Page 83
Sexual awakening with forest guardian Death-deer?
Lucas closes his eyes as if pain has taken him. “I hate the bond.”
No. You hate being heard.
“That is not better.”
It is accurate.
He opens his eyes and glares down at me, which would be more threatening if he were not flushed to the ears and straddling my true form. “You were supposed to be asleep.”
I was. Then mate began whispering strange honors to my skull. Terrifying face?
His mouth drops open. “You are absolutely not allowed to keep that.”
Kept already.
“Oh, my God.” He drags both hands down his face, which only makes the pelt slip another inch. He notices, swears under his breath, and yanks it higher while I politely do not send anything about how little the covering hides from the bond. “This is why I need privacy.”
Mind is den. Whispering aloud over my body is not mind.
He stares at me, and I send satisfaction.
He points at my skull. “You’re getting too smart.”
You like when I learn you.
His finger stays pointed, but the anger leaves it. Heat moves through him instead, shy and reluctant, and he looks down at my chest as if the markings have suddenly become urgent. “Maybe,” he mutters.
The word is small, but the bond knows it is large.
I lift one hand carefully and settle it at his hip, claws turned away. He inhales, but he does not move off me. His body is warm from sleep, his weight a living gift across my ribs. Morning sits on him softly, smoothing the panic from last night and leaving him curious, embarrassed, and mine in the way he chose.
Little Ember studies what is his, I send.
His eyes come back to mine fast. “That sounded possessive.”
It was.
“We talked about this.”
Still true. I am yours.
His mouth twitches despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
Here, I send, giving him the answer he taught me, and his face does that soft, helpless thing that makes every century before him feel worth enduring.
He lowers his hand to my chest again, palm spread flat over the place where my heart beats under slate skin and old bone. For a while, neither of us says anything.
The morning holds us. The den breathes around us. I can feel the truth waiting behind my ribs, heavy and necessary, the story of my brother and the Varkhyn coiled in the part of me that morning has not yet warmed.
I will tell him soon. But not before I keep this one gentle thing.
I lower my skull until it rests lightly against his palm.
I like when you look, I tell him.
His throat works, and his embarrassment turns tender.
