Saved by the Beast (Kindred Tales)

“Makenna and Bard all good,” she argued. “Bard only one can do…can help Makenna with…with…” She trailed off, frustrated. What was the word for “ripening?” How could she explain? Her life depended on it! “Bard—” she began.

But it was too late. He already had all her new clothes in the bag and now he reached for her hand.

“Come on, baby girl,” he said. “Time to go.”

25

The way she kept begging him to stay was tearing his fucking heart out. She was sitting there, in the middle of the bed, refusing to go and telling him she loved him and it was all too fucking much!

But there was no other way—if she stayed, he would wind up bonding her to him and that wouldn’t be fair to her. They might have a life together—maybe even a long one—but in the end, the extreme age-gap between them would mean that Bard would die and leave her alone in her most vulnerable years. He simply couldn’t do that to her.

Of course, there was no way to explain this that she could understand, so he just had to do it. Stiffening his resolve, Bard reached for her, meaning to lift her bodily off the bed, since she refused to budge.

To his surprise, Tiny, who was still wrapped protectively around the girl, bared his teeth and growled.

“Did you just fucking growl at me?” Bard demanded, staring at the Ya’greer. Tiny had never threatened him before—he had never even come close. And now, here he was, acting like he was going to rip off Bard’s hand if he so much as touched Makenna!

Sure that it must be just an idle threat, Bard reached for her again and Tiny actually snapped at him! His long, sharp teeth snicked shut a bare centimeter from Bard’s fingers, and a low growl was building in his furry throat.

Bard snatched his hand back and glared at the big Ya’greer.

“What the fuck?” he demanded. “Look, I know you like her but she can’t stay. I’m sorry, boy, I wish she could too.”

The words seemed to stick in his throat and he had to cough several times before he could continue.

“Let her go,” he demanded. “Or I’ll have to—”

He stopped short. What could he do? He had never had to punish the big Ya’greer before—not even when he was a pup, still learning the house rules. Tiny had never defied him like this in all their years together. And he had certainly never preferred any other person over Bard. What in the Seven Hells was going on here?

“Tiny,” he began again, but at that point, Makenna shook her head.

“Bard and Tiny not fight,” she said. “Not fight over Makenna.”

Shaking herself free of the big animal, she stepped over Tiny’s bulk and held out her arms to Bard.

“Bard carries Makenna?” she asked hopefully.

Bard felt his heart first in his chest as he remembered how he had carried her through the ship just a few short days ago, because she was so frightened and refused to let him put her down.

“Okay, baby girl,” he said hoarsely. “Bard carries Makenna.”

He picked her up and she wrapped her arms and legs around him and laid her head on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything else, but there were tears in her beautiful, dark eyes—tears that he had put there, Bard thought.

He almost put her down then and told her she could stay. Almost.

But then he remembered the terrible, soul-destroying grief he’d felt when Rilla had died. Nobody had to tell him—he had felt it when her ship went down and her life was snuffed out. It had been the worst day of his life and he had lived with the grief for years.

And I was young and strong and able to bear it, he thought to himself. He imagined Makenna as an old woman, weak and crippled with age, standing at the side of his grave. She would have that same grief that he had carried at the time in her life when she had the least strength to bear it.

He couldn’t do that to her, Bard told himself. It would be the worst kind of selfishness. And if he bonded her to him, it would be all he could think of for the rest of his life.

I can’t do that to her, he thought, cuddling her close to his chest. I love her too much to put her through the same pain I felt when Rilla died.

And that was the crux of the issue. He might have been able to put aside the vow he had made not to take another mate. After all, Sylvan was right—Rilla would have wanted him to be happy. But the thought of subjecting Makenna to that awful pain was too much. He simply couldn’t do it.

I’ve got to let her go, he thought for the hundredth time. She can’t be mine. Maybe if she was just a little closer to my age, but look at her! I’m at least twenty-five years older than her and that’s just too damn much.