He spins slowly, fragrance gaining an acrid note, then shrugs and leans against the counter.
“I’ve been giving things away in preparation for moving out, helping my son set up his first apartment and such. I don’t know where we’ll end up—Johanna and Corin’s home or yours, or somewhere new—but my loves haunt me here and I haven’t had the strength to leave on my own.”
There’s a vulnerability to him in that moment. My alpha seems worried about him. I was already purring with the cat, but now, my purr increases in volume.
“Your mates haunt you?”
“Not literally, though I occasionally have conversations with them that I know full well are imaginary.” Nathan pulls out a bottle of red wine, ducking his head in the process. Then, he throws his shoulders back and offers, “Would you like a drink?”
“Water or juice, if you have it. Alcohol doesn’t play nice with suppressors.”
“Ah, I hadn’t thought.” He puts the bottle away and pours two tall glasses of orange juice. We toast, though to what I’m not sure. Johanna? The possible pack? Us, whatever we might become to each other? Nathan moving on from being haunted?
So I ask.
“The first three.” Nathan frowns. “What do you know about bonds?”
“Not much, the basics.” What everyone knows in short. “They take two bites to establish, each participant marking on the other’s body. The marks that glow metallic or jewel colors while active, though they can be dissolved at great cost in both time and pain” I do my best not to stare at the dull scars on Nathan’s neck, wondering what color they once glowed.
“Once in place, mates can sense each other’s thoughts and emotions, and can communicate across distances.” Then, because Johanna’s a beta, I add. “Only alphas and omegas can initiate a bond, but betas can complete them, so we can bond with Johanna—if she wishes.”
“So right, and yet so wrong. Mostly right, though.” He raises his half-filled glass to me, then sets it on the table. “That’s something.”
“What did I get wrong?”
“Mates sense each other’s feelings unless separated by a very great distance, but it’s ageneralfeeling, without much context.” Nathan’s words come through clear enough, though he’s busy assembling our meal from take-out containers: a salad from thefridge and lasagna kept warm in the oven. “To get context—what the other is thinking or why they’re feeling something—takes a lot of energy and focus. Sustaining that effort for more than a few minutes is exhausting. Longer than that? Whoever’s trying will keel over.” He sets the lasagna on the table.
“Huh.” Impossible to miss the longing in his voice. I watch him from the corner of my eyes as I set the cat back on the floor, wash my hands, and settle at the table.
“Don’t get me wrong, the connection is worth it. Being able to really share what you’re feeling makes little moments more special and big moments deeper, richer. Sharing love helps it grow.” A soft smile suggests good memories floating through.
The acrid element of his scent has vanished. Now, it’s robust and full, with a lusty edge to the musk, unmistakable despite mixing with the smell of our food. My alpha responds as a thrill of interest runs through my veins.
“It can be easier to dig to the roots of anger and frustration, but”—Nathan sighs and shakes his head—“the long and short of it is that, even with bonds, mates still have to talk to each other. Too many people end up in my office, looking for dissolution services, because they thought the bond would magically do all the work for them.”
“Hm.” I know more than I’d like about struggling with communication. Learned the hard way, by working through errors and offering ample apologies. I gave up on the idea of bonding when I went on suppressors—but Nathan’s clear longing feeds an urge to learn what I’ve been missing.
“All the same, the longer bonds are in place, the harder it is to hide things.” He looks down at his plate and waves an empty fork; the food’s good, but he’s too busy talking to eat. “You have to talk to each other, but usually you’re reconciling what your bond mate is saying with what you sense, so it gives an edge in noticing when words and emotions don’t match up. Though,as often as not, if you’re mated to good people, they aren’t deliberately trying to deceive you—rather, you catch them lying to themselves, then decide whether to help them face that or not.”
“Got it.” I shrug. All his lines about the drawbacks and limitations of bonds fail to counter his obvious joy when recounting the essential connections bonds offer. “You miss them.”
His head snaps up, and our gazes connect.
I’m not usually poetic. I don’t read emotions on peoples’ faces well, and eyes are eyes: colored irises around dark pupils. The whole thing about eyes being the gateway to the soul? If so, not for me.
Yet in this moment, here and now, so much of him shines through. Devastation. Loss. Longing.
For all Nathan’s pretty speech, no one really understands bonds. Maybe here, in the house he shared for decades with his mates, something of the magic lingers, because the longer we gaze at each other, the more I feel emotions swirling around that aren’t mine.
My body responds, muscles tautening and blood throbbing in my groin. Nerves twitch, preparing for an instinctive leap to action. My fork clatters as it falls to my plate. The taste of copper floods my mouth, overwhelming any lingering taste of dinner.
An indeterminate need rises in my alpha todo something. Both synapses—the desire to fuck and the urge to fight—fire in my brain, sending contradictory urges through me.
Nathan’s nostrils flare, pupils darkening. He leans forward, just as intent as me—and his scent equally confused. Anger and lust swirl together in a heady combination.
Until one of the cats meows impatiently.
Chairs clatter as we both jump. The distraction allows me to turn my head without signaling submission. Fluffier rubsagainst my legs. When I glance under the table at her, she meows again and jumps onto my lap, turning around and around before settling. She flexes her paws, claws digging into my thighs briefly.
