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~ TARKYN ~

Stepping into his home was surreal.

As he walked her inside, closing the door behind them a little more firmly than was necessary, Harth stopped just three steps in from the door to turn a circle and take in his home-smiling-he looked too, trying to see it as she might.

Like most tree houses, the door opened directly into the living space. Tarkyn had his lower level separated between areas where he lounged and ate. To their right, a deep couch with thick arms that would easily accommodate a soldier’s entire weary body had its back to them, alongside a thick chair with a low back sat at a corner to the couch, both facing a low, rectangular table and just feet from the fireplace that he only used in winter.

To their left were several wide windows overlooking a dining set, a table with four chairs that Tarkyn usually used as a desk, choosing to take his meals at the market, the covered, but half-open-walled center of the Tree City where the Anima gathered for meals and festivals.

His kitchen was small, but neat with an icebox he didn’t use.

Directly in front of where they stood, the back wall was lined with bookshelves that reached taller than Tarkyn and stacked with books on every subject imaginable.

.....

He hadn’t meant to create a library, but as a youth he’d been hungry for information and training, and as a mature male who spent so many evenings alone, books were familiar friends.

His favorite chair squatted against the far wall, in the shadow of the stairs that climbed from beside the living area, up, all the way along the curve at the back of the tree, to the next level, twelve feet over their heads.

Harth took it all in, eyes sparkling. “I love your home, Tarkyn!” she breathed.

“Our home,” he said. And he smiled.

He loved it too-the bare wood walls of the interior of the tree, gnarled, but worn smooth first by the master builders, then by generations of Anima.

He knew that he should have art on the walls over the stairwell, and his curtains were a plain, burgundy wool. He’d seen ways that other Anima made their homes brighter and more colorful. And he’d always intended to do the same. But he’d never seemed to find the time.

His home suddenly looked a little bare, and his heart sank... but when he turned to apologize to Harth and assure her that they would brighten it, the uneasy feeling fell away.

Harth’s mouth was open in a wide smile. Her eyes shining as she took it all in. And he realized that while his home might lack color, simply having her there, her sunny warmth and giving heart, made his home fuller.

She made it better, just by being within it.

Humbled and excited, he showed her around the kitchen, never letting go of her, keeping her under his arm. And she never stopped touching him either-not when he walked her to the living room, not when he promised to bring another chair into the library area, and then led her towards the stairs.

She kept shaking her head like she couldn’t quite believe the place-which Tarkyn didn’t understand.

But then when they took the first stair up, Harth shot him a beaming smile and hugged his waist. “I love it here,” she said, eyes shining.

The adoration and joy in her gaze made his body jump in response.

“I love that you’re here,” he said, clearing his throat as he led her up the stairs to show her the bedrooms-the largest of which was his.

Theirs, he corrected himself in his mind.

When they reached the top of the stairs there was a small landing, then two doors, one close to the stairs. That one, Tarkyn waved Harth away from. It was the spare room which he really only used for storage. Instead, he ushered her past it to the next doorway which was into the master suite that took up the rest of the second floor.

As they entered the room he let her go and started for the windows. The last time he’d left it had still been dark and he hadn’t pulled the curtains.

Knowing that the dark might make it difficult for her, he hurried forward to yank the thick curtains back to reveal his room.

The bed, massive and wide to fit a warrior’s height was made perfectly, the furs shaken and spread smooth. His pillows were lined precisely at the top of the bed, and all surfaces on the chest of drawers and small table under the window were clear.

The room was neat as a pin-and just as sterile, Tarkyn realized.

Once he had all the curtains pushed back so the sunlight could drench the room, he turned back to find his mate still standing just inside the door, eyes wide and scanning the room.

“I know it’s a bit bare,” he started, “But you’re welcome to-”

“It’s wonderful, Tarkyn. It smells like you.”

The words made his heart pinch and he stopped, still halfway across the room from her. She tore her gaze from the bed back to him and smiled. “I think I’ll rest here while you’re gone... so I can smell you. It will feel like you’re close.”

He almost believed her brave face. Would have believed it, because the smile she gave was genuine. But the bond was alive. And as soon as the words were out of her mouth he felt the ache that started in her chest, and the sinking fear in her gut.

He didn’t hesitate, but hurried back to her, wrapping her in his arms. Hers snaked around his waist, and they stood that way for a while, her face buried in his chest, and his nose in her hair.