Sunder (Deridia #12)

6.2

It wasn’t long before the hard wood of the desk proved too much for her hip.

Athan didn’t mind. Just simply helped her down after her apologetic admission, and their kisses ended even if the touches didn’t. He held her hand as he moved her toward the chair, this one plush and welcoming for tired joints.

“Do I get to know what we’re looking for yet?” Athan asked, giving her his best approximation of a stern look.

She might have responded to a pleading one, but this one was easy to shake her head in refusal. She’d had enough of those, and she’d indulge them no longer.

“No,” Orma countered, offering a little smile so he would not grow cross at being deflected once again.

She rubbed at her hip and willed the dull ache to die down. It would. Eventually. But it could hobble her just as easily if she pushed too hard when it was painful.

“Well, then,” Athan mused, looking at the many books. “I could ready you titles? Or give you stacks to look at?” This brought a frown to the corners of his mouth, and she could well understand his hesitation. Her father had an order to his library. There was a ledger one must use when taking one away, then make a separate notation when it returned.

She didn’t know if Athan utilised a similar system, but she did not want his entire library torn apart on her behalf.

She got to her feet, keeping most of her weight to her good leg. “I’ll just look, if that’s all right.”

He gave her leg a dubious glance, but did not argue with her. She squeezed his hand when she passed him, because she was grateful for his trust. Mama would have fussed. Her father would have ordered her to sit, then remind her there were plenty of people she could call upon to fetch and carry for her.

Athan wanted her to do as she pleased. Believed she knew her own limits, and that... that was something rare in her experience.

He nodded, pulling out a book, seemingly at random, before he settled into his own chair. It suited him. This place. The books about him, the colours of the stained woods. The deep blue of his seat.

He was offering privacy, she realised slowly. Without abandoning her in a strange room and an even stranger building.

She tugged at her skirts, refusing to think about their interlude on the desk behind her. She had a task. A needed one.

The shelves were orderly, if not readily clear on their subjects. Some spines were gilded with gold, others silver. Some were impressed with black ink, the colour worn off with time and great wear, leaving only an indentation of what they had been.

Some had no titles at all, only the scrawl of a forgotten hand describing the contents.

Medical, mostly.

The proper setting of a bone. A wing.

Tinctures and positions for birthing.

A few case studies on sickly children and the remedies that helped them.

Orma passed over the shelf entirely after that one.

There were a few on history, and she was mildly curious to know how far back they reached, but now was not the time for such things.

Stooping was tiresome, so before long she eased down onto the floor, her legs spread out in front of her to prevent her knee from aching in a bend.

It was only then that Athan looked up from his own book, frowning down at her. “Was that intentional?” he asked, nodding toward her position.

Orma kept from rolling her eyes at him, but only just. “I did not fall,” she answered primly, situating her skirts better as she turned her attention back to the books. He would not distract her again.

“You should have a cushion at least,” Athan fussed, already rising from his seat.

She saved him off, running her fingers along the smaller books that made up the lowest shelves. Thin. Made for small hands.

Orma pulled one out, glancing at Athan to make sure it was all right, but he was pointedly returning to his own book, allowing her to do as she pleased.

She smiled faintly, opening the cover. The front page was torn, the second was scribbled over with a vibrant purple ink that had faded into a sickly blend of indigo with red about the edges.

Orma flipped the book so Athan might see it. “Was this your handiwork?” she asked, tapping her finger against the page.

Athan glanced at it. “My father’s,” he answered fondly. “My mother would always turn to that page and use it as a reference on how not to treat books.” He shook his head, a small smile about his lips. “She was fastidious about his books. He collected them, but I think her passion was for their care and upkeep.”

Orma flipped to another page. Lists of colours, their spelling in crisp, blocked letters, the pigments themselves holding well against age. She could picture Athan as a fledgling, tucked up in his father’s study, peering through these same books. Perhaps his mother sat above him, sounding out words and declaring the names of the colours when he faltered.

She ached inside. For his loss. For all that might have been taken from their future.

“You all right?” Athan asked gently, the bond alerting him to her shift in mood.

“I would have liked to have met your parents,” Orma offered, because that was as near the truth of it as she dared go. “I’m sorry they are not here.”

Athan’s smile was warm as she reached down and squeezed her shoulder. It was a strange position to be in, but she leaned against his arm and sighed, just a little. “They would have liked you,” Athan assured her.

