3.4
“He... might be rather spoiled,” Athan admitted, looking strangely bashful about it. “You’d understand better if you saw him when he was young. He fit in my palm, if you can believe it.” He demonstrated the size. “They’re rather an incredible species.” His eyes were bright, but his nerves were steady through the bond. “Quite intelligent. They can learn all manner of tasks, although it can take a bit of convincing before he’ll actually do any of them.”
Athan wanted her to like him.
Not just tolerate him.
Not a begrudging acceptance, but to love him as Athan did.
Athan gave his head a long stroke before the Brum curled into a small a ball as possible on his cushion—evidently satisfied simply to be with his person.
Who was supposed to be her person.
Her throat ached.
They were more bonded. Knew each other better—and that was her mate and he was a... Brum.
What was his kind called again?
She couldn’t remember. Should remember. Because he was clearly of great importance to Athan, and she was doing everything all wrong. Not paying enough attention. He’d tire of it quickly. Of her selfishness and preoccupation.
She wanted an elixir. Something to make her feel better.
Feel... different from this heavy weight she carried in her chest.
“Would you like to...” he gestured toward the Brum before delving his own hand back into the thick fur.
How did the creature not overheat? Not that the sea breezes allowed for the summers to go on for too long or to become too unbearable, but he seemed more prepared for the snowy mountains rather than Athan’s garden.
“I don’t know if I... should,” she answered in a stilted attempt to collect herself.
Her feet were frozen in place, her heart was beating too quickly, and Athan was his own tangle of nervous energy.
One of them had to be calm.
One of them had to be sure and bold and...
Did he mean for it to be her?
His head canted slightly to the side as he regarded her. “Why shouldn’t you?”
She didn’t want to blurt out the reason, but the words swelled and came of their own accord. “He might eat me.”
Athan stared a moment longer, then he laughed. A quick burst of sound and relief, while she was left to feel a crippling embarrassment that he was mocking her.
Except that wasn’t right. The bond related nothing of the sort, and yet she had to stop from huffing from the room so she might nurse her wounded pride.
She’d thought she lost the last of that a long time ago.
“First,” Athan interjected when she’d almost decided to leave the room. “I would never allow that to happen.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth so she could not see his lingering smile. But she felt it all the same, and she frowned slightly. “Second, he would never, ever try.” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced down at the beast. His tail thumped at her scrutiny, swishing against the floorboards as it was too long to be contained to the cushion.
“You cannot know that,” Orma objected. “Animals have minds of their own. And he might be... hungry.”
Athan reached onto a plate and took another piece of bread. Tossed it to her. “Not if we feed him,” Athan reminded her. “Take care of his needs, so he knows we are a part of his herd and not his prey. Although,” he reached down and made a great show of covering Brum’s ears—hidden as they were amongst so much fur. “He is quite lazy. It would take far too much effort to hunt you down, and he’d grow tired of it quickly.”
He patted the Brum’s head affectionately. “But do not tell him I said so. He likes to think he is my best helper.” Athan nodded down at him. “He’d like to be your friend, if you’ll let him. You might start by sharing your breakfast.”
She glanced down at the bread in her hand. Back at her mate and all his optimism that she did not share. Or... maybe she did. Infectious as it was flowing freely through the bond. While she tended her doubts and all the possible misfortunes that might befall her, he had a steady dream of hopefulness that set her feet moving. She did not dare kneel down, but she bent, her hand outstretched with her offering.
She was going to lose her fingers. Or maybe just one. And he was a healer, and he would have to live with the outcome after he’d patched her up, the guilt and the horror because he was the one that suggested it and...
Brum was surprisingly dainty as he took the bread from her hand. His breath was warm, his nose was slightly wet as he nuzzled briefly at her palm, and took it in his jaw to eat properly down on his cushion.
No blood.
No lost fingers.
Just a tail that continued to thump against the floorboards.
“There now,” Athan praised, as she stared down at his companion. “You lived!”
She did.
And she lived through allowing her pointer finger to press once against the too-large head. Perhaps he wasn’t so large. Perhaps it was just his fur, so thick and full, that made him appear so.
The creature looked up at her, and there was its tongue again. It appeared... pleased. Very much so.
She would not be jealous of the Brum. She refused.
Orma didn’t long for cushions on the floor. To be petted and pampered and treated like a pet.
But she could admit, if only to herself, that she wanted the ease between them. The settled routine—of knowing where to be and how to be. No frets or worries between them.
“Won’t you sit with us?” Athan urged, nodding toward her vacant chair.
She should tell him she needed to dress. To wash her face and prepare to go home.
But she’d promised to eat at his table, and her few meagre bites likely did not count for much.
