Page 56 of The Wolf Lord's Mate

Sidling the spoon along the edge of the bowl, I took a small spoonful, blowing on it before slipping it in my mouth. An explosion of rich flavor coated my tongue, and I could only barely suppress a moan.

It was warm and simple, but filled with a hearty sort of comfort. I could see why it was the meal that Patty would make for Nathaniel when he was lonely, and why he would want to comfort his mate with it too.

Comfort me with it.

Those reminders usually sent my stomach to churning, but the stew was too delicious to be ruined by racing thoughts, and I focused on good it tasted instead.

Nathaniel went silent for a while, content to stroke my hair and watch me inhale his stew. I was practically finished by the time I collected myself enough to be able to thank him.

"This is delicious," I said, chewing a chunk of tender venison, "I had no clue you could cook like this."

"I've had practice," Nathaniel practically purred in satisfaction, "But there are theories that meals taste better when cooked by your bonded—not entirely proven, but I wouldn't doubt it."

"I don't know anything about mating-food-magic," I said, scraping the spoon along the bottom of the bowl, "But if there are going to be perks to this, that's not a bad one."

Nathaniel stiffened almost imperceptibly, and if it had not been for the bond then I might not have noticed. But I was acutely aware of every part of him, including every little shift in his emotions. The tiniest tinge of hurt blossomed in him before disappearing, and I knew it was because of me.

It was always because of me.

"I didn't mean—" I sighed, setting the spoon down into the now empty bowl, "—That was the wrong thing to say."

"It's alright, darling," Nathaniel collected the bowl from my hands, stretching past me to set it on the table before wrapping his arms tightly around my waist, "But sometimes you speak about the bond as if it is something to suffer through, or at the very least something to endure. My goal is and will only ever be to show you that is not the case."

"I know." I spoke softly, resting my cheek against his chest. It was partially out of guilt, but also partially because I wanted to; despite my protestations, my body was greedy for his comfort.

On the physical side of the matter, I had never been happier. The way he stroked my hair, touched my cheek, held me tight—it was a feeling of pure contentment and perfection.

Like there was no other place that I would rather be than wrapped up in his arms, cocooned by the scent of him. It was my mind that was the problem, or my continuously confused sense of reason.

"It's all difficult to sift through," I said, not quite sure how to explain it to him when I hardly understood it myself, "It's not that I want it to be difficult, it just is."

"You're at odds with yourself, I understand," Nathaniel rubbed gentle circles on my arm with his thumb, "Your body craves comfort, but you feel guilt receiving it; you enjoy that I can provide for you, but worry about being dependent on me; your thoughts are causing you distress, but you don't know how to rationalize them; you want me to get you out of your head, but are terrified of giving up control; You're at odds with yourself, and that's only making you more overwhelmed."

"Well then how do you stop it?" I twisted, looking up at Nathaniel, "Feeling this way? Because the only way I know how is to follow the problem to the source, and then get rid of the source."

"Then there's your answer. Running away is an option, but it doesn't fix the problem," Nathaniel shifted me in his lap to face him until I was all but straddling his waist, "All you're doing is avoiding it by getting rid of it, but you're not actually doing anything."

"Then what am I meant to do instead?" I asked, and Nathaniel cupped my cheek gently.

"Work through it," Nathaniel spoke softly but firmly, "Bit by bit, piece by piece—you work through those feelings and what is causing them as they come, and over time it gets easier. But it takes time. It takes effort. It takes the willingness to sit in discomfort in order to heal, my love."

"I don't know if I can do that—if I can keep feeling like this all of the time." I said, but Nathaniel only shook his head.

"You can. You are so strong, and it won't be like this forever, little one," Nathaniel gave a small chuckle, "When we first met you couldn't even look me in the eyes, and now you're sitting in my lap eating a meal I made for you."

"It still makes me uneasy," I admit, but Nathaniel merely shrugs, "I get this panicked feeling when I think about it too much, or when you say all those obscenely nice things to me."

"But not so panicked that you can't do it," Nathaniel said, "And you wouldn't have even agreed to sit on my lap at all just a few days ago. That's progress, even if it's small."