Read Online Starwalker (Starborn 1) (Sci-Fi Fantasy Romance) by P. Jameson - Free Book Online Page A

me.”
    “Oh. Uh… okay.”
    Emmalyn smiled, gave a little wave, and then turned back in the direction they came from. Canna watched her go, but then decided to secretly follow her back to Ula’s. Just to be sure the maiden was safe.
    And perhaps also because she wasn’t ready to face Rowene.
    ***
    Breckken watched Cannalise leave with Emma. He was glad she wasn’t alone tonight.
    After their meeting, he’d followed her from her home to the fountain. It didn’t matter what she’d told him in the garden. He wasn’t leaving his mate unprotected. Especially when she might be in danger from the Helix.
    He shivered, the chilly temperature of the city hitting him even deeper than usual.
    When it was clear she was gone and not coming back, he emerged from his hiding place beneath the bridge. The swelling darkness had given him enough cover that Canna hadn’t seen him when she and Emma had crossed over it. She also hadn’t seen him when she’d first arrived. She’d found something on the ground that had seemed to alarm her…
    As Breckken approached the bench he saw what it was. Drops of his blood from when he’d sliced the line in his arm. Perhaps he should be more careful with himself.
    He straightened, his eyes purposely avoiding the bench. He didn’t want to look yet, didn’t want to know what she’d written there. Instead, he wandered the perimeter of the fountain, searching his surroundings for anything that seemed out of order.
    All was well. Except within him. Inside, there was a storm brewing. How long could he hold it in? All the frustration and pain, it had been worth it when he knew he’d hold her some day. But now?
    She’d cried again. He’d never seen her cry before this night and it cut him to the bone to think he might be the reason.
    He reached out, running his hand under the spring of water that rushed into the basin. It was cold.
    Canna had spent longer at the fountain tonight. Perhaps she was avoiding home.
    He turned back to the bench and let his eyes roam over the crystalline seat. The word that stood out from among the rest, the newest one, was “Betrayed”.
    Betrayed. She felt… betrayed .
    But Breckken had not betrayed her. This must be about someone else. Was there another wren she wanted? He hadn’t noticed her attentions for any others. Maybe he hadn’t been looking for it though.
    He began to get angry. He would fight any wren for her. She was his, had caused his heart to beat. That alone made her his .
    Another word on the bench stood out to him. It was new.
    Rejected
    Rejected.
    By everybody, he realized. Her whole life had been about rejection. A miracle it had taken this long for the word to find its way onto the bench. But why now?
    Because she’d just experienced the ultimate rejection… the ultimate betrayal…
    In a rush, he recalled the devastated look on her face when he’d told her his heart had been beating for a thousand years. Her dainty features had curled into a gruesome display of agony.
    What had she been thinking in that moment? He’d been too caught up in their meeting to see it for what it was but… something had tormented her.
    I would do anything, anything to ease you now, he’d told her.
    And what had she said?
    I don’t need anyone to ease me. I can do that myself—been doing it for a thousand years.
    Had she misunderstood his reasons for staying away all this time? He hadn’t done the best job explaining himself. Had he ever really gotten to the why of it?
    She was feeling betrayed and rejected because of him, because he’d waited so long to confront her.
    Surely she knew he would’ve come to her if he could have. Right? He’d wanted to so many times, but he hadn’t wanted to risk their future.
    Oh, fates.
    Fuck.
    He felt like he was going to vomit.
    Why hadn’t he explained himself? He was supposed to make her feel better, not worse. Never worse.
    Slowly, bile rising in his throat, he rolled up both sleeves of his tunic. The scars of his own