Orma snorted before she could hold it back, but she did try to keep her self-recriminations to herself. Parents would want for far more than her. She might have an impeccable lineage, but Athan did not seem to think such things mattered. They would care that she couldn’t cook for him. That she needed a minder sent to the house to insist she remember to drink water on her bad days.

They’d think her a child, not a mate.

Orma fiddled with the spine of the book before she eased it back with the rest of the set. There was a knot in her throat, matched only by the one in her stomach, and she felt Athan’s hand move from her shoulder to fiddle with her hair. “What’s wrong?” he tried again, and she rubbed at the bond in her chest, willing the sudden surge of emotions to die back down.

“I found a cookery book,” she blurted out, because the rest of it was too awful to talk about here and now. “And I don’t know what most of the items are, so I thought I could look for a book on vegetables. Father has books on botany, but it’s mostly about forage and herbs, not how you know if a root is for eating or for a potion, and I thought... I thought I’d try to learn. As a surprise. But I’ve spoiled it now.”

She allowed her eyes to flicker upward, and if they were wet, it was only from the dust on the bookshelves. Never mind that they were tidy, even by her mother’s exacting standards.

“You might have asked,” Athan reminded her gently, then shook his head. “But I can understand wanting to do it on your own.”

Her eyes burned.

“This bothers you, doesn’t it? Always needing someone?”

She nodded, her words tangled up in her throat and in her head, so it was the best she could manage.

She did not expect for him to reach for her. To bring his arms about her middle as he plucked her up from the floor and settled her on his lap. Which did not at all help her feelings of inadequacy. Of being... not too young, but...

Stunted.

It felt a betrayal of her parents to consider herself such. They loved her, did their best by her. She’d been given tutors the same as her siblings. She’d read what was given to her, or she’d... tried. For a time.

“You are uncomfortable?” Athan queried, looking over her posture. It wasn’t him. Or... it wouldn’t be if she allowed herself to relax into him. To enjoy his embrace, to feel him rub at the leg that troubled her, his hands stronger and more effective at relaxing over-taut muscles.

She took a breath. Then another.

He did not think her a child.

If he wanted to hold her on his lap, it was because she was his mate and he wanted her close to him.

She eased her upper body closer to his, and the bond did the rest. It was happiest when they were close. It eased her worries, numbed the subtle throb of old scar tissue. Everything was all right when they were like this.

She really did worry too much.

“I want to be able to do things on my own,” Orma confessed. She liked his warmth. Liked the ways his arms felt about her, the way he was careful to make sure her wings weren’t pinched or crushed in his hold. He was thoughtful, in ways she feared she wasn’t. “Take care of myself,” she clarified, her throat feeling thick and her words inadequate. “Then maybe... maybe someday I might take care of you.”

Athan sighed, and she feared she’d said too much. “Please don’t fret about that,” Athan urged. “I am proud of you for wanting to test your limitations. But I would not have you pressuring yourself on my account. I am fine, as I’ve told you.” He propped his chin on her shoulder, and it felt strangely intimate to be positioned so.

“But...” Orma countered, then paused. She didn’t want to argue with him. She wanted more of this feeling of safety. Of being surrounded by him. “Isn’t it... natural? To... want to?”

He nuzzled against her neck, and her body had no business reacting so. “Of course it is,” he reassured as gently as he could. “It just isn’t necessary, that’s all. Not for you to fret about or push yourself too hard. And certainly not something you need to keep secret.” He stilled. “Did you think I would not want to help?”

Orma bit her lip, trying to explain herself without sounding ungrateful. “You would. Without hesitation. You’d put off your work here, and you’d go through every bit of food in your kitchen until I understood what to do with it.”

Athan turned his head, trying to look at her. “And that’s bad?”

Orma shook her head, failing to suppress a sigh. “No.” Then thought better of it. “Yes,” she amended. “Because then you’re my teacher.” His arms about her tightened.

“And that is bad?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she fought the urge to squirm. “Yes,” she managed to get out, a little breathless and a great deal embarrassed. “We’re mates,” she reminded him, no matter how unnecessarily. “So... you shouldn’t be my healer, or my teacher, or anything else.”

He hummed low in his throat. “We are mates,” Athan agreed. “But that does not mean we will not have other roles as well.” She turned her head and gave him a dubious look. “Imagine,” he continued. “We had met that day. And the bond had woken for me as well. Do you think there wouldn’t have been much still to learn? For the both of us?”

Her eyes dropped to her lap. “No. But that’s different. I’m supposed to know things.”

