InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: Cacophony ❯ Christmas ( Chapter 19 )

Swimming up through the layers of sleep felt like a strangely lethargic process, and, in the haze of the grogginess that hadn’t quite let go, nothing really made sense.  More of a study of sensation and feeling than actual, conscious thought, the main, overriding perception was just how content she felt, even if she didn’t really understand it at that given moment.

The first thing that she could appreciate in a real and concrete way was the absolute warmth of the arms around her and the body that sheltered hers.  “Cartham,” she murmured in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.  Caught up in the bemusement of that last, lingering moment where she balanced on the flickering cusp between asleep and awake, she had a feeling that there was something, just out of sight, just out of the reach of her impaired faculties, and that, for some reason, she just didn’t want to wake up.

And yet, she did, with a little yawn, even as she unconsciously snuggled a little closer.  It occurred to her that she really shouldn’t be there, and what, exactly, had he thought when he’d found her in his bed?  But curiously, the acute embarrassment that she really ought to be suffering just wasn’t there . . .

A slight frown drew her brows together, though, when something else invaded her mind: a strange, almost medicinal kind of scent that wasn't exactly unpleasant, but certainly wasn't at all aromatic, either, and followed closely was another smell—something far more alarming—and it was that second smell that made her eyes flash open, brought her up on her elbow as a harsh little gasp whooshed out of her at the gauze that was taped to Cartham’s shoulder.  It had been applied in thick layers, and despite that, there was a fist-sized splotch of bright red blood, still wet, ringed in a rustier, crimson: dried blood, and without a second thought, she gently pulled the edges of the tape, folding back the gauze as she bit her lip and braced herself for whatever she was going to see.

Cartham hissed out a sharp breath that drowned out the slight whimper that escaped her when she uncovered the angry-looking wound, about an inch in diameter, though it looked like it had been bigger, that was still glistening with fresh blood.  The flesh around the wound was a raw and sickly grayish-purplish-greenish sort of shade, and the very sight of it was enough to make her feel as though she might well be sick.  “Oh, my God!” she choked out, fingers shaking as she started to push the gauze back into place.  “Oh, my God—oh my God!”

“S’okay, Kel,” Cartham mumbled, still not opening his eyes.  “Just . . . tape it back up.  I have more dressings, but they’re all still in my bag.”

“What happened?” she demanded, her voice sounding much harsher than she intended, which was completely at odds with the gentleness in her fingers.  A fleeting memory of the odd twinges she’d experienced yesterday that were roughly in the same place as his wound flashed through her head, but she dismissed them.  She’d consider that later, but right now, she needed to check Cartham’s wounds.  “Where’s your bag?”

He sighed, and for a moment, Kelly thought that he might actually argue with her, but he didn’t.  “On my bike,” he told her.  “I was too tired to grab it last night—this morning—when I got in.  What time is it?”

Peering over him at the clock on the nightstand, she shook her head.  “It’s almost two in the afternoon,” she said.  “Let me go get your bag . . .”

He didn’t try to stop her, but he did sigh.  “Be careful,” he called after her as she hurried toward the door.  “My weapons are in there, including my gun.”

“Okay,” she said, turning the corner and taking the stairs, two at a time.  It looked bad despite the fact that she could tell that it was healing up, but that only served to exacerbate her worries.  Given that she knew what it looked like right now, just how bad had it been when he’d first been injured?  Why hadn’t he gone to the hospital?

Letting out a deep breath as she yanked the door open, she forced herself to brush her questions aside, at least, for the moment, so that she could focus on taking care of him, instead.

It was the quickest she’d ever been up and down the stairs in the main part of the warehouse.  Lugging Cartham’s bag—it was surprisingly heavy—she hurried back to his room and set the bag on the bed near him.  He had his eyes closed, but she didn’t think he was sleeping, and he made no move to open it himself, and she bit her lip.  “I’m, uh, going to get in your bag,” she said, unsure if she really ought to do such a thing, given that it could easily be a breach of his privacy.

“Just watch out for the weapons,” he muttered in reminder.

She sighed and yanked on the zipper, only to frown at the medical-grade packets of gauze and bandaging materials, still sealed in sterile packets.

“There’s a jar in there of cream crap that stinks like ass,” he went on, his speech, slurred just a little since he obviously wasn’t completely awake.  His cell phone, still on the dresser, rang, and Cartham grunted, but still refused to move.  “If that’s Zelig, tell him to fuck off.  I’m resting—like he told me to,” he grumbled.

