21. Willa
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WILLA
The mating mark on my wrist glowed.
A kavresh mark.
“It’ll fade,” Traig said, holding his arm up, twisting it back and forth, studying the symbol. “The glow, I mean. It’ll settle into silver and stay that way forever.”
Forever. The word felt like a weight and a promise at the same time. I’d spent almost three weeks falling for him in pieces, and now those pieces had fused into something I couldn’t unfeel even if I wanted to.
I traced the lines that formed a mountain range above a wave, the mark about the size of a quarter. It felt smooth, as if it had always been there. “Does the Council have to honor this?”
His arms locked around me. “In the old laws, a kavresh bond is sacred. The Council should recognize it. They’ve always done so.”
“Should,” I said. “But your parents filed their inquiry before this happened.”
“Yes.”
“And they don’t exactly follow rules that don’t serve them.”
“No. They don’t.”
The vulnerability on his face made my throat burn.
“So we have a sacred bond that might not matter,” I said.
“It matters.” He gently cupped my face, turning it up. “Even if they try to ignore it, it matters. We’re bonded, Willa. This is not pretend. This is—” He stopped, his tusks scraping across his upper lip.
“Real,” I said.
“Yes.”
The word held more meaning now. Before, we’d been acting, making it look convincing enough to pass a test. But the mark on my wrist wasn’t pretend. It was proof that we’d chosen each other.
I shifted in his lap, my legs starting to complain about the position, but I didn’t want to move. Neither did he, because his arms stayed wrapped around me like I might disappear if he let go.
“Should we tell the Council?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Let them come. Let them try to say this isn’t true.”
“This might help with their decision.”
“Unless they’ve already decided. We have a month. We’re going to live. But I will send word.”
“Alright.” My legs cramped again. “We should probably get up.”
“Probably.”
His fingertip smoothed across the mark on my wrist, following the lines.
“I’ve read about these. Heard stories. Laina and Brovish have them, of course.
But I never thought I’d have one, that anyone would choose me.
My parents made it clear that being chosen required earning.
That bonds were built on usefulness and meeting standards I could never see clearly enough to reach.
” His voice dropped. “But you chose the me who needs everything organized to feel in control. That’s the me who got a kavresh mark. ”
My vision blurred. “The mark just made it official.”
We remained on his entryway floor, tangled together, our matching marks glowing softly between us. Eventually, though, my legs demanded attention, and the floor stopped being romantic.
“Okay,” I said. “Now we really need to get up.”
He helped me stand, his hands steadying me when my knees wobbled.
He held my pants while I stepped into one leg, then the other. My hands shook enough that I fumbled the button twice before getting it through the hole. He nudged my fingers aside and secured my pants for me before retrieving his shirt from where I’d torn it off him.
One button hung by a thread. Another was missing.
“I destroyed your shirt,” I said.
“You can destroy all my shirts if you’d like.”
We kept looking at our wrists. The glow had started to fade already, settling with only a faint hint of its original glow.
We stood in the entryway, my coat still hanging on its hook beside his, our boots lined up by the door. Everything looked the same as it had this morning, but everything had changed.
“At least I don’t have to take my coffee maker back,” I said, trying for lightness.
“I don’t want you here for a month,” he said, tugging me into his arms. “I want you here forever.”
“We may not get forever.”
His hands found my hips, holding tight. “Then we live it like it’s forever. Not like we’re waiting for it to end.”
I looked up at him, taking in his midnight eyes and the vulnerability he wasn’t hiding anymore.
“My stuff stays,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Not because of the scribe. Because I’m choosing this.”
“Yes.”
“Even if we only get a month—”
“Even then.”
I nodded.
Scratching came from the front door.
We both turned.
“That better not be Nix,” Traig muttered, crossing to open it.
Fred exploded inside, Amanda riding on his back. She held a tiny stick in her hand and brandished it like a sword. It was a good thing she was so small and not orc-sized or she’d defeat an army. Fred’s wings blurred as he beelined straight for me, grumbling loudly.
I caught him against my chest. “Hey, buddy. Did you miss us?”
Amanda’s crown flared pink, and Fred’s grumble dropped into a lower register.
“They know we’re mated,” Traig said, watching them.
“They approve,” I said.
“They approved weeks ago.” Traig’s mouth twitched. “I’m the one who was late to figure it out.”
Fred bumped his head against my chin.
Traig scratched behind Fred’s ears.
Fred grumbled some more before he left my arms and bobbed around the room, smacking into the ceiling and walls, nearly dislodging a picture Traig had hung on the wall.
“Alright, you two,” I said, heading for the kitchen. “Let’s get you settled.”
Fred floated after me, Amanda still perched on his back. I found a shallow dish in the cabinet and filled it with water, setting it on the counter. Traig pulled out some leftover vegetables from the refrigerator and chopped them into tiny pieces, putting them on a plate for our creature friends.
