She took his hand. And this time, he let her lead.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The realization came to Polly somewhere between sleep and waking, in the grey uncertain hour before dawn.
I wanted him to want more.
She lay in Njkall’s arms, her cheek pressed against the slow rise and fall of his chest, listening to the deep rhythm of his breathing. In spite of their argument, she’d still come to him in the night, and he’d still put his arm around her, tucking her against his side. His arm was still curved around her, massive and warm, and in the darkness she could pretend she was small enough to disappear into the shelter of him entirely.
But she couldn’t disappear from her own thoughts.
Last night she’d been so certain of her anger. She’d stood in front of him and shouted—actually shouted, at a warrior three times her size—and she’d felt powerful in that moment, righteously furious, finally saying the things she’d needed to say for weeks. He’d been deciding for her. Treating her like glass. Making choices about what she wanted without ever bothering to ask.
All of that was true.
But it wasn’t the whole truth.
The whole truth was messier. Uglier. Harder to look at directly.
I wasn’t just angry that he was deciding for me. I was angry aboutwhathe decided.
He’d said she could want his hands and nothing else. He’d said that would be enough. And the fragile, frightened part of her had heard that and thought,Is that all you think I am? All you think we are? Someone you protect and pleasure and hold at arm’s length forever?
She’d wanted him to push back. To sayno, I want more, I want everything, I want the bond and the future and all of it.She’d wanted him to claim her the way the stories said Hothians claimed their mates—fierce and certain and undeniable.
And when he’d offered her freedom instead of need, space instead of desire, she’d felt rejected, even though that made no sense. Even though he’d been trying to do exactly what she’d always said she wanted.
That’s the problem with freedom,she thought, watching the shadows shift on the ceiling as dawn crept closer.It means you have to want things for yourself. You can’t just wait for someone else to want them for you.
Njkall stirred beneath her. His arm tightened briefly, unconsciously pulling her closer against his warmth. In his sleep, his face was softer—the lines of responsibility smoothed away, the constant watchful alertness gentled into something younger. She wondered what he’d looked like as a boy, before the weight of the clan had settled on his shoulders.
She wondered what had put it there.
For all the months she’d spent with him, all the nights curled against his side, and all the quiet conversations in the firelight, she realized suddenly that she knew almost nothing about his past. He knew everything about hers, or at least the traumatic parts. The person she’d been before, the naive college student she’d been on Earth, had been buried beneath the mines. But he’d held her through the nightmares and pieced together the shape of her trauma from all the things she couldn’t say out loud.
But what did she know about him?
That he was the clan leader. That he was patient. That he had a laugh like distant thunder and hands that could crush stone but touched her like she was made of spun glass.
That wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
I’ve been so busy being protected,she thought,that I never thought to ask who protects him.
She slipped quietly out from under his arm, washed and dressed, then went to find Cera in the small cave she used for storage. The older female was sorting through dried herbs, her movements quick and efficient, muttering to herself about someone’s poor storage practices. She looked up when Polly entered, and her weathered face creased into a smile.
“Early for you,” Cera observed. “Usually you sleep until the fires are hot.”
“I had things to think about.”
“Dangerous occupation, thinking. Leads to all sorts of trouble.” Cera set down her herbs and studied her with the assessing gaze that saw everything and judged nothing. “Sit. I’ll make tea.”
It wasn’t a question. She sat.
The storage cave smelled of herbs and smoke and the particular mineral scent of deep stone. She had spent a lot of time here in her early days, when Njkall had clan business and she couldn’t bear to be alone. Cera was calm and practical, with a competence that made you believe everything would be handled, whatever everything turned out to be.
“How’s Tess?” she asked as Cera poured hot water over dried leaves.
“Better.” Cera handed her a cup. “She slept through the night without waking for the first time. She asked for different clothes this morning, and said the ones I gave her were too scratchy. Then she complained about breakfast.”