Rolling her eyes as she dropped the items she’d unpacked onto the bed, she stepped over to grab the phone.  He was right.  It was Cain, and she only hesitated for a moment before she answered the call.  “Hello?”

“Hey, uh . . . You’re not Cartham.  Kelly, about him . . . He, uh . . . He got back safely, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he did.  I’m not sure when, but he’s here . . . Cartham,” she said, nudging the bed with her knee as she hit the button to activate the speakerphone.

“I’m resting,” Cartham muttered, though he did add emphasis to the word as he raised his voice for Cain’s benefit.

Cain sighed, too.  “Just making sure you’re all right.  The assmonkey said he’d set up an appointment for you with a specialist friend he knows, but that has to wait till Monday. Kelly, are you still there?”

“Yeah,” she replied, turning the phone toward herself since it was pretty obvious that Cartham was having none of it.  “What happened?”

“Oh, uh, well, the guy’s brother got the jump on him and shot him in the shoulder.  He should be okay, though.  The bigger worry is that there seems to be some nerve damage in his hands, but whether it’s permanent or not remains to be seen.”

“Nerve damage?” she echoed, kneeing the bed a second time, and this time, it was harder than the first instance.

“Way to freak her out, Zelig,” Cartham grouched, finally sitting up with a grimace that he couldn’t hide.

“Then you should have told her yourself, Deke,” Cain shot back mildly.  “Anyway, if you could, Kelly, make sure the ass drinks plenty of fluids—water, juices—and make sure he takes it easy, can you?”

“Sure,” she replied, slowly shaking her head, even as her gaze narrowed on Cartham.  “Deke?”

Cartham heaved a sigh, but ignored her question.  “Hang up the phone, Kel,” he commanded.  “I’ll call you later, Zelig.”

Cain chuckled, apparently satisfied that he’d made his point.  “All right.  Glad you’re not dead beside the highway somewhere.  Merry Christmas.”

The line went dead, and Kelly let the phone drop from her hand onto Cartham’s leg, crossing her arms over her chest as she leveled a no-nonsense look at the hunter.  “Nerve damage?  From the gunshot wound?  Gunshot wound?”

Cartham grimaced at the rising volume of Kelly’s voice.  “Yes, I was shot, no, it’s not bad, yes, there might be some nerve damage, but it’s not from the gunshot wound.”

“Then what’s it from, Deke?” she growled, adding extra emphasis on the first name that Cain had finally supplied for her.

Cartham grunted.  “It’s Derrick, actually, and it’s from the handcuffs.”

Letting her arms drop for a moment, she squeezed her eyes closed just before smashing the heels of her hands against them as she struggled to make sense of what he’d said.  “Why were you in handcuffs?” she demanded at length.  “How the hell do handcuffs cause nerve damage?”

“Youkai restraints are created with ofuda in them,” he told her.  “When I used my youki, I got a little fried, is all.”

“And how did this guy get a hold of youkai restraints?” she challenged.  “Are these things that you can just go into any old store and buy?”

“Of course not,” he grumbled.  “He . . . stole mine and used them.”

“And why didn’t you stop him?”

“Because I was unconscious!”

“Unconscious?  Why the hell were you unconscious?”

“Because the bastard shot me!”

Snapping her mouth closed on what she was about to say, Kelly had to count to twenty before she dared to open her mouth again, mostly because Cartham, while he was yelling right back, seemed a little paler, a little more peaked, and as irritated as she might be, his health was far more important.  “Why aren’t you in the hospital?” she asked instead, careful to lower her tone.

He sighed and let her gently pull the bandaging off his shoulder.  “Zelig and Kichiro flew out,” he said.  “Eires called him from my work phone, so he saw what was going on.  Flew out immediately, and Kichiro arrived a while later.”

“And they let you ride your motorcycle home?” Try as she might, she couldn’t quite keep the irritation out of her tone—irritation that the two hadn’t had the common sense to try to get Cartham to stay put for a little while—at least, long enough to heal a little more.