Fred settled on the counter, tucking his wings against his sides. Amanda climbed down from his back and inspected the vegetables before selecting a piece of carrot, taking a nibble.
“They’re staying,” I said.
“It looks that way.”
Fred grumbled agreement.
We reheated what was left from last night’s dinner and sat at the table where the scribe had sat last night and this morning. Everything felt different. Lighter in some ways. Heavier in others.
I pushed food around my plate, my appetite gone.
“What if wanting this makes losing it worse?” The words rushed out of me.
Traig’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He set it down carefully.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing since the scribe left.
” His gaze found mine across the table. “What if I lose you because my parents can’t stand the thought of me having something that matters, a person I chose instead of someone they approved?
They’ve taken everything else except what I built here.
” His fingers tightened around his fork.
“Every choice I made that wasn’t what they wanted, they found a way to make me regret it.
Moving here. Building the rescue league with the others.
Choosing my brothers instead of friends they approved of. ”
An ache moved through my chest; I could barely breathe.
“They’ll try to take this too,” he said. “You. I don’t know if the mark will be enough to stop them.”
I’d spent so much of my life making myself useful so people would keep me around. With Derek, I’d counted good things because he never noticed them himself. With Traig, I’d been trying to prove I belonged here, that I was worth keeping.
“What if being your mate isn’t enough to convince them? They might look at me and see exactly what my ex saw, someone organized and helpful but not worth fighting for.”
Amanda lifted her stick and jabbed it toward the door. Our mighty warrior. But even her defense couldn’t save us.
Traig’s chair scraped back. He came around to my side of the table and pulled me to my feet, his hands framing my face.
“You’re not useful to me.” His voice came out fierce. “You’re necessary. You’re the reason for everything. If they try to break us apart, they’ll have to drag me back to the kingdom in pieces. I won’t let them.”
I wasn’t sure how he could stop it from happening.
“We have mating marks because I’ve finally stopped expecting you to leave,” he said. “I know you want me, and that’s why they appeared. We need to trust that this will be enough.”
“Alright.”
We finished eating. Fred and Amanda watched from the counter, Amanda’s crown cycling through gentle colors while Fred’s grumble gave us background music.
After washing up from dinner, I sat on the sofa with my notebook on my lap.
Traig settled beside me, his arm around my shoulders.
I opened it to a blank page and held my pen over it before setting it on the cushion beside me. “Do you want to see all of it? Not read it in secret?”
His jaw worked. “Only if you want to show me.”
I lifted the pen again and wrote while he watched.
We have a month. Maybe that’s all we’ll get. But right now, sitting with Fred grumbling and Amanda eager to defend us and Traig’s leg against mine, it feels like I’m enough. No, I’m more than enough.
I turned the notebook toward him.
He read it slowly, then he looked up, his eyes bright. “Thank you for letting me see.”
He picked up the pen I’d set down, turned to a blank page, and wrote something, forming each letter carefully. He turned the notebook toward me.
Willa let me see what she wrote. She chose to share it instead of me taking it. That’s the difference. That’s everything.
A smile of wonder filled his face.
“So many good things,” he murmured. “You. You’re the best of the good things.”
Rising, I placed a blanket on the floor and patted it. “Fred. You two can rest here tonight if you’d like.”
Fred floated up from a table where he’d perched and flew over to hover above the blanket before gently settling. Amanda slid off his back and snuggled into his side, her stick lying on the blanket beside her.
Fred’s soft grumble rang out while the color of her crown faded to a soft pink.
I caught Traig looking toward the kitchen, a small smile pulling at his mouth.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I bought two chairs three years ago,” he said. “The seller asked if I wanted both or just one. I said both, but I never had anyone to sit in the second one.” He paused. “Until now.”
Loving someone left you with no shield against pain, but if you didn’t love, you never discovered who you truly were.
“I’m using that chair,” I croaked, smiling despite everything.
“It’s yours. Always,” he said.
We got ready for bed, easing around each other in the bathroom, undressing in the bedroom.
Nothing had changed in the physical space, but everything had changed in what it meant.
Before I turned out the light, I felt his gaze on me.
I didn’t ask why he was staring. I already knew. He was counting this moment the same way I counted good things. Watching me in his space because he wanted to remember. Because even if we only got a month, he wanted to hold on to every piece of it for as long as he could.
My wrist caught the light. The mark had settled into muted silver.
“Let’s go to bed,” I said.
His expression softened. “Yes.”
In the living room, Fred grumbled softly.
I’d bet anything Amanda’s crown still glowed pink.
Traig caught my hand, lifting it so our marks aligned. His thumb traced the mountain and wave on my skin.
“Kavresh,” he said softly. “The person whose happiness determines your own.”
I traced his mark in return. “We’re together now.”
“We are.”
His arms came around me, pulling me against his chest.