Page 51 of The Wolf Lord's Mate

Nathaniel's form was no less enticing in such a domestic position—if anything, he looked more handsome than ever, his curls mussed and his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose an expanse of strong forearms.

His fingers were deft and nimble, the same digits that had been working orgasms out of me only hours before. I could still feel the trace of him all over my body, his touch embedding itself into my skin.

"Did you have a nice nap?" Nathaniel asked, continuing his chopping. Outside, the sun was already falling out of the sky, and I must have slept for the better part of the afternoon. I still felt exhausted, and had no doubt that I would fall asleep as soon as I crawled back into bed.

"Is that the deer?" I almost didn't recognize my own voice, the sound far too weak and fragile to be my own. Quickly clearing my throat, I turned away, finding my way to one of the open windows and leaning into the cool breeze of the early evening.

"That it is," Nathaniel said, "I finished processing it while you were sleeping. I gathered it was not something that you would miss being present for."

"No, certainly not." Sparrows flitted around the treetops, brushing wings and darting to the various nests that dotted the verdant branches. "It smells nice, whatever it is that you're making."

"Did it draw you out of bed?" Nathaniel attempted to joke, but I still didn't turn to look at him. I couldn't. There was too much emotion still stirred up inside of me, and I was afraid that I would start crying again if I turned to see that unceasing adoration in his eyes.

"I shouldn't have slept that long," I said, "It's not good to do that in the middle of the day."

"You were quite spent."

"What are you making?" I ignored the flirtatious tone in Nathaniel's voice, and I could hear him sigh from the kitchen.

"I'm making a stew, something simple and warm sounded nice to me. Is that alright?" Nathaniel asked, and I hummed in response. "Patty taught me how to make this, or rather, I suppose I watched her make it so many times that the recipe printed itself into my mind."

"You would sit with her while she cooked?" I couldn't deny that it was an adorable image, of a little ruddy-cheeked Nathaniel peaking over a kitchen countertop.

"Quite often," Nathaniel said, "I was a bit of a sensitive child, and prone to all sorts of moods and maladies when I was a boy. I could get lonely, especially when my parents had to leave on business as I had no siblings of my own. Patty would take me down to the kitchens, set me on the countertop, and give me potatoes and carrots to peel. I had to earn my keep if I was going to be allowed to bother her down there. She made all kinds of things: soups, pies, and roasts, but her stew was always my favorite. It was simple and hearty, and the scent used to make my mouth water. Patty would make it whenever I was sad or sick or just needed a bit of comfort, and even though it couldn't fix the underlying problem of whatever I was dealing with, it warmed my belly and my heart. And sometimes, that's enough."

His story reminded me of Mother, of the potato soup she used to make whenever I caught cold. It made me wonder what I would have made of Nathaniel as a child, if we might have found kindred spirits in one another, or if I would have avoided him entirely and written him off as a spoiled child when he was just as lonely as I was.

He wouldn't have known we were mates back then though, too far before puberty to be able to sense it. Would he have wanted to be my friend anyway?

Perhaps that is what I truly wanted to know. If the bond were not tying us together, would Nathaniel still want me?

"This was one of my daydreams," Nathaniel starts, pausing for a moment before continuing, "That one day after I found my mate that she would catch a cold or find herself saddened by something, and I would get to care for her. Carry her to bed, wrap her in soft furs, and kiss her gently on the forehead. Make her the same stew that used to bring me comfort as a child, and hold her as she ate it, slipping the bowl from her fingers as she fell asleep on my lap."

I said nothing. I couldn't, not with the lump forming in my throat.

"I don't know how to fix what ails you unless you tell me," Nathaniel says, "And I won't force you to share something with me that you're not ready to share. But I will do my best to try to bring you as much comfort as you are willing to let me give you, and one day—one day, I hope you will realize that you can share your burden with me. That whatever you've been carrying, you don't have to carry it alone anymore."

I couldn't look at him. My face was wet with tears, silent rivulets running down my cheeks. I knew that Nathaniel could tell, but he let me hide my face from him, waiting for me to be ready. Couldn't he see that all of his patience and kindness was making it worse? Couldn't he see that I didn't deserve him?