“And you will. Whether we find you the books you want, or you let me walk you through our kitchen and teach you about every single element until you could navigate it in your dreams.”

She bit back her objections. How much she wished she was a different person. A better person. Educated and skilled, someone who was... whole.

There was a strange feeling in the bond. A contentment but... something else as well. Pride? It wasn’t hers, and she couldn’t fathom what would have prompted such an emotion on Athan’s part. “You want to be my mate,” he whispered in her ear. It wasn’t a question. It was what he’d gleaned from her confession, and she should reiterate her point. Make sure he understood her position.

But she supposed that was the heart of it. Beneath doubt and feelings of inadequacy. She wanted him. Wanted to be his. Wanted him for her own.

She shifted so she might look at him better. “I do.” She waited to feel ashamed of herself. Waited to feel silly for such talk. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not when he was looking at her as if... as if she was something precious. Something to protect and care for. To... love. If she’d let him.

She wanted to. So badly.

Wanted to just be a woman that admired the man the Maker had chosen for her. Thought him handsome and kind and they were right to be together. That she wasn’t a burden, wasn’t a mistake. They were meant to be together. “I don’t want you to be sorry,” Orma added, because it was important he know. “I don’t want you to regret me. When you know everything.”

He wasn’t quick to dismiss her. Didn’t insist it was not possible, that nothing he read or learned would make him wish for another.

He sat. Absorbed what she said.

“Will you regret me?” he asked. “Healer that I am. From a bloodline not nearly as fine as yours. With a home inherited from a master rather than a parent.”

She reached out. Touched his cheek. “No.”

He turned his head and kissed her palm. “Then maybe, if it is within your power, you might accept the same of me.”

It wasn’t the same. Not in the least. But something wavered in the bond, and she realised it was a genuine concern to him. That she might wake one morning and find him wanting. Lacking.

“I do not...” she began, then hesitated. Swallowed. Forced some measure of moisture into her suddenly dry mouth. “I do not think we should... lie together. Until you’ve finished my texts.”

His head tilted slightly to the side as he regarded her. “Because?”

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she hesitated with her response. It was his turn to reach for her. To soothe and gentle. “Is it so I will not hurt you?” He asked it so quietly, his eyes keeping to hers, although she could feel the effort it took not to look for one of her scars.

Orma grimaced. “It’s not that.”

He would be able to tell easily enough where he must be careful. Her skin was a map of her experiences, and he would not need meticulous notes to tell where she hurt the most.

“Talk to me, Orma,” Athan urged. “I will not be angry with you, no matter what.”

Her eyes welled. “You cannot know that. Not for certain.”

He cupped her cheek and brought her eyes back to him. “Yes, I can. Because none of this was your fault. None of it. And I will not blame you for anything that will come of it.”

Her lip wobbled.

He kissed it.

Which should not have been what she needed, but somehow it was. It was a promise sealed with something sacred, and she would hold him to it. And she hoped it was all right she told him so.

“Good,” he declared, smoothing her hair behind her ear before settling his chin back on her shoulder as she eased back against him. “Do you want to tell me now? Get it over with?”

Her tears fell. She wanted to shake her head. Wanted to get up. Wanted to fly far, far away.

His grip about her wasn’t tight, only firm. She could have done it. He’d have followed, tried to reason with her, but she could have managed it even without one of her elixirs for help.

Then why wasn’t she moving?

Why was she even considering blurting it all out? All the awfulness, so then it would be done and they might move forward?

Because...

She’d spoken true, earlier.

She wanted to be his mate. For him to know the good and the bad. To want her, anyway.

Because she certainly wanted him.

“What can be so bad,” Athan asked, his voice barely above a whisper, “that it has you shaking so?”

Had she started? She didn’t realise.

She should delve into the books. Find the notations. The reasons behind it all and shove it at him and tell him to read the whole wretched business. Forget the parts about her everyday wellbeing. About potions and logs of her sleep, her food intake. The copious amongst of vitamins brewed into teas when she couldn’t stomach meals at all.

Have him read what mattered most. What plagued her sleep and tainted her dreams while she braced herself for his reaction.

Because he’d know. Eventually. Because the bond was doing its work, was pulling down her defences and making him...

No, that was wrong.

It wasn’t the bond at all.

It was Athan. He was the one seducing her. Perhaps not on purpose. It was just in his nature. To give her a little smile when he handed her a plate. When he wanted to give a little affection before they slept so he would smooth her hair and kiss her temple and thank her for spending the day with him.

