“I see. And the paws, are they as sensitive as human hands?”
They both watched as he lifted a hand, turning it up to reveal thick fingers studded by rounded pink pads. They were the perfect combination of a human hand and cat’s paw, tipped in claws that retracted nearly to the tip. Those had to be handy when he had a particularly bad itch.
Maeve held out her own hand to compare. Her next breath was a sharp inhale; she hadn’t expected what a striking sight their hands made side by side. His positively dwarfed hers. Although vaguely similar in shape, the differences were marked.
“I can’t say,” he nearly whispered, “I don’t have human hands.”
Because old habits died hard, Maeve couldn’t help thelightest, gentlest touch to his palm pad with the very tip of her finger. She watched his reaction through her lashes, gratified when his throat bobbed on a hard swallow.
A choked sound caught in that throat. “Ah, they’re sensitive, yes.”
“Mm.”
After another moment, she took pity on him and ceased her teasing. When his gaze managed to make it up to hers, she smiled, hoping it wasn’t too evilly. He was just so easily flustered, her Mister Soren.
“And what about manticore wings? Are they sensitive?”
He tugged at an ear and his slitted pupils dilated. Ah ha, she’d discovered something else.
They both startled when they heard Soren’s name called from the schoolhouse. Briseis waved at them. “Could I speak with you a moment?” she called.
He didn’t have to look quite so relieved as he jumped up with a muttered, “Excuse me.” Maeve hid her amusement behind her hand.
She waved at Briseis as Soren marched for her, and the dragoness returned the greeting. Maeve was about to turn back to watching the children but noticed the way Briseis’s gaze softened when it fell on Soren.
Interesting.
Maeve pulled the brim of her hat a little lower, trying not to be too obvious as she blatantly watched the manticore and dragoness.
She was sure it was merely about this maintenance or that repair, but with how they spoke and looked at each other, it seemed overtly intimate.
She’d suspected they harbored a fondness for each other; although she didn’t see them together too often, the way Briseis spoke of Soren, like he could do no wrong, certainly caughtMaeve’s attention. When Briseis had first talked about Soren to her, Maeve had half expected her to introduce him as her beau.
Dragons took mates, too. Were said to be quite fierce about it. Neither Briseis nor her half-brother Theron had felt the pull toward anyone, although Briseis assured her that the mate-pull wasn’t necessary to form lasting attachments.
Soren doesn’t want a mate.He’d made that clear enough.
Maybe Briseis didn’t either.
Maybeneitherwanted mates—but they did wanteach other.
And then Maeve had arrived, Soren’s feather had fallen, and Briseis had stepped aside.
She might’ve swooned from the delicious drama of it all, had she not been directly involved in the tragedy, too.
Stomach swooping, Maeve looked away, turning her unfocused eyes to the playing children.
Fates, what if she’d come between them? She hadn’t even considered…
But would Briseis have really stepped aside so easily? Why wouldn’t Soren have said something or explained the situation to Maeve if he and Briseis were already involved? Could their bond truly be that strong if it was given up so easily?
Those questions and others buzzed round her head louder than the fat bees that pollinated the meadow.
Maeve would of course step aside herself if that’s what they wished. Who was she to stand in their way? She was a human, didn’t feel the mate-pull. Soren owed her nothing at all.
And yet…why did her chest feel so tight?
Maeve rubbed at it, not liking the feeling at all.
