He’s my friend. My protector. The person who makes me feel safe.
The male she ran to when the nightmares were bad. The one who made her laugh. The one who had held her through the worst days of her life and never once demanded anything in return. The one whose bed she sought out every night.
The one I love.
Her breath caught. She wasn’t ready for that word either.
“I don’t know,” she finally admitted.
Tess considered her for a moment, then she asked, “Do you want him to be your mate?”
Yes,one part of her answered instantly.
But another part recoiled just as quickly. Forever. No way out. No changing her mind. The old panic fluttered suddenly beneath her ribs, faint but unmistakable.
Last night hadn’t frightened her. Being touched hadn’t frightened her. Wanting him hadn’t frightened her. But forever?
She stared down at her clasped hands.
“I don’t know,” she repeated.
And for the first time that morning, the fear returned.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The communal hall rang with laughter, and Njkall found himself watching his mate laugh along with it.
Not my mate,he corrected himself, for perhaps the hundredth time that day.Not yet. Perhaps not ever. That is her choice, not mine.
But it was hard to remember that when she looked like this.
Polly sat across the long stone table from him, wedged between Cera and one of the younger warriors’ mates, a bowl of stew steaming untouched in front of her because she was too busy talking to eat it. Her cheeks were flushed with warmth and laughter, her grey eyes bright in the firelight, and she was gesturing with both hands as she described something—a jewelry technique, he thought, judging by the way she pinched her fingers together and mimed twisting wire.
The clan had gathered for the evening meal, as they did several times each week. Three long tables filled the great hall, packed with warriors and mates and children and elders, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and simmered roots and thesharp herbal tea the clan favored in the cold months. Firelight danced across the vaulted stone ceiling. Somewhere near the far end, someone had begun a low humming song, and a handful of voices had joined in.
It was chaos. It was warmth. It was family. And she was in the middle of it. His clan, so suspicious of outsiders, had taken her into their hearts just as he had. She was clan.
He lifted his cup of tea and watched her over the rim, saying little himself, content to observe. This was his favorite way to spend an evening—not because he disliked conversation, but because he liked watching. He’d always been a watcher. It was how he’d learned to lead. You couldn’t guide people you didn’t understand, and you couldn’t understand people you didn’t take the time to see.
“You’re staring,” said a low voice beside him.
He turned and found that Cera’s mate, an older warrior named Vhalt, had settled onto the bench beside him with a fresh cup of tea, his weathered face crinkled in amusement.
“I am aware,” he said.
Vhalt chuckled. “The whole clan is aware, Njkall. You look at that little human like she’s the first sunrise after a long dark.”
“Do I?”
“You do.” Vhalt took a slow sip of his tea. “It’s good. About time. Cera’s been despairing of you for months. She says you have the patience of stone and the courage of a frightened pikka.”
His mouth twitched. “Cera says many things.”
“Cera is usually right.” Vhalt’s amber eyes found Polly across the hall, then returned to him. “She’s happy tonight. Your human. Happier than I’ve seen her.”
“Yes.”
“Something’s changed.”
