Her feelings must have seeped through the bond. If only she could build a mind wall like him so she could stop embarrassing herself. “No one would blame you.”
“Come here, Idabel,” he said gruffly.
She undressed to her chemise and slipped into the furs, excruciatingly aware of the places where their bare skin touched as she took her place at his side. The back of her hand brushed along his ribs. Her ankles bumped against his tail.
He did not embrace her immediately but let her adjust the furs and her limbs until she was comfortable. Through the bond came his contentment. Not happiness, but satisfaction. Like pieces clicking into place. When she’d settled to his liking, he covered her with his free wing.
“I want you in my nest for many reasons,” he murmured in a voice so low she had to strain to hear it, though his mouth was mere inches from her ear. “Because you belong here, as my mate and the mother of my child. Because I desire you and intend to have you as often as you’ll let me. And because when you are close to me, I can better protect you. I have had all the distance between us that I can take in this lifetime. If I could carry you in my arms everywhere so you could not escape me again, I would.”
More than her cheeks were warm now. His deep rumble heated her inside, too. He sounded so stern and tender at once. His gentle disapproval was exactly what she needed.
“I thought you wanted me close so you could…” Her voice trailed off in another breathy embarrassment.
“Punish you?” he practically purred. “Never fear, I will do so. But I will be your teacher, not your villain.”
The door to the nesting chamber creaked open, and they both froze.
“Papa?” Loïc appeared in the doorway, dragging a lone fur. “Are you awake? I can’t sleep, and I’m lonely in there.”
“I’ll take you back to your nest,” Brandt began, sliding his wing from beneath Idabel, but Loïc interrupted with the pell-mell impatience of childhood.
“Can I sleep here, Mama? Just tonight?” Those begging gray eyes, so like his father’s, were impossible to refuse.
Idabel felt Brandt’s conflict through the bond, the desire to have her to himself warring with the need to comfort his son. She made the decision for him, lifting a fur’s edge to welcome Loïc under it. There were only so many nights before he’d be too big to need his mama and papa. “Just tonight, sprout.”
Loïc scrambled between them, immediately curling against Brandt’s side. “Will you tell me a story about the war?”
Brandt huffed, tucking his hands behind his head as he settled back. “That’s not a bedtime story.”
“Then tell me about flying. Real flying, not the fledgling stuff they teach me at school.”
Brandt’s voice rumbled through the darkness, describing banking turns and diving strikes, and Idabel felt herself relax. Her lids drifted shut while she listened. Or perhaps she was already asleep, because this was what she’d dreamed of the most during those lonely years. The thing she most hoped to have when Brandt returned. Not the passion, not even the restored bond, but their son between them, loved by both his parents.
Three nights later (two with Loïc in their nest and one without), she woke to anguish flooding the bond. It came in sharp, jagged, pulses that tore at the back of her eyes. She reached for Brandt, but he was gone.
She found him rigid on the balcony, claws extended, wings half spread and ready for a battle that existed only in his mind.
“Brandt. It’s me.” She edged onto the balcony. He stared past her at something imaginary that made him grimace and flash his fangs as he stalked toward it. She stepped out of the way, ducking his wing as he passed her. To his back, she said, “You’re home, my love. You’re safe. We’re all safe. There’s nothing to worry about.”
He spun toward her voice, but his eyes were empty. He was seeing something else, somewhere else. Through the bond came fragments: burning wings, the screech of war bats, someone screaming orders in the cold rain.
“It’s not real,” she said softly, swallowing the sick feeling that was rising in her throat. She held up her hands to show himshe meant no harm and took a step toward him. “Don’t listen to those voices. Listen to mine.”
He lunged for her then, knocking her to the ground and picking her up by the throat in one vicious motion. He held her out in front of him over the balcony rail so her feet dangled in thin air.
She grabbed his wrist with both hands to buy herself a few extra seconds if he dropped her. Her throat constricted by his grip, she didn’t dare speak for fear she wouldn’t be able to draw another breath, so instead she poured warmth and calm through the bond with all the force she could muster.
She pummeled him with memories of sweet moments. Jumping in the haystack, picking blackberries with her little brother. Loïc as an infant, nursing at her breast and playing with her braid. Baking fig cake for the winter solstice, weaving flower crowns with lilacs in the spring. The feeling when Brandt combed her hair with his claws. The feeling when he picked her up off the street andflew.
Thankfully, that got his attention, because she was running out of air.
Brandt looked stricken as he pulled her back onto the balcony and released her, his chest heaving. She reached out for him, and he cringed away. His mind was still chaos and fear, trying to sort reality from memory.
“I’m fine,” she croaked from her bruised throat. She grasped his wrist and pulling his hand until his palm was flat against her chest. “See? My heart is beating, there’s air in my lungs. Everything is fine. We’re in our home, together. The war is over.”
He fisted her bodice and drew back his other arm. For a moment, she thought he might strike her. Then recognition flickered.
“Idabel?” She nodded, and he collapsed against her, shaking. “I couldn’t tell. I almost killed you because I couldn’t tell.”