Cartham snorted.  “You think they could’ve stopped me?  All I wanted was to get home, to crawl into my own bed, and to be able to sleep, knowing that everything was all right, and that you were all right, too—and you were, so I—"

“Oh, my God,” she groaned at the very blatant reminder of where she’d slept last night—and just how that had to have looked to him.   “I didn’t mean to—I couldn’t sleep, and—”

Cartham’s sigh—such a strangely defeated kind of sound, coming from him—cut her off.  “I liked that you were in here,” he told her quietly, scowling darkly at the blankets.  “When I was trying to get my shit together—when I was trying to keep from passing out again, I . . . I saw you—your face—heard your voice, and I . . .”

“M-My face?” she stammered, her heart, stopping in her chest, mid-beat, only to slam back to life a moment later, sending a flood of blood, surging through her, culminating in a strange sort of light-headed giddiness that she simply couldn’t credit.  ‘C-C-Cartham . . . He . . .?’

He nodded, but he still didn’t seem any happier for it.  Then, he sighed.  “I was sitting in a bar, trying to figure out, just why you got so upset at the gala because I wanted you to have the best time, and . . .” He grimaced and rubbed his face with his left hand, the bandage that had been wrapped around his wrist had worked loose and was starting to come undone.  “So, I wasn’t paying attention well enough, and the next thing I knew, Eires was standing there, and he pulled a gun on me.”

Kelly’s eyes widened, even as she felt the blood, draining out of her face, leaving her cold and numb.  “It was my fault . . .?”

“What?  Oh, no,” he insisted, reaching out to gently touch her cheek.  “No, not your fault.”

She turned away from him, buried her face in her hands as a surge of absolute and completely misplaced panic welled up inside her.  “It’s because of me that you—”

He reached over, pulled her onto his lap, tucked her head against his left shoulder, and he sighed again.  “Kelly, no.  You can’t blame yourself.  I’m the one who wasn’t paying attention, and I know better.  You . . . You’re the one who saved me, okay?  You’re the reason I was able to fight back—the reason I came home.”

She tried to speak, but a choked whimper was the only sound that came out, and she couldn’t help it when a couple fat tears squeezed out of her, and suddenly, she was sobbing, and Cartham just held her.

And he let her cry.

Slouching against the soft sofa cushions, Cartham frowned down at his hands as he slowly flexed them.  As much as he hated to admit as much, and he still had downplayed it as much as he could, he could feel the stiffness, the strange kind of numbness that he couldn’t shake off.  The idea of having nerve damage just felt entirely unacceptable, and yet, he was starting to think that there was some truth to it.

‘Damn . . .’

‘Just be glad that you made it home in one piece, Cartham,’ his youkai-voice said.  ‘It could have easily ended in a completely different way—and finding Kelly in your bed?  That went a long way in making up for everything else, don’t you think?’

Despite his own bleak thoughts, he couldn’t help the slight lifting of the corners of his lips as he considered that.  True enough, he had to allow.  If he wasn't sure before, he was now.  That she’d worried about him enough to seek out the one place in the apartment that could afford her some sense of comfort, and to have that spot be his room?  His bed?  He supposed that he was all right with that . . .

Glancing at the clock, Cartham’s gaze turned a little speculative.  Kelly had gone out to try to find something for their late Christmas dinner.  By the time they’d realized that it was, in fact, Christmas day, it was nearly five o’clock.  Now, it was nearly seven, and she’d been gone for about an hour.  Neither of them had actually considered food for the holiday, though he might have, had he not been out on that hunt.

Then again, maybe not, given that he didn’t tend to do much to celebrate the holiday normally.  Since Cain’s marriage, Gin had made sure that he had proper holiday dinners.  She was even known to drive out to his house, just to drop off very large containers of food if he couldn’t be talked into coming for dinner.  One year, she’d even frozen Christmas dinner when he was out on a hunt, just to make sure that he had a proper one once he got back home.

To be honest, Cartham wasn’t actually hungry, but Kelly seemed to be very concerned that he hadn’t eaten anything to speak of in days.  Had he tried to eat yesterday, he probably would have puked it back up again, but the pain had diminished quite a bit, both in his shoulder as well as his wrists, but, while the hole in his shoulder was almost closed up, his wrists were still very raw and very, very sore.  Spiritual energy was just no joke, and the simple memory of that kind of intense burn was nearly enough to turn his stomach, all over again.

