“It’s hard to tell if you’re bleeding when we’re both soaked through.” Her voice was soft. American. Had they been on the same continent all these years, and he’d never found her?
Why hadn’t he looked?
She pulled away, slowly. He let himself imagine that she was as reluctant to let go of him as he was to be let go of. “At least we’re out of the rain. Let’s try sitting down without braining ourselves.”
“You might be asking a bit much, there.”
She laughed. Shelaughed.She’d just fallen out of a plane and into a storm that should have killed them both, and he made her laugh.
He was done for.
The cave floor was damp and gritty. He managed not to knock his head again on the way down but made up for it by leaning against a sharp outcrop of rock. Deep inside his mind, the kraken rumbled with alien displeasure, and he had the extremely discomforting feeling that it was doing the equivalent of rolling its eyes.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“What for?”
“I feel I could be doing a better job of heroics, here. Banging my head on the ceiling and whacking myself in the ribs isn’texactly—”The sign of a powerful mate, he’d been about to say. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Isn’t exactly hero behavior.”
“You’re forgiven.” She sounded amused but distracted. There was the wet scrape of fabric as she shrugged off her backpack and laid it on the ground. She moved as carefully with it as she had when she was checking his skull. “This is—this sort of thing is my job, actually. I’m usually a lot worse at it.”
“Perfect. I’ll keep playing the idiot and let you shine, then.”
She let out a huff of amusement and sat next to him. Their shoulders pressed together. The cave was even darker than the storm outside; the whole world shrank down to touch and smell and sound. Slowly, tentatively, he put his arm around her.
She was wearing a sweater that must have been soft and cozy, up until she’d fallen into the bloody ocean. Beneath it, she was shivering.
And strangely… lumpy. Did she have another bag stuffed under there?
He cleared his throat. “I’m Moss, by the way.”
“Moss? Like the…”
“Stuff that doesn’t grow on rolling stones, yeah. My parents are bigStonesfans. And suckers for a pun.”
“I’m Carol.” She laughed softly. “Like the songs. No guesses what time of year I was born.”
“Easter?”
She laughed again. It was cold, and dark, and they were huddled together in a cave in the middle of who knew where, and…
None of this could be happening. It was all a dream. Had to be, right?
“Am I dreaming?” he said out loud.
“If you are, can you dream us up somewhere warmer?” she joked weakly. She wriggled slightly, and a moment later, she took his hand.
Her fingers were freezing. Hell, his fingers were too, but that didn’t stop him wrapping his big hand around hers like there was any chance it would help her warm up.
Out loud, she was joking. But there was a tremor of fear in the air all around her, sharp and buzzing, that she couldn’t hide, the same way she couldn’t hide how icy her fingers were.
She took a breath, and he did too, searching for the words to say—he didn’t even know what. How could any words be enough for what he needed to say?
I’m your mate. I’ll look after you.
You’re… mine.
Neither of them spoke. Their held breaths made the silence between them widen to a chasm.
