong, and he would overtake them, Lucian burdened by her weight. “I am a healer,” he insisted, his words carrying better now that he was closer. “Land, please. Let me help her.”
And she laughed.
A broken, wretched sound because she could think again. Could curl her fingers and clutch at Lucian’s robe.
A healer.
Of course he was.
“Lucian,” she murmured as he looked down at her in alarm. She touched his cheek, and she felt his frown. “Thank you,” she offered, and meant it. He relaxed, just a little, because he must have known she’d come back to herself. “We won’t make it if I’m slowing you down.”
He opened his mouth to argue with her, but she shook her head. “Let me do this,” she entreated. “Please. I... need to.”
He swallowed. Kissed her once on the top of her head, and let her drop.
Which was not exactly what she’d intended, but her wings knew what to do.
They spread and surged, while Lucian darted to the other side, disappearing from view.
Which meant she would choose for herself. If she’d run. Hide herself away and let him feel some of the pain she’d endured for years. Let him feel the absence.
Or...
She could stay.
Talk with him.
Perhaps even like him.
He’d gone after Lucian at first, which gave her a head start. A moment to think, to decide for herself.
It did not last for long. Perhaps he’d seen Lucian was no longer burdened, or perhaps the bond had settled quick and deep, urging him back toward her.
He was calling out to her, but the wind carried his voice in the opposite direction. But she could feel it, which was enough to send a shiver through her. No more echoing into the dark. But a person. Warm and very much alive, suddenly on the other end of her tangles.
Not tangles.
Cords. Thick and strong as they drew taut as he came nearer, coming after her.
She should feel elated. Or frightened.
Or... anything at all.
But the tonic had worn away, likely because of the struggle the bond had waged against Lucian.
She landed. It hadn’t mattered where, only that it was in the vague direction of home.
She blinked, realising she’d misjudged, and it was soft sand beneath her feet rather than the cobbles she’d intended.
And he followed, rushing toward her with teeth exposed and arms outstretched.
Her brow furrowed, and she took a measured step backward.
His arms dropped.
His lips met.
Oh.
He’d been smiling.
And he’d...
Wanted to embrace her.
For as much as she’d felt through their half-formed bond for so long, it was suddenly—and almost blessedly—quiet.
How long had she prayed for that? When it ached and squirmed about in her chest, and she just wanted to sleep?
She wanted that now. Exhausted and weary and with no idea of what to do with a smiling man that wanted her hug.
His demeanour shifted almost immediately, and it was almost amusing to watch. When he turned from mate to healer, eyes drifting over her even in the near-dark, looking over any bit of her he could.
Looking for just how wrong she was.
There would be plenty for him to find, especially if he had a lamp. More particularly, if he was bold enough to pluck off some of her clothing and assess the skin beneath.
He moved closer to her, his steps hesitant. Afraid of frightening her? She shook her head, frustrated with herself, and considered delving into her pocket for another tonic. Something to keep her awake. To see what sort of man he was.
To endure whatever came next.
“Hello,” he said, and she blinked, not expecting such a simple greeting.
“Hello,” she answered back, voice raspy from over-use.
He waited for her to say more, but there was little thought in her head beyond keeping herself upright. She would not dare the flight back home. It would be a shuffling trudge forward. Back to her bed, where she would bury herself in her blankets and embrace the absolute bliss of a bond that was no longer struggling to escape from her.
“I’m Athan,” he continued when it was more than apparent she would not make the introductions. “And I think you need my help.”
Her hand should come over her heart. She should bow her head and recite the prayer of thanksgiving she’d found him.
She didn’t.
Wouldn’t have, even if she had the energy to lift her hand and murmur the rest of it.
But there was enough for a rueful sort of smile. “Do I?” It wasn’t a tease, although there was a lilt to her voice that was strange to her ears.
“Yes,” he answered certainly, taking another step forward. “Will you allow me to give it?”
As if it mattered what she wanted.
The wind blew cool sea spray up against her, and she shivered, and he dared another step. “You are cold,” he observed. No... he tested. Tugging at the bond, just enough that she felt it reverberate in her own chest. Saw it give a shiver of its own.
“No,” she answered honestly. She’s stopped feeling that a long time ago. She turned, beginning her shuffle homeward. It was a foolish idea—all sorts of stories trickling through her head. No new mate would even consider spending the night apart, and there was a sickly dread for when her parents heard of his profession.
“Where are you going?” he pleaded, closing the distance between them with less effort than was fair. “Why are you going?” he tried again, and that one was better. Struck harder.
As she closed her eyes and her hand went to her chest, rubbing as she always did. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
He reached out.
She couldn’t see it, but she knew. And she braced herself for the contact, for the pain, or perhaps for something else that frightened her even more, but it did not come. “What wasn’t?” A huff of breath. Not exactly a sigh, but near enough. “I do not understand.”
