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“What! She didn’t give me—”
“You trapped her in a pile of broken railings, Fern! What did you expect?!”
What the…?
Faldir’s voice broke though the cacophony. “How about I go down and make sure there’s enough food for a dozen Mags and Ferns and we all bloody calm down.”
Brand jolted back as Faldir opened the door, his Third freezing when he saw him. Of course, that didn’t last long, and an absolutely disturbing grin split across his scarred face. “Why, hello, Your—”
“Oh, what now?” Fern shrieked, pulling it wider to glare at him. “Unless someone is dead or dying, or twig dick has lost his shit on the entire realm, we’re busy having supper.”
Faldir snorted, not bothering to correct her.
“Fern,” Hedda hissed across the room, “that’s—”
“I am so sorry.” Lunara’s voice preceded her, his mate appearing a second later. “Please, excuse my friend.” Her gaze landed on him, a perfect blend of vexed and contrite. “She gets overly cranky when she’s hungry, and…and she…”
Lunara’s brow dropped, a tempest of confusion roiling in her eyes. She inched closer, the stones’ glow and Solyrian’s rays hitting her hair, one hand suspended between them. Weeping Sisters, she practically shone, like…like every wondrous dream he’d ever had come true.
“Brand?”
The shock screaming out through that whisper was almost funny.
“Sweet fucking shit, twig dick. Is that really you?” Fern’s whistle turned into laughter. “What did you do yourself? Fuck.”
Fortunately for him, he didn’t give a single shite what fucking Fern thought of his change.
No. All of his attention, all of the swirling nerves and skipping heartbeats, centered around Lunara.
“May I touch you?”
Brand gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the crawling, and nodded.
The others melted into the background, offering them some modicum of privacy as she closed the distance. Her fingers went straight to the shallow cleft in his chin, drawing down the line before ghosting up the side of his clean shaven jaw.
Instead of hurting him, her touch was calming. Trembling. An innocence he’d thought too far away to bother reaching for it anymore.
Brand didn’t trust it. Every contact before had seared him. This was the first time the burn was breathless, and wondrously so. It may have been her power, her cage, that subdued the beast enough to let Brand feel her properly, but it worried him.
What if it was a trick? A ploy or manipulation? A lie?
“I’ve…never seen your face before,” she murmured with a huff. “I’m not even sure whether I’ve really seen the tops of your ears up close either.” She went up on her toes to reach them, brushing the cropped ends of his hair. “You have a freckle back here, just behind the shell. Did you know?”
No. He hadn’t.
“Is it agreeable to you?” He swallowed, both dreading and needing the answer.
Lunara locked eyes with him. “It doesn’t matter to me what you look like, Brand. That was never and will never be the point. The better question is whether it’s agreeable to you.”
Burning Solyrian. He wasn’t prepared for this vulnerability. For such a long day to lead him here. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “I haven’t seen it.”
For some reason, she didn’t seem surprised by that, nodding instead. “I won’t lie, it’ll take some getting used to, but…if this makes you feel better, so be it. Do you feel better?”
Brand had one goal when he pulled the shears and razor out—cutting as much of himself away as possible without peeling his own skin off. For a blessed few moments, he felt refreshed. Clean. Relieved to drag his fingers over the stubble and have a taste of freedom.
He’d been aiming for a rebirth. But as the gasps and stares sounded in his wake, the hours wearing on, doubt crept in and Brand realized the burden of his own insecurity was a filth he could never scrub or hack or shave away. It infuriated him.
Curse the tears that welled. “No. I don’t.”
