She didn’t know where he’d gone. Or why. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know—there were too many possibilities that hurt too much.
But he’d gone, and his inner creature—whatever it was—had brought him back. Alive.
One tentacle, smaller than the rest, reached out to her. It curled at the end like a fern frond and brushed her cheek.
It felt like nothing. The numbness of death, of cold, of the void of space.
And something like Maggie’s shared imaginations washed over her mind. An image picked out in over-bright colors, quivering with care.
Below, the deep and endless black. Above—an island more emerald-green than the faded grassy rock they were perched on, set in turquoise waters beneath a butter-yellow sun.
Happiness, the image suggested, with a wariness that made her think the word was somehow forbidden.
And then it was gone. Image, tentacles, everything.
Moss stirred, murmuring.
“Moss?” She reached for his mind, and there it was—an echo of the creature reaching back, before she found Moss. He felt far away. *Moss?*
*Carol…*His lips moved, trying to form the word. *I’m sorry.*
Sorry for what? *It’s okay.*
*Tired… can’t even think… Meant to go…*
She waited, but that was it. Exhaustion had him.
Andshehad him.
Her mate, with all his mysteries and secrets, was back. Even if his inner creature had to throw him back on shore to make that happen.
He was alive.
Whatever else he was hiding could wait.
Waiting fucking sucked.
That was Maggie’s opinion, anyway. As the day crept by, Carol was inclined to agree.
Moss stayed asleep. He only seemed exhausted, not injured. No injuries she could see, anyway. His breathing was slow and steady, his heartbeat a regular thud that made her want to curl up on his chest and do nothing except listen to it.
Instead, she brought water down from the spring and washed his face so he wouldn’t wake up crusted over with salt. She kept some aside for drinking. Collected shellfish and cooked them over an ember fire the way he’d done for her.
When they were done, he was still asleep. She forced herself to eat them without any appetite.
And Moss still didn’t wake up.
She couldn’t move him. She was stronger than a human her size, but not that strong. Moss wasbig.All she could do was rigup shelter over him as the sun rose higher and hotter. Sit with him.
And watch the skies.
If Moss’s inner animal was the same creature that had saved her during the storm—was it connected to the metal shifters? Was he? He’d talked about shifter myths—was that a slip? A crack in the façade he’d kept up the whole time they’d known each other?
She would have laughed, except she felt too sick. She worked for an investigative agency. As a desk jockey. How many cases had she worked on where shifters used their abilities to con people?
She’d guessed Moss was lying. She’dknownhe was. So why did it hurt so much to have the evidence in front of her?
How much of the Moss she knew was real?