She settled nervously back in her chair, trying not to flinch every time Brum’s tail brushed against her. It was not barbed, but it was heavy, and he had a tendency to look up at her as he did, as if it was done with intention.
She did not know what it meant, but he did not appear to be bullying from her seat. Perhaps he did not blame her for his earlier banishment.
Which was good.
“How can I help you relax?” Athan asked, finally beginning to fill his own plate with the food he’d prepared.
Her posture was stiff, but she tried her best to force her shoulders down and get some deep breaths into her lungs. “I am not... I do not think I have a very relaxed constitution,” she admitted, reaching out for her mug. It had lost some of its warmth, but she took a sip, anyway. If she was a different sort of mate, she would offer to brew fresh. But that would mean she knew how to use a stove, and where he kept the leaves, and...
She ate a little, because she knew it would please him and because she need her strength for later. She could not stay. It was possible Lucian went to her home and... explained. Or tried to. But if he didn’t, then her parents deserved to hear it from her directly. To be involved in working out all that came next.
It didn’t matter how much the very prospect made her insides squirm.
“Now, I should think acknowledging one’s challenges would help, but you’re working yourself up into a panic.” Athan was watching her, and so was Brum, for that matter, and she really needed to stop doing this. She was undesirable enough at her very best, let alone when she was shaking whenever her thoughts took a turn. “What are you thinking about?”
She addressed the plate rather than him. “Going home,” she answered honestly. “Telling my parents all that has happened.”
“Ah.” Athan took another bite of his meal before he reached out and added more steaming tea to her cup. “I hope you are factoring my presence into your imaginings.”
She looked up sharply. “Why would I do that?”
If he was disappointed in her answer, he did not show it.
“Because,” Athan answered with all the patience she did not posses. “I am your mate, and they are your kin. Therefore, we have an attachment, whether or not they are pleased with it.”
A lump settled in her throat.
“And if they are not, I would not have you subjected to it all on your own. Not when it is my profession they will object to.”
She slumped a little further in her seat.
“It isn’t, though.” Or maybe it would be. Perhaps if he was a healer in their district? But no, that would be even worse. Someone closer to a servant than an equal. She rubbed at her aching head and remembered the fresh tea and took as great a sip as she dared, given the heat.
Better. Far better.
“What do you mean?”
She sighed, using her pointer finger to skim across the lip of her mug. It was a tasteless subject, one that was taught stringently amongst the families, but certainly not discussed. Not with outsiders. Which he was. And wasn’t.
“You know,” she hedged. “There are those born to the towers... to the stations that come along with them.” Lawmancers, judicators. That set and upheld the standards of the cities. That ensured prosperity for all and yet... were set apart.
They had a separate fete to encourage intermingling. They did not control the bonds, of course. Only the Maker could do that. But they certainly... presumed.
His head tilted to study her. “How is that different from what I said?”
She groaned, and she fought the urge to appear as small as possible. “Because they’re interested in bloodlines, Athan. Old ones. Back to the beginning of the city. So it didn’t matter if you were a healer or a runner at the Hall. You would not be...” she stopped short of saying he would not be suitable, would not be good enough, but she heard the echoes of old lectures all the same.
Her parents hadn’t tried. Not when they came to realise how... unique she was.
But Lucian’s father had insisted, turning many family suppers into speeches about destiny and sacred rights. Of purity and lawlessness, and so much that had only served to frighten her when she was a girl.
It sat like a weight in her heart, now. Perhaps it had mattered long ago. But surely there were limits.
Mama always said Oberon would not hesitate to argue with even the Maker, if given the chance. Under her breath, of course. And not when anyone else might hear.
But Orma did.
Because Mama kept her close in case the evenings proved too much for her. Would whisk her away at Orma’s plea, acutely aware of the disapproving looks that followed them as the elders in the family viewed their retreat.
Weakness was not welcome in their family.
And Orma had little else to offer.
“I do not want you to be hurt,” she finished. It was too soon to delve into all of this. Into ancient histories and expectations that Athan could not possibly meet. It wasn’t his fault—he’d done nothing wrong. Only had the misfortune to be bound to her.
She rubbed harder at her temples.
He stood up. She wasn’t looking, but his chair legs scraped against the wooden floor. And suddenly it was his fingers replacing hers, pressing and assessing the minutia of her expressions. It felt better than it should have. Better than her own ministrations by far. No healer would see a headache, no matter how they poked and prodded, but she couldn’t deny she liked his touch. His attention. And it had very little to do with the bond glowing from both their chests.
“What are we going to do for you?” Athan murmured. To her. To himself. And she almost bristled. Almost threw back at him that he wasn’t her healer and she did not need him looking at her like that.
But she didn’t.