He did not have to do those things. It wasn’t a compulsion, wasn’t a trick.

It was just... him.

And she liked him. And for whatever inexplicable reason, he liked her in return.

She wanted a life. A future. Wasn’t that part of why she’d slip out to the fetes? To admire others as they tangled, their lives forever entwining with the one they were meant to be with?

She’d been robbed of many things, but this... this needn’t be one of them.

Orma had never been brave. Not really. She’d let herself be tucked away in her ancestral tower. Done as she’d told, believed what she’d been told—or tried to, at least.

She took one of Athan’s hands and tucked their fingers together. It was so strange, how right that could feel. As if... as if they were made just so. Whole, when they were together.

Was she going to do this?

Maybe.

That was better.

She could start, and if it went poorly, if she got too frightened, she’d stop. Put it off another day.

But that weighed on her like a terrible omen. A weighty spectre that would haunt and rob her of her newfound joys, and she was so tired of it all.

“What is the bond for?” Orma found herself asking, her thumb drifting over his. Once. Twice. While Athan considered, and she tried to keep her heart from coaxing sobs out of her throat.

She waited to hear one of the practiced answers they all learned as fledglings. All about the Maker and pairings. How special they were, how privileged.

“Do you have a particular answer in mind?” Athan asked. He wasn’t being mulish, merely... careful. “Or is that a genuine enquiry?”

She was still shaking, and his arms tightened about her.

“Babies,” Orma blurted out. “That is what it is for. What it urges from us, yes? To be together. In the most fundamental of ways. To be together for the whole of our lives and raise our families.”

She hoped he’d see her point without her having to say more, but nothing in his posture tightened. He was merely waiting.

She lacked the words. She truly did.

And sometimes, things were better shown than articulated.

It wasn’t a difficult movement, not when his hands were placed as they were. When all it meant was for her to pull them slightly downward. To hold them there and wait. “I was in agony,” she reminded him. “And nothing was helping.”

Athan grew very still. If he was breathing, she couldn’t feel it.

“Orma,” he whispered. Pained.

The bond flared with it, stealing her breath and making her eyes wet. “I didn’t care all that much at the time,” she continued, feeling strangely detached from it all. As if she wasn’t really there. “They explained it, or tried to. And it made sense. Mama wept for days when they suggested it. I didn’t know at the time. I thought someone had died and they’d forgotten to tell me. But no, she was crying for me. For what I wouldn’t have.”

She swallowed. “What we won’t have.”

He was going to get up. He was going to pace the room, or maybe flee it entirely. And then he’d come back and ask her to remove her things from his house.

“Who knew the bond was for more than that?” Orma continued, her voice wistful. Sad. As she waited for him to react. “Because it stayed. Even... even when that part of me was gone.”

She should keep talking. Prattle on so there was no room for him to react. She wanted to take it all back, tell him it was nothing, she was wrong, that there wasn’t a scar across her abdomen that never seemed to fade no matter how many lotions her mother swore would help this time.

But nothing else would come out. Not a sob, not a word, and that left Athan time enough to rub his thumb precisely where the scar was, and he couldn’t possibly know that, could he? The bond would offer nothing so precise but...

His education might.

Because there were other reasons for the procedure. Ones that were far less experimental and were necessary. So if he’d done one, if he’d recommended it, she would not be sick at the thought. She’d understand and reassure him, and she’d...

He moved.

His hands shifted to come to her waist, and she braced herself to be lifted from his lap and set back on her own feet. For the affection to have cooled between them, and to follow that thread of horror that was coming from him to turn into anger. Accusation. How could she not have told him sooner? She’d taken him home and let her bring her bed and call it theirs, all while she knew, she knew such a fundamental thing had been taken from them.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, because it was true. Sorry more for him than for herself. She couldn’t actually imagine carrying a child, let alone caring for one. But she could well picture Athan. Preparing meals in his kitchen. Chiding them for slipping bits of breakfast down to Brum rather than eating it themselves. Bringing them into this very room and helping them pick out books. Teaching not to scribble on the pages, and to treat them gently.

He’d be an excellent father.

Just as he was an excellent mate, and she...

He stood her up.

And maybe she was capable of sobbing after all, because the weight of it was going to crush her. She’d grown attached—far more than she’d even admitted to herself. And to have him look at her without that soft smile at his lips, without the tenderness in his eyes...

She closed them tightly.

Waited for him to let go.

Only to feel him bring her back. This time facing him.

