Chapter Text
“No one can know,” he whispered in her ear.
Leah stirred, reluctant to rise from her comfortable semi-slumber, pressed against his shoulder. It had been another long day but, that morning, they had rid themselves of Tag – not a good patient, like many werewolves of his age – and had finally had the house to themselves. They had spent most of it in bed, talking. Making love. “About what?”
“About us.”
A whisper of alarm curled its way around Leah’s sleepy brain and hooked its way right in. She opened her eyes and pulled back a little. “What do you mean?”
Bran lifted a hand to brush her cheek. Leah preferred total darkness to sleep; the black out curtains let no light into the room. Her mate was made of nothing but shadow. “It has been useful, in many ways, for my enemies to believe your loss would not be a burden to me.”
This was beginning to feel like a conversation that needed to be had sitting up. Perhaps fully dressed. She pushed herself up onto her elbow and it was notable how achy she suddenly felt. How heavy. “I suppose I can imagine why.”
“Despite this, there were still threats made against you.”
She had been made aware of this, once or twice. Threats from Alphas too big for their boots. One time, a rumor had reached them that Chastel had sent someone for her. That had pissed Bran off. She had been flattered – for she had been ridiculous, searching for signs of his love – by Bran’s swift and vengeful reaction. No one made moves against his mate.
Leah put two and two together. She was not unaware of the machinations of Bran’s territory, outside of Montana. She had her own eyes and ears for news beyond what Bran told her. And he told her a great deal. “Is this about the vampire,” she asked dully. The one from Europe who was currently toying with Mercedes.
Naturally, Bran had not been verbose on this particular matter.
“It is very important that you are not top of mind.”
“And you think, what? That word will reach him of your decision to emotionally unplug yourself?” Now annoyed by the direction this conversation was heading, Leah reached down the side of the bed, searching for her nightdress. She found nothing but the fluff of the sheepskin rug. Huffing, she got up to look for it.
Bran sat. She felt his eyes tracking her in the dark. “It is not as unlikely as you think.”
“Oh, please.” She found her nightdress, wrapped around the newel post at the end of the bed. It was one of her simpler ones, no elaborate straps, which would have been irritating to fight with now. She shook it out, a whoomph of angry noise. “Word doesn’t travel that fast. I’ve met Alphas in your territory who still believed you were with Charles’s mother.”
This was a cruel jab, she knew it as soon as she said it and his silence confirmed it. She stopped wrestling with her attire and sighed. “I apologize.”
Bran was silent for a moment too long before he acknowledged her, “You’re not wrong.”
“Nevertheless.”
“Nevertheless,” he agreed. “I do not want to risk you.”
She dragged her nightdress over her head, catching unpleasantly over her knotted hair. She couldn’t be bothered to deal with that. “So, what, exactly,” Leah said, enunciating crisply at his dark form, “are you suggesting.”
His hand reached out. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”
“I’m not sure I want to,” she said petulantly, marching over to her dressing table. “I have to brush my hair.”
“Come back to bed,” Bran replied, a smile in his voice.
Leah melted, there was no better word for it. She had found herself melting a great deal over the last few days. It had been so easy with him. No second guessing. They had just… slotted together, as if they had never known anything different, the open mating bond a clear, pure line to each other’s hearts.
And here he was, fucking with it.
“I knew this was too good to be true,” she told him, vigorously attacking her hair. It was so painfully Bran, to make something simple so complicated.
“Stop beautifying and come here.”
Leah unnecessarily gave her hair another dozen strokes and then returned, slow as she pleased, back to the bed. She firmly lay on her side, a respectful foot between them. If she smiled when he reached around her waist to pull her against him, he probably couldn’t see it.
“I’m suggesting that we could be like this, here.” Bran rubbed his face against hers. “It’s just elsewhere, in front of other people, we may need to maintain a more reserved front, as it was before.”
Before. That hateful time before, only a handful of days ago that felt like a lifetime. She had been a different woman then. And he a different man.
Leah took a deep breath in and let it out. The problem with Bran, the problem that had always been with Bran, was that he could make something sound so rational. So rational, in that moment, that it was after that she would realize whilst it may well have been rational, but there was always, always emotional repercussions and typically only for her.
She had to find those repercussions now before she fell into some kind of agreement that trapped her.
“In front of everyone? Even your family?” Leah frowned and felt him do the same. It was unlikely he was surprised by this question; he would have thought this through already.
“I think… yes.”
“You think Charles and Anna might tell on us?”
His mouth brushed hers. “I think that we need to be consistent.”
“Forever?”
“Whilst the vampire is still in play.”
She didn’t believe him. She knew how Bran worked, constantly assessing probabilities. The vampire was just the latest in a long line of enemies. Someone would eventually kill Bonorarta and then another monster would replace him. That was the way of the world.
Bran eased her onto her back, his hand tracing up the length of her thigh. “I know this is a great deal to ask of you.”
“It’s,” she swallowed, “disappointing.”
She felt him nod. “If you find it too difficult, we can discuss it,” he said, kissing her neck.
Leah tried to ignore her body’s inevitable reaction to his attention, and failed. She knew there would be no discussion.