And there it was. Just a hint, but his frustration was growing, and she owed him her honesty, didn’t she? Her apologies, too.
“Athan,” Orma tested, just the once. “I’m not well.” Because that was the whole of it, wasn’t it? So many other bits and pieces that made up her life, but that was the most important.
At her declaration, he came to stand in front of her. To pause her steps and have her look at him.
Which was rather ridiculous given how dark the night had become as the clouds rolled in from over the sea. “If you are poorly, allow me to take you back to the infirmary. I might examine you and have you feeling better.”
She laughed softly, more air than sound. “You are not the first healer I have seen,” she explained as gently as she could. “But I thank you for your offer.” It was politeness rather than genuine gratitude. She had a great many feelings about his profession, none of which she would share with him now. Perhaps he was a kindly sort, with a listening ear and compassion in his heart, but that changed little.
She could just make out the way his shoulders pushed downward, the way his hand came to push through his hair. She wanted home. Wanted her bed.
And yet...
She felt whispers. Of disappointment. Of confusion.
Ones that were not hers.
She rubbed harder at her chest, willing it to quiet down. She did not need to feel sorry for him—but it came, anyway.
“Orma,” she offered, hoping he’d move or else she’d be forced to shuffle around him. Undignified and allowing him too near a look at her unnatural gait.
He brightened at that. She might not make out his expression, but the bond flared enough for her to catch the shimmer, to feel it warm in her own chest.
It should have been bliss, but she only felt more weary.
She could feel his smile. Feel his pleasure that he had her name, that she was trying.
“I’d like to go home now,” she informed him.
He opened his mouth as she passed him, and she braced herself for his argument. He’d want to take her home with him. Probably had imagined all sorts of ways this meeting would end.
Most of them likely tucked in the bed with the mate he’d waited for.
She grimaced.
Swayed.
Her head felt muzzy, and she didn’t think, only acted out of the need to hold herself upright long enough so she could make it back home.
She touched his arm to keep her balance, and her mouth grew dry. He was strong, his arm firm beneath her touch. He gave a sharp inhalation, and she was not immune to the way the bond warmed. Prodded. She could ease into his arms. Could ask him to fly her wherever he liked so long as she did not have to make the walk.
“Let me help you,” Athan pleaded, his voice gentle. Less like a healer, and more like a man whose mate was ailing. “Please. I’ll take you where you want to go, but just...” his hand settled over hers and he squeezed it gently, still resting on his arm.
She waited for him to say more, but it seemed the words were lodged in his throat. She understood that feeling well.
A healer.
Her parents...
She swallowed, eyes burning. It had little to do with the sea air, and a great deal more to do with the battle soon to come. Lucian’s father would be furious. He already thought so little of her, and this would likely cause a far greater rift.
“I don’t know where to go,” she admitted, her breath coming in short, tight spasms. “I’m so tired and I...” she sniffed, her free hand delving into her pocket in search of a tonic. To get her home. She’d likely sleep most of tomorrow once the effects wore off, but that wasn’t so bad. She just needed to endure for a little while longer...
He heard the clinking of bottles, and he shifted. Back to a healer intrigued with her treatments, her condition. He eased the bottle from her fingers and held it up to what little light there was. “What is this?”
She had no right to be cross with him. This disaster was of her making, and he would be the one to pay the highest price.
“I do not know exactly.”
She knew he was frowning, her answer unsatisfactory. If they’d tried to tell her before, she couldn’t recall. Everything was filtered through her parents—their selections, their choices. Habits driven from childhood, when she was too young to give much input at all.
“Will you wait?” he asked, his voice tense. “Never mind the infirmary. Come home with me. Just... just for tonight.”
It was not a concession made easily, nor was it one a mate should have to give. She needed her tonic back, needed her hand back, but so much was beyond her control.
She was only supposed to find him. To watch him.
See if she liked him. If he was worth risking losing the rest of herself for.
But that had been taken away from her, and now...
“Wasn’t that your home?” she asked, thinking of the house. The man with the lantern. A brother? Cousin? Kin, surely, if he was there so late.
“No,” Athan answered, already tugging at her hand. He was going to carry her. Which should have been mortifying if it did not feel so needed. “A patient.”
“Oh,” she murmured.
“I am going to pick you up now,” he told. Not asked. Which should have upset her greatly.
There was no accompanying warm purr as he held her for the first time. Just that sharp inhalation again. The one that said he found her lacking. Followed by the concern that flowed freely across the bond.
She was too light; she knew. Orma certainly didn’t need him chiding her for it.
“Will you tell me of your illness?” he asked, already flying upward.
She’d given no assent. No agreement to his proposed plan. Yet he was taking her there, presumably to his home, and she lacked the energy to fight back.
She wanted Lucian back. To intervene, to explain when she couldn’t.
But she’d sent him away, wanting to believe she could take care of it herself.
Another foolish choice. One of many she’d made in a single night.
He hadn’t given her tonic back, and that angered her.
