Not once inhis life had someone said that he made them feel safe and cared for. Theodore came to him for reassurance, support, the kind of push and pull of brotherly affection, but Kaz was never expected to be soft, or tender, or gentle. He was the fucked up one. The surly one. The one who did dirty shit in alleys and took care of business. He was a little bit broken and not exactly pleasant to be around.
But Atria felt him. Shetethered.She liked to submerge herself in his emotions, to know every tiny shift he tried so hard to smother, and she’d never even said anything.
Kaz wondered if heshouldfeel a little violated by that, but he didn’t. All he felt was an unbearable desire to consume her, to know her as intimately as she apparently knew him.
He kissed her until his lungs burned for air and then pulled back just enough to demand, “Tether again.”
Atria panted against his lips. “Kaz, I—”
“Princess,” he growled, dropping one hand down to her hip. He ground her down against his stiff cock and let loose a deep, rattling growl. “Get your fucking claws in me. I want you to dig and dig and dig until you’re so deep, you can’t find your way out.”
He pressed a searing kiss to her full bottom lip. Kaz didn’t move, wanting to brand his words into that soft, wet skin, when he continued, “If I’m an ocean, I want you to drown in me — because I’m already fucking drowning in you.”
“But—”
“None of this is your fault. Not Ruby’s kidnapping. Not Norman’s death. Not my choices. None of it. All you did was try to make the world a better place. You’regood,Atria, and fuck, even if you weren’t, I’d want you just as much.”
“Does that matter if I’m doing it to feel better about myself? Isn’t that selfish?”
“What the fuck does that matter? So what if it is?” He stroked her jaw with his thumb, wishing he could wipe away her useless guilt just as easily. “I don’t mind if you’re a little selfish and you shouldn’t either. You’redoinggood, Atria. That’s what matters. It’s more than I can say. I’m selfish as shit and I have no fucking plans to let you go.”
She was quiet for a moment. At last, her head tilted slightly to one side and those eyes, whiskey-colored and gleaming with tears, locked with his. “And you think you don’t do feelings, huh?”
Kaz’s neck heated. “I’m trying.”
Atria pressed her forehead against his and whispered, “I’m sorry I hit your head on the car. And for the record, I am… I feel very lucky that I’m your mate, Kaz.”
Fuck.That taut feeling was almost unbearable. What was he supposed to do with that? Withher?
He felt restless, unsettled, desperate for her in a way that transcended sex. He needed to lock his soft, tender mate away. He needed to keep her safe from a world that would crush her at the earliest opportunity. He needed to make up for the years he’d missed — willfully,stupidly —and he needed…
“Nest,” he growled, hitching her legs around his hips.
Atria squeaked when he stood up abruptly and began to carry her across the room. “Wait, the groceries—”
He didn’t give a shit about the groceries. Kaz’s vision tunneled as he approached the hallway that led to the bedroom. Instinct was a pulse in his mind, urging him to do what he should have from the beginning.
Keep her safe. Keep her warm. Keep her in the dark until she’s mine.
“I need you in the nest.” His voice was ragged. How had he fought this for so long? Now that she was in his home, he felt like he was going to come out of his skin if he didn’t get her sequesterednow.
Nesting is essential to bonding,the cheerful Iron Chain tip sheet had informed him.Best to do it often and early!
He stumbled down the dark underground hallway, thinking,I satisfied the elvish half, but not the orc. I need to finish this. I need her to know she’s mine. Always mine.
He’d bonded with her in the way of his father’s people, with challenge and bites and vigorous fucking, but that essential orcish urge to sequester his mate until she was drenched in his scent and seed had been willfully ignored.
No longer.
Kaz hadn’t spent any significant time in the homestead since his mother’s death, but he knew the way to the master bedroom by heart. Amira had given him the homestead when he was sixteen — an act of guilt or pity, he still wasn’t sure — and he’d stayed there by himself for the two years he tried to find his place amongst her people.
Amira hadn’t been able to stay in the homestead after Thaddeus’s death. Not only was it tainted by her memories of him and the many secret trips he’d made to spend time with her, but once the kohl sickness set in, she needed round-the-clock care.
So it was his scent — stale and immature — that greeted him when he pushed open the door at the end of the hallway. He took in the neatly made bed, the bare dresser, built in stone shelves, and bedding nook with the smallest flare of recognition.
All was as he left it, and none of it was suitable for nesting.
The bed, a behemoth built into its own stone nook, needed padding. Pillows. Blankets. The curtain over the end that opened into the room needed to be drawn. He needed to fill the space with the scent of her and him until there was nothing else. No dust, age, or stale air.