Cain had told him that it had taken him just over an hour to fly via energy form to reach him, and then, he’d had to try to track Cartham.  Luckily, the disposable cell phone was still active and still charged enough that he was able to get a GPS reading, which had helped immensely, given that the truck had made it much, much harder to follow Cartham’s actual path of travel.  When he’d reached the old building, however, he’d had to exercise far more caution since he had no idea that Chris Eires was dead at that point.  He’d realized that he wasn’t there, in any case, but he’d worried the whole time that Eires would show up again before he managed to get Cartham out of there.

But he’d found Cartham’s weapons in the truck where Eires had left them along with the keys for his handcuffs—and the keys for the truck itself were still in the aged ignition.  As much as Cartham might want to downplay it, as much as he hated the idea that he’d failed at his job, he also couldn’t help but to think that maybe . . . Well, maybe he owed Cain a hell of a lot.  With the slug still embedded in his shoulder, preventing his body from healing, it wasn’t too farfetched to think that he literally could have bled to death, especially if he’d been stuck in that pole barn a day or more longer . . .

So, he’d thanked Cain when he’d called him a little while ago, just after Kelly had left.  Cain, of course, had brushed it off, as though it was no big thing, but even so, Cartham could sense just a hint of fatigue in the tai-youkai’s voice.  Taking on an energy form was taxing business.  Cartham himself couldn’t really recall the last time he’d done such a thing, and, while he knew it was tougher for him since he wasn’t a dog-youkai, he didn’t kid himself into trying to believe that it wasn’t still hard on Cain, too.

Glancing up, only to break into a slight smile as Kelly let herself into the apartment, balancing a couple bags that seemed to contain flat boxes in one hand along with a lumpy looking bag that hung from the same wrist and maneuvering the door in the other.  She caught his eye and immediately blushed and smiled a little bashfully, her eyes, sparkling, and that made him chuckle softly.  “I can help,” he said, starting to rise off the sofa.

“I got it,” she assured him, balancing the bags as she used one foot to lever the shoe off the other one and then switched.  “I couldn’t find any actual Christmas dinners.  Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he told her, leaning forward and reaching out to take the bags from her.  The aroma told him all he needed to know, and he chuckled softly when he pulled the pizza boxes out of them.  “I’ve had some interesting Christmas dinners before, but I don’t think I’ve ever had this,” he commented while she pulled a few bottles of various juices out of the last bag and set them on the coffee table.

“There wasn’t much to choose from, surprisingly,” she remarked.  “Do you want a glass for your juice?”

“I’d rather have a mug for my coffee,” he told her.

She made a face and shook her head as she sat down beside him on the sofa and reached for the television remote.  “Cain said you need to drink juice,” she pointed out in a tone that left very little room for argument.

“I think I’ve had more than enough of that,” he countered.  “Besides, I’ve been jonesing for a decent cup of coffee for days.”

She wasn't having any of it, which just figured.  “Absolutely not.  If the doctor says you can have it, then fine, but until your appointment, you’re drinking juice or water.”

Cartham bit off a good-sized hunk of mega-meat pizza.  “I don’t even have an appointment yet, and when I do, it’ll be for my hands, not my shoulder—it’s closed up now, you know, which means I’m not losing blood anymore, anyway.”

Her response to that was to grab a bottle of apple juice, twist off the lid, and stick it into his free hand.

Cartham sighed and frowned at the juice in his hand.  “You know, if you think about it, coffee’s made out of beans, which would technically make it a juice, too,” he said.

Kelly rolled her eyes and reached for one of the pizza boxes.  “Cute,” she retorted.  “But no.  Nice try, though.”

“But it comes from a bean,” he tried again.

She grunted and popped open the box to lift a healthy slice of sausage, mushroom, and black olive pizza.  “Forget it, Derrick.”

The use of his first name gave him pause, and he leaned back far enough to peer down at her as she held a slice of pizza in one hand and flipped through the channels on the television with the other.  She’d said it so nonchalantly, and yet, something about it had felt so normal, so natural, to him—much more so than he’d really thought that it ever would, and even more strangely, there was an odd sense of comfort in it, too—a comfort that he hadn’t felt in . . . well, in a long, long time.

A soft, somewhat thoughtful kind of chuckle escaped him.  When he caught the sidelong glance that Kelly shot him, he shook his head, but his bemusement didn’t wane.  “It’s been a long damn time since anyone used that version of my name,” he confessed when she narrowed her eyes.  “Most everyone else just knows me as Deke—if they know it at all.”