As he cupped her cheeks and brought their foreheads together. “I am so deeply sorry, Orma.”

The bond confirmed the truth in his words, but she was having trouble believing them. Or... at least, accepting that was the whole of it. He might be sorry, just as he might be angry. Might hate her as he claimed to hate the ones who had worked on her.

She needed to say something. Anything at all. That he didn’t need to be. That she was fine, and she did not really want any fledglings of her own in any case. It was exhausting enough when her siblings brought their children to supper—well-behaved as they were, they were still children. And since she lacked the energy to play with them and the words to offer any of their ages, they avoided her as the useless creature she was.

He kissed one cheek.

Then the other.

Then the eyelids when he whispered her name again, and she refused to open them. It tickled, and she did not care for it, but at least she wasn’t being shoved away, so she sat and waited because surely this couldn’t be the end of it. More had to be coming. Even he had to have limits to his patience, limits to what he would endure because he had the misfortune to be tied to her.

Their lips met. Only briefly. More whisper than kiss, but he was there. Being gentle with her. Which was the reverse of how it should be. She should be his comfort, help to navigate his feelings rather than forcing him to coddle hers.

How did one do that exactly? When she felt like something was tearing open inside of her? Something long-spoiled. A festering wound that had been numbed with potions and elixirs until she’d been tricked into thinking it was healed.

Was it him? She couldn’t tell any longer. Not when it was all an aching mass that felt only marginally better when he abandoned his kisses in favour of pulling her to him, hugging her so tightly she couldn’t draw a full breath.

That was all right. She didn’t need to.

Not when it would only lead to sobbing, and she was so tired of crying.

Shouldn’t he be the one struggling to hold it together? She’d had years to come to terms with her future. Yet she was the one shaking in his hold while he whispered in her ear. “You hold me to it, Orma. You understand me?” He nuzzled against her cheek, and she gave a little hiccough that would have mortified her in a different moment. “You are not to blame for this. Is that what you thought? That I would be angry with you?”

She made a sound low in her throat, not quite a committal but not a denial either.

“I cannot give you children,” Orma managed to get out, because maybe he didn’t understand. Maybe he thought they’d only poked about, but hadn’t actually...

But they had.

It was gone.

Her womb was gone.

There would be no miracles, no surprises. Only a terrible certainty that felt like the worst sort of disappointment she could be to him.

His hand came to the back of her neck and he brought her out from her hiding spot in his collarbone. “There is no you. No me. We cannot have children,” Athan confirmed, his eyes so sad it made her ache all the way to the tips of her wings. “And that is very sad, and we can mourn it as long as we need to. But we are mates, my darling Orma. The Maker declared it, and I find no fault in the decision.”

That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. It made her itch all over, made her want to be the one to pace and accuse. He wasn’t taking this seriously, wasn’t hearing her, wasn’t... something, because this was a far bigger deal than he was making it.

“You cannot be this perfect,” she bit out. Wished she could take it back, because she should be gentle and apologetic, not wrestling with her own feelings. “You cannot just... accept every little thing and not...” she did not want to tell him what to feel. How to be. But her own frustration was welling up and threatening to strangle her, and his hands came to her shoulders as he pushed her back enough to look at her.

“You think I am not disappointed? That I had not envisioned a child of my own?”

She rolled her shoulders, her wings drooping.

He cupped her chin, and the diatribe she’d braced herself for did not come. “I want you,” Athan insisted. “The whole of you. I might hate what was done to you, hate the conclusions that were reached. But I do not hate you. I could never. Not for a single moment. That does not make me perfect, it only means that my priorities are clear. To me, if not to you.”

Tears fell freely, because she felt small and wretched and yet... hopeful.

She just had to believe him. That he wasn’t tucking away his resentments, and they’d all come bursting out one day. Maybe he simply was that good. That patient.

Maybe he’d walked other couples through childlessness. Saw their pain and their frustrations and knew the reality that sometimes...

Sometimes it wasn’t meant to be.

“Talk to me, Orma,” he urged, nudging his cheek against hers. “You’re all tangled up inside.”

“I don’t know how,” she admitted, her words stunted and barely intelligible because the whole of her body felt like it was coiled, her muscles tightening with each breath she took. It left her shaking, left her cold all over, and even Athan’s arms could only help so much as he brought her back into his embrace.

“Why?” Athan asked, smoothing her hair and rocking her gently. “Because you think I’ll be angry with you?”

Yes. No.

