Page 35 of A Cruel Kindness

Asshole.

I turned back to Freya, forcing a pleasant expression to my face. She looked happy as a clam, sitting there watching us. “Yeah, this is going to be fun,” she said, running her tongue over her bottom teeth. “Ford and Esme are such bad sports when I try to tease them.”

“Soren,” Esme barked, appearing as if she was summoned by Freya’s words. “Go help Ford with the packs over there before I kill him.”

Soren lifted his hands in the air in a show of surrender before slowly turning and heading towards where Ford was in the corner, crouching in front of a pile of black duffels. My gaze followed Soren as he walked over, snagging for a second too long on the way his backside flexed in his pants as he walked.

When I turned back, Esme was sitting next to Freya on the bench. They were whispering to each other, which made a tinge of panic break through my chest. I’d spent so many years being talked about like I wasn’t in the room, people thinking they had leave to dissect every little aspect of my life.

It had turned me into someone who was deeply private, despite the spotlight illuminating my every move. Before the dread could fully seize me, Esme and Freya broke apart.

“We both started this really young,” Esme said, her soft brown eyes warming. She was without her jewelry today, save for one long chain that disappeared under the scoop of her shirt. Back in her more reserved, hidden identity. “But we are here for you. You can talk to us if you start freaking out.”

Freya nodded along, a happy, if not childish, smile on her face. “We’re serious. Consider us friends.”

I snuck a glance over my shoulder to make sure Soren wasn’t within earshot before I answered. “How, um—How intense is it? The Cross?” I was already hanging on by a thread around Soren, and if I felt any more connected to him I was afraid I might combust.

Just yesterday, when we’d been forced to complete what could only be described as a joint meditation focused on tapping into each other’s energies, I almost lost my mind from the force of emotion that swelled in my chest. An advantage of being paranimas was that we were more tuned into each other, able to mesh better in battle or strengthen our senses.

Esme told me half of what her and Ford were tasked with was going to inspect former battlegrounds, one of them focusing on scanning the wasteland while the other stood guard.

Freya’s eyes got that same wistful note I’d noticed earlier. “I have only ever been a parasept. It’s only a seventy percent Match, so I can’t say it's ever been intense.”

I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t quite believe her. Despite that feeling, I turned toward Esme, hoping that she could lend some wisdom. Based on the look she was sporting, I wasn’t sure I’d get it.

Her eyes were hanging over my shoulder, surely on Ford. “First time is just … odd. But to be honest, it might be different for you. Soren didn’t reject—”

“FIVE MINUTES!” Peter’s voice rang through the room, slinging off the walls and pelting me with the realization I was a handful of seconds from being forced to do this. It also cut off what Esme was about to say.

She leaned forward and placed her hand on my knee, a kind smile on her face. “You’ll be okay. Don’t worry about the puking thing. You’re stronger than that.”

I let out a nervous chuckle, reaching down to squeeze her hand once in silent thanks. That was all I could do without trying to speak through a tight throat.

“We’ll get a drink on the other side and talk more,” Freya said, before rolling over her shoulder on the bench and popping back up with an unnatural level of grace. She skipped into the crowd and towards the back of the room, surely toward her Match.

Esme stood, though in a much more subdued fashion and headed back towards Ford. I watched as her and Soren shared a look as they swapped places, Esme heading back to the pile of duffels and her solemn and silent Soul Mate and Soren heading back to me.

There was something different about him this time, something more … serious than his normal grins and borderline unhinged humor.

“What?” I asked as he approached, unable to read his expression.

Soren ran a hand over his jaw, his eyes sweeping over me. Before I could address how thoroughly I felt the weight of his observation, he said, “Up.”

I crossed my arms over my chest in a show of petulance I’d never once exhibited before this very moment. “I’m not a child.”

The corners of Soren’s lips turned down in a frown. “Please, Bell.”

Whether it was his plea or the hoarseness in his voice that made me stand, I didn’t care to figure out. Standing, now mere inches separating our eyes, I was forced to confront the emotion swirling in the deep blue of his.

“What?” I asked again, though this time much more hesitantly.

“Just…” Soren cut himself off by wiping a hand over his mouth. “I need to do something.”

“Okay…” The Bond was telling me to just let him do what he needed. In fact, it was happy to act like a puppy flopping onto its back for any manner of stomach rubs, but I just nodded in response to the question in Soren’s eyes.

Without another word, Soren bent and picked up my pack. I opened my mouth to protest, but the Bond shut it for me. He didn’t unzip the main compartment that held my clothes and my personal items, but he systematically checked the side pockets.

He spent extra care looking at the steel water bottle, the utility knife, the dried packets of food, and the other survival tools I’d been politely commanded to bring with me. He checked the straps of my bag, seemingly satisfied when the knots looked healthy and strong.