“Who shortened it?”

He shrugged and bit off another good-sized bite of pizza.  “I did,” he allowed.  “It just . . . came out, I guess,” he went on, and suddenly, he laughed, but it was tinged with a hint of nostalgia, too.  “First time I met Ben.  He asked me what my name was, and I . . . I just said it was Deke.”  His mirth died away, but his smile did not, even though it did take on more of a sad, maybe pensive, kind of lilt.  “I’ve neither told anyone, nor have I heard anyone else call me by that name—not since my parents died,” he admitted quietly.  “From you, though?  It’s aight.”

“Why?”

She sounded as puzzled as he felt, really, and he guessed he could understand that, though he supposed that it had more to do with his own sense of surprise than it did, actual confusion—more of a sense of wonder, if he had to strip it down to a more generic term.

He sighed, but it wasn’t an unhappy sound, either.  “Because,” he replied simply, “you’re you.”  Biting his lip thoughtfully, he gave another shrug.  “Because we . . . Well, we belong together, you know?”

His answer seemed to catch her off guard, and she slowly chewed and swallowed, her gaze, refusing to leave his face.  Those jewel-like eyes of hers took on a sparkling sheen, a certain glow, like the most brilliant stars in the night skies over Maine.  “We . . . We do . . .?” she asked, almost breathlessly, but it didn’t really seem like a contentious sort of observation.  No, there was something else there, like she just wanted the reassurance that he understood what he was implying.

Dropping the rest of his slice of pizza onto the box, Cartham wiped his hands on his jeans before reaching over, pulling her close to his side.  “I told you, right?  It . . . It was your face, your voice, and if you hadn’t been in my mind, I don’t know that I would have made it out of that place, but you . . .” Trailing off for a moment as he slowly shook his head, as he tried to put his feelings into words, he took a deep breath before trying again.  “I had to see you.  I had to come home,” he stated at length, his voice, dropping low.  “It means something, Kel.  I’m not the world’s smartest guy, and I never have been good with . . . Well, with most people, and I really can’t say that I understand a hell of a lot of it, but it . . .” he grimaced, wishing that he was better able to give voice to his thoughts.  “It’s just . . . It . . . It means . . . everything.”

She stared at him, her eyes clear, bright, and the luminance behind her stare was full of a cautious hope.  “Cartham . . .”

Letting out a long, drawn out sigh, Cartham broke into a small smile, even as he felt the foreign sense of warmth that seeped into his skin.  “It’s the damndest thing,” he mused, almost more to himself than to her.  “I . . . I’ve never met anyone like you, and I . . . I used to wonder, you know?  The whole idea of . . . of one person that you’re meant to find—that you’re meant to be with, and . . . and I guess I just never really bought into it.  I’ve been around a long damn time, right?  And I’d never found anyone—not like that, anyway . . .”

Kelly bit her lip, seemed to be thinking hard, and she slowly shook her head.  “But I’m . . . Well, I’m not really anything special,” she mused almost ruefully.

“That’s not true,” he challenged quietly, giving her shoulders a little squeeze designed to emphasize his words.  “You are to me.”

She blinked, shook her head just a little bit, as though she didn’t really understand, but that was all right, wasn’t it?  She didn’t have to see what he did, and, if he were perfectly honest with himself, he didn’t really see what she might when she looked at him, either . . . Still, she didn’t try to retreat, even as her cheeks pinked.  “Am . . . I?”

He nodded, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world as he leaned down, eyes slipping closed, his lips brushing over hers once, only to return with a little more pressure, a lot more emotion when hers melded against his, but the connection—that instant and beautiful and awe-inspiring thing—was humbling and exhilarating, gentle and powerful, all at once.

The beat of her heart seemed to resonate with his, an insular moment in time when everything felt right, like the breeze, blowing off the ocean, just after a cleansing rain . . . She felt like everything that was fresh and pure, and the heady wash of crazy emotion seemed to undulate around itself until it was impossible for him to discern, and that was all right, too.

One kiss melted into another and another as Kelly reached up, almost hesitantly slipped her hands up his chest, around his neck, sinking her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck with the sigh that was more of a breath, an exhalation.  Holding her close, he felt the spiraling heat that seemed to spread through his body, but it was curiously tempered by the absolute desire to shelter her, too.  He’d never felt anything like it, and yet, the familiarity was impossible to ignore.