Not him. But... she’d been hushed before. It only made it harder on her parents when she told them how she felt. Mama already cried too much, and Father grew more severe, harder upon the healers for answers, for something to be done and quickly because his daughter was suffering and they were not helping.

It wasn’t safe to express herself. Nothing could come of it. That was a lesson hard learned.

But maybe...

Maybe it wasn’t true any longer.

The thought was just a whisper, but it settled softly. Gently. On wounds that jangled and ached as tangibly as her hip that throbbed and her knee that ached and the cramping of scars in her abdomen that didn’t feel as if they ever truly healed.

“What’s it matter how I feel?” Orma sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s selfish.” She leaned back and swiped at her face. Because she had to stop, had to be calm. Help him with his feelings, not become preoccupied with her own.

Athan took a breath before he answered, and he was not practiced enough to hide the little swell of irritation she felt trickling through the bond before he whisked it away. “That wasn’t for you,” Athan promised her, his fingers still working through her hair. Skimming at the base of her skull. Delving deeper so he could massage the tight tissues he found along her spine, the hunch of her shoulders. “That was for whoever made you feel that way.”

“They did their best,” she reiterated, and Athan’s hand stilled, but only briefly.

“I will not argue that,” Athan reassured her, because that was not one she could endure. Not about her family. “Only that your conclusions might be flawed.” He was quiet for a moment. Just let her cry, let her try to pull herself together. However, her thoughts were too plagued with what was inside his head, so relaxing was near impossible. “Most of the couples I’ve seen that cannot conceive, they do not know the reason. I think that a blessing, strange as it might be. You’re trying to blame yourself, are waiting for me to hold it against you. That makes me sad.”

Her lip wobbled. “I don’t want that for you.”

Athan huffed and tucked his chin onto her shoulder. “I did not want my parents to die, but it happened. And that brought me to my master. To my role as healer. I’ve made something rather good of it, I think. It might not be what I’d have chosen as a boy, but I have no true complaints. I do not think that makes me perfect, not like you say. I would just rather make the most of what I can rather than dwell on what I’ve lost.”

His thumb slipped through her hair to the delicate skin behind her ear. “You dwell.” It was as much a criticism as he’d ever given her, and as softly given as it was, she still felt it deeply. “I do not say that to hurt you,” Athan promised her. “It is merely an observation.”

She closed her eyes tightly. “I don’t know how to stop.” A breath, shaky and unhappy. “I would if I could.”

Athan nodded, and he brought one hand down to her leg, not to push her off of him, but rather to massage the ache in her leg, wherever he might reach. “I know,” Athan murmured.

They sat for a while; him offering relief to too-tight muscles. Her wrestling down feelings she didn’t know she had. Wasn’t she meant to feel better now? A weight lifted, a secret shared.

Instead, she felt so exhausted. “Can you take me home?” Orma asked. “And... hold me for a while?”

At another time, another place, she would have asked for a potion. Something to make her sleep, to help her forget.

And while the desire for one flittered through her mind, the want of his arms was far more pressing. There was a strange twinge in the bond, but it settled quickly. She gave him a curious look, and he offered a sheepish one in return. “For a moment, I thought you meant for me to take you back to be with your parents.”

Of course he would. Because he doubted her commitment to him. To the life they were going to build.

She’d given him little reason to trust her, even as he’d worked so hard to prove himself to her.

That had to stop. Had to change. She wouldn’t go back for more than visits. Her place was here, and she had to decide how best to show him that.

Her head hurt. Her heart, too.

He did not wait for her answer, because he likely didn’t expect one. He was generous with his reassurances, but she thought too much, and worried too much, and dwelled when she should be present. They were at the ramp when she finally found the words. She had to be sure, had to put strength into her tone, not a whisper. Not a hesitation.

“Home is with you.”

Athan paused. Looked down at her.

Her smile was thin and watery, but she hoped he might look past that. “I don’t want one without you in it.” She tilted her chin just so, and he took her hint, leaning down so he could place a kiss on her waiting lips.

“Fortunate,” Athan declared as he got them moving again. “As I feel exactly the same.”

She sighed a little, because she’d finally done the right thing. The bond was warm and contented, and it was a welcome comfort when the rest of her was anything but.

She didn’t fuss when he tucked her beneath the blanket back in their room. Didn’t worry he was leaving her. Just gave a little hum when he joined her, pulling her close into the crook of his body. Her head really did hurt.

But this was nice. Needed. And from the feeling that crept along the bond, Athan felt precisely the same way.