Because she could not deny that his touch was soothing. That she could feel some of the tension leaving her as she leaned more heavily into his strength, letting him support her head so even her neck might rest for just a moment. “I don’t know,” she mumbled instead, because that was the truth of it. She knew nothing. Didn’t know how to fix herself, fix her family, fix the flutter of fear in her heart at the Brum at her feet.
But she wanted to.
Which was more than she might have said even the night before.
He hummed, a soft, lilting sound that sent shivers through her for reasons she couldn’t name. “We could work on it. Together,” Athan offered. “Help each other.” His hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushed against the delicate skin beneath her eye, and she did not know it might feel so... “I don’t want to be your healer,” Athan promised, and he was leaning, and it couldn’t be comfortable, but she felt no complaints through the bond. He would not kiss her, surely. Then why did her heart beat so, and her lips felt the anticipation of a touch that wasn’t coming?
It wasn’t.
Which didn’t disappoint her.
Truly. Because that was an intimacy she wasn’t ready for, and yet...
Her breath caught as he smiled at her, just a little. “I want to be your mate,” he promised her. “And a mate is allowed to care when the other is hurting. To work together to set it right.” He leaned forward, and she wasn’t pulling away, and he really was going to do it, and it wasn’t right, was it? Wasn’t what she wanted, what she needed...
The kiss did not come.
But she was pulled into his embrace, the angle and his hold making her toes skim across the floor until they left it entirely. Supported utterly by him.
And he did not seem to mind. Seemed to... like it.
“As right as we can make it,” he clarified.
Which was realistic of him. Because she’d never be as she was. Never be fully... whole.
The bond glowed and hummed, and she closed her eyes so she was not blinded by the flares of shimmering lights. She had only to say yes. Had only to put her trust in him, and it should have been so easy. As natural as the next breath she took. He was her mate. He would never hurt her, never let her be tied down and prodded at and...
Her parents had.
The thought came unbidden, sharp and unwanted.
She couldn’t think like that. Wouldn’t think like that. They were trying to help. They loved her.
Did that mean Athan would do the same?
“I’m frightened,” Orma confessed, and it was easy because he was holding her so close.
He let her down, but did not move away from her. Kept touching her, kept his thumb at her temple, rubbing gently in just the right spot, and it was enough to bring tears to her eyes. He wanted to take care of her. Couldn’t she feel it? “Of me?” he asked, his voice so very gentle that it made her ache.
“Of what happened,” she clarified. “Of what might happen if I say yes. My parents wanted what was best and still...” she gestured to herself.
There was anger, and it wasn’t her own. And she reached out and smoothed her fingers along his chest. Because that wasn’t right. There wasn’t need for it. Everyone did the best they could.
He sighed deeply, shaking his head. And he was going to move away from her, would go back to his chair and talk of breakfast and Brum and she would be left with the guilt that she hadn’t been willing to try.
That she’d disappointed him with her trepidation.
She didn’t trust him.
Which was a horrid thing for a mate. Because she was horrid and broken and...
She took a deep breath.
The Maker had tied them together, anyway.
But he didn’t move away. Just brought her back into his arms and cupped the back of her head as she pressed it into his chest. The threads had no warmth, but she could swear she could feel them. Brushing against her cheeks, nestling and soothing.
Promising her in dangerous whispers she just had to say yes, and everything would be better. It wouldn’t be like last time, because to hurt her would be to hurt himself. And what nonsense was that?
“I won’t pretend to know their conclusions. Why they thought they were doing right by you with their actions,” Athan murmured into her ear. Because it was private, and theirs, and the Brum did not need to hear it. “And I won’t speak against them,” although he wanted to—she could feel that plainly enough. “But it was wrong. Even if their reasons were loving ones.” Her tears welled, and she burrowed closer. “And I will not do that to you. You have my word.” He scoffed lightly and shook his head before he placed a kiss to the top of her head. “You can have much more than that, if only you’ll believe me.”
She was going to answer him. Going to give as much of an assent as she was able.
But a bell rung, sharp and startling, and she pulled out of his arms, looking around for its source.
“Door,” Athan sighed, a hand going through his hair as he glanced down at himself with a grimace. “A patient, most likely. Just... let me refer them to another healer. Don’t move.”
Don’t leave, was what he meant to say. Don’t slip upstairs and dress and escape out the window. Because he wouldn’t know where to follow. Which of the towers she called home.
She sank down into her chair, glancing down at the Brum. He did not seem bothered by the bell or by Athan’s hasty retreat.
But she was.
She passed him another crust, tossing it this time because she dared not get so close to his mouth without Athan to intervene.
Voices raised, and a knot formed in her belly. Because she knew that tone, regardless of the distance down the hall.
And it wasn’t a patient after all.