58. Kiss and Make Up

Sona coughed sheepishly. “Yes.”
Taos wasn’t condescending when he said, “Do you think Grayhide really trekked all the way to Leto and asked—or demanded, as he seems like that kind of shithead—Rand for a spoil of war? If they even found my father’s remains at all. It’s a damn well-kept secret. Likely it’s fireplace ash he scooped into a bag.” He scrubbed his face. “I thought Edom was less desperate than to fall for the lie.”
It made sense. But… “I thought someone managed to bring his body back here?”
“Did you?” he chuckled humorlessly. “Is that the only rumor you heard?”
“No.”
“Here’s the truth, trinket.” Taos brought them chest to chest. There was a gravity to his voice, to the very air around them, the feeling that something was about to change. “Serkin was the worst father anyone could ask for. He treated me like shit despite my being a male heir. I did everything he asked, learned everything he taught me, and took every blow, and bite without a whimper. He respected Edom and close council. He loved my mother, Sheerah, above all else. They were soulmates. And somehow she tolerated him—loved him. She told me so every time she had to wash the blood off me.
“Even she couldn’t predict his rampage. Houses and wolves were burning down the streets of Leto. There was no plan of attack, so everyone followed Serkin blindly, including Edom. They didn’t know why they were attacking, just that the bloodlust got out of control and they forgot logic. Whoever came back here—that’s how I know this shit—was ashamed. Some even deserted.”
Sona’s jaw dropped. A werewolf who deserted their pack was labeled as a Lone. To leave was the ultimate statement of betrayal and shame. Once they left, they could never go back. It happened so rarely that it was jarring news.
Taos’ fingers brushed hers; she sensed request in them. Her sympathy made her cave and she let him intertwine them with hers. His head was bowed, but she caught the faintest of smiles. 
Then it was gone. “No one brought Serkin’s body back. No one knew where he went in all the chaos. Did he burn to a crisp? Did someone murder him? Shaw’s father died that day, too; maybe they faced off, neither the winner. There are theories he’s still alive somewhere. Leto might know, they might not.”
He lifted his face to hers. There was sorrow in every line. “Someone who knows the real, full truth is out there. I don’t give a shit anymore. He’s dead and he died somewhere in Leto. That’s all anyone needs to know. Just fucking get over it and stop running mouths.”
Sona clasped his other hand in hers. The multitude of rumors surrounding the Redbone family and pack were cruel; no doubt there were more than she’d heard, even growing up in two packs. And she hadn’t cared how terrible they were because she’d been led to believe that Taos was just as evil as Serkin and deserved to hear them all.
Taos *did* hear them all. And it devastated him. 
No matter if he loved his father or not, it wasn’t fair to hear a name dragged through mud and blood. He was blamed for everything Serkin did even if he had nothing to do with it. Taos had *inherited* the hate as an adolescent. Sona wouldn’t wish a legacy like that on any young wolf.  
Sona sighed and pulled her hand free to rest it on Taos’ cheek. He started in surprise, dark eyes wide and caught off-guard. What a strangely innocent look. She held it for a few moments to carve it into her memories to remember when those eyes were narrowed and angry, to remind her that he was capable of more than violence.
Finally she murmured, “You are not your father, Taos.”
For the first time, Taos had no smart remark to make. He just stared at her as if he couldn’t quite believe her. But she was nothing but honest. She believed it; she wanted *him* to believe it.
“What do I have to do to convince you?” Sona whispered.
“Forgive me.”
“What?”
Taos leaned into her hand. “In exchange. I take your word that you think I'm above all that shit…and you forgive me for being a massive fur-brained idiot.”
“That’s not the best deal you’ve made,” she began with a sigh as his free hand held her wrist to keep her palm against his stubbled cheek, “but I think we’ve suffered enough.”
He let out a long exhale of relief and, to her surprise, dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “Thank the moon god.”
Sona reflexively moved her hand to the nape of his neck, fingers brushing the tiny hairs, gently stroking. She’d done it to Conri often to soothe him after a stressful day. He’d always told her how it calmed him so much that he almost fell asleep. That had always made her warm with love; she had the power to relieve mind and body with so simple a gesture. 
“You couldn’t stand it without me, huh,” she said as a joke.
Taos pulled away with a jerk. “Not at all, trinket. My heart ached without your body next to mine.”
“Just my body.”
“No. Never *just*.” Taos’ hands cupped her face with more gentleness than they seemed capable of. “Your disdainful voice, your scowl and your smile, your eyes always sharp with observation…everything. I missed everything about you, Sona.”
Now he rendered her speechless. “It’s…it barely been a day.”
“Far too long, my dear,” he murmured. 
Taos’ hands slid to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair to loosen the braid. She tilted her chin up and, moon goddess smite her, her gaze went straight to his lips. He noticed. They both knew what that meant.
“One thing I did learn from my bastard father,” Taos breathed, tilting his head to the side, “is that I know how to romance a female.”
Sona mirrored his motion. Her heart was pounding in her ears. “By abducting them?” she breathed back. 
“And then licking them in wonderful places, yes.”
“*That’s* what you call romance?” 
“What would you call it, delicious?”
“...A dirty skill.”
Taos’ forehead rested on hers and she closed her eyes to breathe him in. For the briefest of moments, she dreaded that she would find him still in a rut and every word he said was just to gain her sympathy to make a move. 
But when his scent wreathed her senses, there was no trace of his rut. 
“You smell nice,” he purred. 
“I doubt that,” Sona said softly. Their lips were inches away. “You know what’s funny?”
Taos’ palms were skating down her back. When they reached her ass, his fingers squeezed her flesh, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he lifted her onto her toes. Sona had to lock her arms around his shoulders to keep herself steady. “How my sister thinks she’ll be taller than me one day?”
She held in her snort. “What? No. We haven’t kissed yet.”
Taos drew away, just enough for their eyes to meet. His brows knit. “Yes we have. I’ve kissed you in many places.”
“Not on the lips.”
“Well then.” In one deft movement, Taos hoisted Sona up onto the table, eliciting a gasp out of her throat. “We should fix that, shouldn’t we?”
*Oh gods, Sona, why are you so eager?*
She shuddered, hooking her legs around his waist. “We should."