They must have been pulled along because they were touching Tate when Peter did whatever he did.
The Veles she thought was Night looked back at her. There was no mistaking it. Those were Night’s eyes. They held the same intelligence. The same fierce drive and loyalty.
Tate sucked in a sobbing breath. “Oh, thank the Saviors.”
Time hadn’t passed her by like it had last time. Her friends and family still existed in this time and place.
“Tate.” Night’s voice was rough. The word awkward on his tongue, as if speaking aloud was a foreign act to him.
Choked sobs escaped despite Tate’s best efforts to suppress them. “I thought I’d slept. That I’d never see you or Dewdrop again.”
Until this moment, Tate had never realized this was her worst fear. That she’d go into sleep and wake up in a world entirely different than the one she’d known. Or that she’d wake up back in the cylinder only to find that everything that had happened was nothing more than a dream.
Once you tasted happiness after knowing sadness, there was always a fear it might disappear. A mirage that would leave you more bereft than before.
Rath left Night’s shoulder, winging his way to her lap where he settled. He butted his head against her, a purring sound rumbling from his chest.
Tate bent over him, gathering him in her arms as she let emotion roll through her. A flood of tears wiped clean the feelings she’d been suppressing since waking up on an isolated spit of land with no memories of who she was. All the fear and anxiety that she’d pretended didn’t exist gradually lessened. It didn’t vanish entirely—Tate didn’t think it ever would—but it no longer ruled her thoughts and nightmares.
Finally, when the tidal wave of emotion had run its course, Tate became aware of Rath nuzzling her wet cheeks as he made whirring sounds. A small rumble of purring came from Night, who now stood within touching distance.
“You are safe; we are here,” he told her.
Tate’s laugh was thick and held the remnants of her crying jag. “I like the new look.”
Night lifted his shoulders in a jerky movement, as if trying to get settled in the new form. “Do you think Mia will?”
Tate caught her breath at the self-conscious question. Her friend was many things. Arrogant among them. For him to show this side of himself in relation to Mia told Tate the two’s relationship was even more developed than she and Dewdrop thought.
A Veles as arrogant as Night would only care about someone else’s opinion if that person held some importance to them.
“I think she will.”
Night’s humanoid form was a little different than the other Veles Tate had met, holding many of the traits of his bearcat form. A more pronounced snout, along with ears and a tail. His limbs were structured differently too. Tate could tell at a glance they were formed in such a way that he’d lose none of the power and speed of his bearcat form, fixing the weakness common in other Veles who were much stronger in their bearcat form.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. His appearance is utterly terrifying,” Peter said from where he still stood against the wall.
“I quite like it,” Tate said, not taking her eyes off Night. “It’s suits you. It’s the perfect form for an apex killer.”
Night’s lips lifted in a scary smile that showcased his sharp teeth and the pointed ears on his head swiveled, showing his satisfaction with that description. “This form is much better for fighting and killing than others.”
Tate grinned. She thought he’d appreciate that observation. For Night, the ability to protect his family was far more important than a fleeting sense of beauty.
“What happened while I was out?” With some effort, Tate managed to swing her legs over the edge of the bed she was laying in, careful not to dislodge Rath.
Night showed his fangs as he and the rest of them turned their attention to Peter, who met their gazes with a determined one of his own.
“You should be thanking me instead of looking at me like you want to kill me,” Peter said with no hint of the fear he should have with three powerful predators staring at him like he was their next dinner.
“Thank you so much,” Night growled.
“I don’t remember you being this bold the first time we met.” The Peter she’d known then was a timid man who’d somehow gotten roped into Christopher’s plots. He’d been protective of his human companion but not assertive—and certainly not sarcastic or bold.
It made her wonder if the Peter of then was simply a construct he’d created to fool Christopher—or Tate.
Her eyes narrowed as she took a closer look at him. Outwardly, he resembled a Silva. The same muscular frame. The amber eyes that were common in that race. The multi-hued brown hair threaded through with caramel strands.
Yet Tate couldn’t help the feeling that something was different.