Her head lolled.
“Orma,” he insisted, his wings beating faster as he hurried to his home.
“You took my tonic,” she mumbled. It sounded muzzy and slurred to her own ears. She wasn’t sick. Just tired. But he wouldn’t know that. Because he did not know her. Did not know about threads and shimmers and the cord that had buried in his chest. He’d just know the bond had flickered to life, gentle and welcomed.
He’d think her awful for resenting it.
It shouldn’t matter what he thought. Shouldn’t matter that she liked he was strong. That he could carry her. That his response to meeting her for the first time was a warm smile and a hug.
She was the broken one. That did not know how to be welcoming and soft.
A prickly family. That’s what Lucian called it. He was soft with Firen. Could hold her and love her, despite his upbringing.
His mouth came to her ear. Not touching, but his breath tickled, and she flinched away from him. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I need you to keep talking to me, Orma. I don’t trust you to sleep in your condition.” He jostled her, which was really quite rude, and for one horrible moment she thought he intended to drop her.
She was not prepared to fly, and she opened her mouth to tell him so, but he steadied again. Waited for her to do as he’d asked.
“You took my tonic,” she repeated, this time the words coming out much better. “Give it back and you won’t have to worry so much.”
He followed the coastline. Away from the towers, and even past the bay where the merchants docked.
Then inward. Back toward the city. Still within the walls, which was a relief. Not that she intended to live there. Or maybe she would. She didn’t know much of anything anymore.
“Yes, I did. Because there could be anything floating around in there, and it might not be safe for you.”
She bristled. Which took strength she did not have, but it was enough to lean slightly away so she could try to look at him properly. Not nestle in close. Not let herself rely solely on his strength and find the respite she so desperately needed.
“You are not my healer,” she reminded him. “I have been taking those tonics for years, and I’m still here.”
He turned his head, and she could feel his pointed look.
She lived.
But barely.
She wilted, feeling chastened without even a word from him.
She did not bother trying to make out the district. Not even the position of his dwelling. It was too dark to make out the details in any case—the streets utterly lacking in the expensive moon-stone lamps that lined the streets by her home. She said nothing about it, because he could not help where he lived.
And if he thought they’d be welcomed in her parents’ tower, he would soon be severely disappointed.
The houses were not in tight rows when he landed. Golden light peeked out from nearby shuttered windows, but this structure stood alone. One building of at least two storeys, the one neatly beside, sprawling at only ground level. Inefficient, if one was particularly interested in architecture, when there could have been a few family homes nestled into the same space. But she did not question him.
He did not set her down. Instead, he walked boldly into the house, unbolted and without need of a key.
Which meant others lived there. Family. Parents? Or perhaps siblings.
He hesitated just inside the door, the hall dark without lamplight or gently glowing stones to welcome them.
The tower was never dark—there was always light to peek in through the shutters, or moonstones set by skilled masons, so the halls always were gently illuminated. She found this most disconcerting. A strange place and a strange man, the bond so quiet it was no comfort at all.
Footsteps met her ears, but they lacked the lightness she was used to. Heavy and lumbering, and she wondered what sort of kin Athan called family.
“I’ll put you down just for a moment,” he explained, his voice decidedly nervous. “You would be more comfortable in my bedroom, but I don’t...” he set her down, holding onto her long enough to be certain she was steady. She reached out, not toward him, but in want of the wall, and set her shoulder there for support. “Just... a moment.”
He left her side, and there were the sounds of heavy feet on the floor, and if she made a few shuffling nudges back toward the door, she did not think it unreasonable. She could have slipped out. Could have left him there with his family and his house, but she didn’t.
She would not risk growing lost in the city, without a tonic even to help her from collapsing in a gutter.
The light came first. The glow of the oil lamp was welcome.
The view of the beast in the hall was not.
She did not have to think. Her body reacted with no thought on her part.
It was large, and covered in fur, and although her mate was entreating something, she could not put meaning to his words.
She scrambled out the door, the latch yielding quickly, the hinges well oiled.
Back into the dark, which she did not particularly like, but it was better than being locked in a house with a strange man and his stranger beast.
She wiped at her eyes, her heart racing in her chest, and of course, he would follow her.
“I’m sorry,” he offered quickly. She wasn’t running—she wouldn’t make it. Her back was to the front wall, and she could recognise she was shaking lightly.
“Give me my tonic back,” she insisted. “Please,” because she had manners, and although she meant to be firm so he might know she was serious, she did not want him angry with her, either.
Maybe he frowned. Maybe he wanted to argue with her.
But he didn’t.
He just sighed, and handed it back to her, watching as she uncapped it gratefully and swallowed it all without thought to the bitterness.
She waited for the momentary rush, for her heart to beat more rapidly in answer to whatever concoction the latest healer had brewed.
She frowned.
All was quiet.
She was still tired. Worn thin and desperate for the normalcy and comfort of her own room.