Chapter 18: The Mark Waits

I told Bram everything the next night, standing at the sink while the dishes dripped.

The bridge, the bond, the phone, the way Cormac had said "all right."

He listened with his arms folded and didn't interrupt once.

When I finished, he said, "You went alone."

"I did."

"In the dark, to a man who broke your hand."

"The bond was pulling at me."

"I know." He looked at the floor. "I woke up and you weren't there.

I felt it, Morven. I felt you go toward him."

His voice wasn't angry.

It was quiet, and it was worse.

"I came back," I said.

"You did."

"I'm going to keep coming back."

"I know that, too." He lifted his head. "I'm not afraid of him.

I'm afraid of a thread I can't cut for you."

I dried my hands on a towel.

I looked at this huge, gentle, careful man who stood in his own kitchen like a guest.

I thought about every time Cormac had made me feel like a favor he was doing the pack.

Rory was asleep in the healer's cottage again.

It was the second night that she had insisted, and I suspected Bram had given her a bottle of whiskey.

"Come here," I said.

"Morven, I don't want you to think..."

"I don't. Come here."

He came.

I took his hand and led him down the hall to the bedroom, and this time it was me who shut the door.

I pushed him back against it.

He went easily, with a startled breath, and his eyes went wide and gold.

I got both hands on the front of his shirt and kissed him, slow and deep.

I kept at it until I felt his heartbeat go wild under my palm.

"Take your shirt off," I said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't call me that."

"Morven."

"Better."

He pulled the shirt over his head.

I stood there and looked at the whole broad scarred width of him.

Then I put my right hand flat on the middle of his chest.

My crooked fingers spread wide against his skin.

His heart slammed into my hand.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to touch you like this?" I said.

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