Page 16 of Titan’s Mate

Was she messing with him? He couldn’t tell, which was stupid because he messed with people all the time, and he ought to be able to recognize the signs. She tucked the duck down next to one of the pillows on the freshly made bed, like he was a special friend.

“Is it against the rules to sleep without a rubber duckie too?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. That would be ridiculous.”

“You are messing with me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s just that Sebastian gets lonely at night. If I don’t let him sleep with me he cries little duckie tears—it’s heartbreaking, really. And the sound of his pitiful sobbing keeps me awake.”

She actually made little sobbing quacky noises.

He was trying to give her the stone face, but the quacky sobbing turned that into an immediate fail. He laughed. Only a little, though. He had to have some self-respect as a champion of messing with people without them being sure whether he was or not.

She snuggled down under the covers, her hair an inky pool against the clean white sheets. Then she looked up and saw the skylight over the bed, and her face lit up like it had when she heard about the bathtub.

“I can see the Great Bear!” she said delightedly, giving the other name for the Big Dipper.

“I’m pretty good,” he said, straight-faced, “but ‘great’ might be overstating it just a little.”

She giggled. “You know I’m talking about the stars.”

“I know.”

“It must be amazing, being able to fall asleep looking at them every night.”

“Mmmm. I like it when there’s storms, too,” he said. “Especially thunder and lightning. We hardly ever had thunderstorms in Alaska, but there’s a lot of them here. Especially in the summer.”

“That must be nice,” she said. “All that wildness outside, and you all cozy inside.”

“Yeah. Sometimes I go out in it, though.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I need the wildness, I guess. My bear needs it.”

She said softly, “My bear is afraid of being alone in the wind and the dark.” She looked suddenly small and forlorn.

His bear wanted to gather her up and snuggle her against him like he’d done when she was unconscious, and tell her everything was going to be okay.

Even though it probably wasn’t.

“Tyr might be able to cure you,” he blurted out.

“Maybe.” He could tell she didn’t hold out much hope.

Now he’d probably made her feel bad again. He should just leave her alone. “Okay then. I better let you sleep.” He started to get up.

She said, “Wait.” He stopped instantly, freezing in place. “Could you—would you maybe read to me? It would help me fall asleep.”

He turned to face her. She was putting on a brave face. Messing with him, acting like she was perfectly okay. But he knew better than anyone how hard that was. How many nights had she faced her fears alone, with only a rubber duckie for company?

As many nights as he’d stayed up, carving stone nightmares, because he couldn’t face where his mind went on the edge of sleep?

“Sure.” He sat back down and picked the book up, turning it back to the first page. It was important to always start a story at the beginning.

“The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien. Chapter One. ‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.’”

Chapter 7