To heal a Rogue

BONNIE

”Faith in what?” she asked, drawing the comb slowly through the ends of my hair.

”I don’t know if I’ve figured that out completely.” I shifted in my seat, watching a damp lock curl against my collarbone. ”But I think I know what I want to find out. I want to see whether a system that’s stood for so long can actually work if the people running it aren’t rotten. Whether the cruelty is built into the very stones it’s made of, or whether it’s always been the people who made it that way.”

I looked down at my hands for a moment before meeting her gaze again.

”Whether anyone can keep something like that honest.”

For a moment, Delta said nothing. She twisted a section of my hair into a loose braid and pinned it high at the crown, and then she looked at my reflection with an expression I could not quite read.

”You will see,” she said at last.

”That is all?”

”That is all I can promise.” She smiled, small and tired. ”Faith is not a thing you take on someone else’s word. You go, you look, and you find out. I will be thinking of you.”

”You are not coming?”

”Somebody has to keep this house from burning down.” She tucked a last pin into place and stepped back to admire her work. ”There. You look like a woman who is about to walk into a room and make everyone nervous.”

I stared at the mirror.

The girl in the glass did not look like the one who had slept in small cramped rooms. Her hair was swept up in an elegant knot, a few loose curls at the nape. Her skin was flushed from the heat, her eyes clear for once. Even the faint hollows under her cheekbones looked deliberate, like an artist’s shadow. I touched the corner of my mouth and watched her do the same.

”I still think I look like someone else,” I murmured.

”You look like yourself,” Delta retorted.

She helped me into the green dress, doing up the tiny buttons along the back one at a time with her tongue caught between her teeth. The fabric settled over my shoulders like a hand. She fastened the pearls around my neck, slid the earrings into my ears, and set the boots by the foot of the bed.

”Right.” She dusted her palms on her dress. ”You wait here. I will get the rest of your luggage down to the car and go tell Alpha Lysander you are ready.”

”Delta.”

She paused with one hand on the door.

”Thank you,” I said, and the words felt woefully inadequate for everything I meant to convey.

Something complicated passed over her face. She ducked her head, suddenly finding the door handle far more interesting than my expression, and cleared her throat.

”Do not mention it. Truly. I might cry, and I’ve already done my eyes this morning.”

With that, she slipped out, and the latch clicked softly behind her.

The room fell quiet.

I remained seated, my hands folded in my lap, staring at the woman in the mirror. The green dress suited me better than I’d expected.

Half of me did wonder what Lysander would think of it.

A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it, and I immediately pressed them together, as though that might undo the betrayal. What was wrong with me? Since when had I started dressing for a man’s approval?

I lifted a hand and gave my cheek a light slap.

”Get a grip,” I muttered at my reflection.

The woman in the mirror looked thoroughly unconvinced.

I glanced towards the door, then back at myself, fighting the ridiculous urge to smile again. Would he like the dress? Would he think the green suited me? Would he even notice?

Oh, Goddess. I was actually wondering whether my dress would meet his approval.

I slapped my cheek once more, a little harder this time.

Then another thought crept in, and my hand slowly fell to my lap.

The mate bond.

I stared at my reflection, suddenly suspicious of the warmth spreading through my chest. Was it possible for him to feel this? The little flutter of anticipation, the embarrassing pleasure of imagining his reaction, the sheer foolishness of sitting here and smiling at the thought of him?

My eyes narrowed.

If he could feel any of this, I was going to have a very serious problem.

And if he couldn’t, I was still going to have a very serious problem, because apparently I had developed the unfortunate habit of thinking about Lysander when he wasn’t even in the room.

I covered my face with both hands.

This was getting out of hand.

Sunlight had climbed higher, spilling across the floor and catching on the polished surface of the dressing table. Somewhere beyond the window, the estate bells jingled faintly. A door slammed in the courtyard, followed by the rise and fall of voices as the household went about the business of preparing to leave.

I attempted to focus on other things. I tried to picture my aunt.

Abra.

I closed my eyes and reached for her the way I’d reached for my mother’s face, searching for that same elusive doorway into the past. I tried to summon a voice, a familiar scent, the scrape of a laugh. I searched for a gesture, for the memory of hands kneading dough or deftly braiding hair, for anything that might give the name a shape.

Nothing came.

All I had left was the name and a faint warmth, like candlelight glimpsed through a closed shutter. There was no face to attach to it, no voice I could recognize, no clear impression of the woman who had once been such a close and constant part of my family.

The realization settled heavily in my chest. I could remember that she had existed, that she had mattered, but I could no longer reach the memories that would tell me who she had been to me.

I opened my eyes.

My own face stared back at me, composed but a little pale. I studied it for a moment, my gaze settling on the faint furrow between my brows.

”Why are you still hiding things from me?” I whispered to my own head.

There was no answer, of course. I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d expected.

Still, I’d seen my mother’s face, hadn’t I? That memory had come to me when it chose to, slipping through whatever barrier stood between me and my past. Unorthodox as the circumstances had been, it had happened.

Perhaps the others would return the same way, whole and unbidden, when I was ready to receive them. Perhaps after today, I’d think of Abra and remember more than a name and a feeling I couldn’t quite explain.

I couldn’t force it. I’d tried, and all I’d managed to do was sit in front of a mirror and interrogate my own mind.

With a quiet sigh, I pushed the thought aside and stood, smoothing my skirt over my hips before drawing a long breath.

For now, I would have to make do with what I had.