Page 52 of The Sorcerer's Alpha

Marut lowered his head to kiss Sycamore’s cheek. “I enjoyed every moment. And now I’d like to sleep for a full day. You need rest, too, my Sycamore.” He lay down and drew Sycamore toward him, running his fingers through Sycamore’s tousled hair. His touch was as gentle as his voice.

Over Marut’s shoulder, Sycamore could see the roof of the tent, the open half-circle there showing black sky and stars. He could sense Marut’s contentment, his languid weariness from a job well done. His joy, underneath it all. Sycamore’s heat was over, but his time with Marut wasn’t. The sorrowful nostalgia that had gripped him eased it clutches. He slept.

He woke to the sound of Marut stoking the fire. Marut had gone out to fetch water and was heating a large pan on the stove.

“I hope that’s for me,” Sycamore said.

Marut turned to smile at him. “For both of us, but you first. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough.” Sycamore sat up, holding one of the furs wrapped around him. He felt oddly shy, as if he were waking up after his first night with a new lover.

Marut stood watching him, an empty bucket in one hand. Light poured through the roof above him, casting him in a shaft of sun and dust motes. He was too handsome to be real, and too wonderful to be Sycamore’s.

“We bonded,” Sycamore said.

Marut’s somber expression bloomed into a wide, heart-stopping smile. “We did,” he said. He dropped the bucket and crossed the tent to kneel at Sycamore’s feet. His hands found Sycamore’s hips beneath the bedding and gripped him there. “Are you sorry?”

“How could I be?” Sycamore took Marut’s face in his hands and gazed down at him. “Can you feel how glad I was to wake and find you here with me?”

“When you were in heat,” Marut said, “the whole time, I felt—” He gestured toward his chest. “You were so happy.”

“I didn’t know heat could be so good. Even with you, the first time—you took such good care of me, but I still couldn’t have what I wanted.” Sycamore rubbed his thumb over Marut’s mouth, feeling a shiver roll through him even though he was sore and weary. “I always thought heat was nothing but torment. But now I’m looking forward to the next time.”

Marut’s smug look faded. “The next time. Are you—you didn’t conceive, did you?”

Sycamore stared at him. “I hadn’t thought of it,” he admitted. He focused his thoughts, searching through his body the same way he had when he healed his shoulders, inspecting it the way he would study a tree that wasn’t thriving. He found nothing in himself that was any different than it ordinarily was. He touched Marut’s hands, tight on his hips, and said, “I don’t think I did. We got lucky, hm? Since we know you’re so fertile.”

He meant it to be a joke, but Marut didn’t smile, and the words fell between them and landed awkwardly. Sycamore winced and wished he hadn’t spoken.

“I’ll take precautions next time,” he said when Marut didn’t respond. “There are herbs. Surely the Sarnoy have some remedy.”

“For the best,” Marut said, although Sycamore could feel his sour tangle of emotions—disappointment, regret, relief. “Let me fill your bath now. And I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Thank you,” Sycamore said, instead of pursuing the matter any further. Some things were impossible. There was no use in dwelling on what couldn’t ever happen.

Marut’s emotions settled as he helped Sycamore bathe, pouring water over his head and bringing him a rag to wash himself with. He sat in one of their chairs, eating cheese and watching Sycamore scrub beneath his armpits. A bubble of abashed curiosity welled through the bond. “Did I,” he said, “take good care of you? The first time?”

Sycamore wrung out the rag. His chest was so full of Marut’s feelings. That would ease in time, he hoped; or maybe he hoped that it wouldn’t, that he would always have Marut this close to him, buried inside his heart the same way he buried himself in Sycamore’s body.

“You’ve taken the best care of me since the day we met,” he said. Marut ducked his head and went back to eating, the way he often did when he couldn’t think of how to reply, but this time Sycamore could feel how pleased he was, a sense of flushed warmth suffusing Sycamore’s body.

Sycamore smiled to himself as he dipped the rag in the water again. Yes, they had bonded, and he would regret it someday, maybe sooner than he would like. But for now, he was entirely content.

* * *

He letMarut keep him in the tent for the rest of day, mainly because he enjoyed Marut’s pampering, and then in the morning announced he was going to visit Temur. Marut accepted that without comment and went off on his own business, to check on the horses as he did every few days. He wasn’t overprotective, and thank the Sun Above, because Sycamore couldn’t abide anyone breathing down his neck all the time.

Fresh snow had fallen overnight. Sycamore made the first footsteps leading from their isolated tent to the main paths of the village. He and Marut had gone to sleep early and risen late, and the day’s activities were already in full swing. Every dog and child in the village was out and underfoot. One woman stopped Sycamore for a minute to ask how his heat had passed, which he found vaguely mortifying. No one in Chedi expected him totalkabout it.

Temur was sitting outside his tent as he liked to do in the mornings when the weather permitted, to watch everyone coming and going and visit for a while with the other elderly people of the village, whose two primary occupations seemed to be wrangling small children and socializing. He smiled at Sycamore in greeting and said, “You’ve emerged.”

Sycamore sat down beside him on the bench. “I have. Where’s Sarangerel? I have an idea of something to try.”

“You must let me make polite inquiries about your heat,” Temur said. “Did it pass well?”

Sycamore rolled his eyes. “It was fine, Temur.” Then he heaved a sigh and said, “We bonded.”

“Ah,” Temur said.