He crosses to the small table by the window and sets the trays down without looking at me. “How about you have dinner with me, baby.”
“You have me trapped in here.” My voice comes out low, my lion’s growl threading through it.
His shoulders drop. He turns toward me finally, his eyes sad—no, worse than sad. Haunted. He lifts one hand and waves it at the door behind me. Blue-gold light washes up the frame, across the top, down the other side, and dissolves with a soft sizzle.
“Mara, please don’t run.”
My arms uncross of their own accord. His scent hits me full force now—guilt sits on top of it thick enough that even a human would catch it. My lion goes sharp and alert inside me, hackles rising. I press one palm flat against my own stomach to hold myself steady, to keep from doubling over.
He pulls out one of the chairs at the table. “Please, Mara.”
I look at the door. My lion is pulling toward it, my feet already half-turned, and there is a sickening dread pooling low in my belly.
I sigh and walk to the table, each step heavier than the last.
Aaron reaches out as I sit down and brushes his fingers slow over my forearm. His touch is so careful, so tentative, that I have to close my eyes against the tenderness that doesn’t match the tension in the room.
“I can’t eat, Aaron.” The smell of the food makes my stomach roll.
He pulls his hand back, and I immediately miss the warmth.
“Why can’t I have babies?” I lift my eyes to his, refusing to blink. “You seem to know.”
He sighs long and slow. I watch his body fold in on itself in the chair across from me—shoulders curving inward, head dropping. A fear-scent hits my nostrils, sharper than anything I’ve ever caught from him before.
My ears twitch and my head cocks to the side automatically, tracking the source of his distress. “Aaron.”
He clears his throat, the sound wet. “I wanted you to be happy.”
My tail settles slow against the leg of the chair.
“Aaron.” My voice drops low.
“Our argument at the border,” he says, his voice coming out quiet, fragile. “You said you didn’t want to have babies on the community lands. I was afraid—“ His voice cracks. “I was afraid I was going to lose you if I didn’t give you everything you wanted.”
I glare at him, heat rising behind my eyes. “What did you do, Aaron?”
His eyes drop from mine and land on the tray between us. His throat works, the muscles contracting once and then freezing, and when his voice comes out it’s shaking.
“I’m scared to tell you.”
My lion cowers, shrinking against my ribs until I can barely feel her presence. My eyes shift to the door—suddenly it looks miles away.
“I put a spell on myself.”
My eyes snap back to him.
“No—not you, never on you, Mara baby.” His hands come up between us, palms out. Blue-gold sparks climb at his fingertips and die again, little flares of panic he can’t contain. I watch him press his hands together to kill whatever is trying to come out of them. “I shielded myself.”
The air scrapes down my throat. My fingers claw at my belly, pressing in as if I could find what should be growing there. My tail hits the floor with a thud, suddenly too heavy to hold up.
Another rejection.
“But you just told me?—“
Aaron is already shaking, his scent spiking with a fear so potent it makes my eyes water. He takes one slow step toward me.
“Mara, I promise you, I never meant for my decision to hurt you.” He stops, then takes another step. “You told me you didn’t want to raise a baby on the community lands. I didn’t have a proper home for you. And you were going into heat.” His breath catches. His hand comes up and hovers at my shoulder, not quite touching. “I was afraid I was going to lose you. I thought I was doing the right thing by making us wait. We could have time to build our mate bond.”