It felt like coming home.

It was so very quiet—quiet enough that the only sound that Kelly heard was the companionable and steady breathing.

It was strange, she thought.  The same silence that had been so hurtful the night before was comfortable—and very disconcerting in a wholly enchanting kind of way.  Feeling the warmth of Cartham’s body, so close to hers was far more reassuring than she’d have ever believed it could be, filling her with the most wonderous sense that she’d found her way home after such a long, long time, but before that . . .

Lying in bed, blinking as she tried to make sense of everything she’d learned today, Kelly sighed, enjoying the feel of the flannel pajamas—pink with poofy white sheep, dancing all over them—against her skin.  It was one of the presents that Cartham had given her, along with a very pretty watch that seemed a little old fashioned, given that she normally checked the time on her phone.  He’d also given her a pink helmet so that he could haul her on the bike safely, and for some reason, that had made her laugh.

It was strange, though.  She couldn’t help but to feel emotionally drained, but she felt restless, like she just couldn’t sleep, but it wasn’t like the nights before, either.  No, there was more of a sense of underlying excitement that she just couldn’t shake off.  Still, she was trying in vain to fall asleep when Cartham tapped on her door a few minutes later.  Maybe he was uncomfortable; maybe his injuries were still giving him trouble, even though she knew damn well that he would hate to admit such a thing, but when she opened the door, he was scowling thoughtfully, as though he were trying to make up his mind about something.  When he saw her, though, his expression cleared like he’d come to some sort of realization, and he just gave one curt nod, then grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her room, down the hallway, and into his room without a word.

“Cartham?  What’s wrong?” she asked when he headed for his bed with her still in tow.

“Nothing,” he told her with an offhanded shrug.  “I slept better last night than I have in a long, long time—and I figure you did, too.  Am I wrong?”

“W—Uh, no,” she admitted, feeling the blood rush to the surface of her skin.  “I . . . I did . . .”

And then, he grinned at her and pulled her down on the bed beside him, folding her safely into his arms and almost immediately, he drifted off to sleep . . .

She hadn’t yet, though.  No, she was too busy, enjoying just being so close to him, savoring the feeling of complete and utter contentment that she simply couldn’t shake.  The memory of that kiss on the sofa was enough to bring a light blush to her cheeks, and in the dark, she bit her lip.

Had she realized that Cartham could be that gentle, that tender?  No, she supposed she hadn’t. It had almost seemed like he was afraid that he’d hurt her if he wasn’t careful, but that tenderness . . . She’d needed that, hadn’t she?

And just why was it that she didn’t feel afraid?  All her life, she’d always thought that she was little more than the sidekick, the afterthought—the person that others settled for because they didn’t have a better option, but Cartham . . .

“Because we . . . Well, we belong together, you know?”

The echo of those words . . . and she desperately wanted to believe it, too.  To belong with Cartham . . .?

‘That sounds nice, don’t you think?’

Blinking at the words of her youkai-voice, Kelly hesitated to answer, even to herself.

‘He believes it, you know.  He absolutely thinks that the two of you are meant to be.’

‘But . . . But what if it’s . . . nothing more than wishful thinking?  If I . . . If he . . .’ trailing off, she winced.

Her youkai-voice sighed.  ‘You don’t think that—at least, deep down, you don’t.’

‘I . . . I want to belong with him,’ she admitted, gently, idly, running her fingertips over the pristine white gauze bandage on his shoulder.  He had said he didn’t need it, but she’d insisted since it was still a little red, a little raw.  ‘It’s . . . it’s comfortable, isn’t it?  I mean, not in a bad way.  I mean—'

The voice chuckled.  ‘No, it makes perfect sense.  It’d be a little odd if you weren’t comforted by the presence of your mate.’

‘My . . . mate . . .’

Her youkai-voice chuckled.  ‘Yes, Kelly . . . But you don’t sound surprised.’

No, she supposed, she wasn’t.  Those doubts of hers were hard to shake, and yes, they were still there, lingering just out of sight, but despite that, she couldn’t help but to feel as though the knowledge that Cartham was, indeed, her mate was not as shocking—felt entirely normal, as though a part of her had already known it  . . .

And what was more, she was exactly where she wanted to be—where she was meant to be.

It was a good feeling.