Monte found himself rooted to the spot, his heart thudding in his chest at the unexpected warmth that flooded him, some unrecognizable emotion at her gratitude.
What was happening to him? Was this some witchcraft? This injured and fragile human female had somehow placed a spell on him, making him feel things he’d never felt before.
He hesitated and merely nodded, tugging at the corners of his lips in a rare soft smile. “You’re welcome,” he rumbled, then turned and lumbered toward one of his storage rooms to fetch every blanket and the softest pillows he could find—the best he had to offer.
Sifting through an assortment of oddments, dust motes lazily dancing around him under the room’s lighting, he unearthed several blankets—thickly woven, soft on one side with a velvety texture that was gifted to him by the Lone Lake Pack’s Luna for all the work he’d done for them. He also picked up a couple of the fluffiest pillows he owned on the way out.
Arms laden with soft furnishings, Monte returned to Kiri’s side.
Monte moved slowly, carefully tucking one blanket around Kiri’s prone form before arranging the pillows to support her injured ankle. His hands moved with meticulous care as he made sure she was comfortable.
Once she was nestled amidst the cozy nest he’d created, Monte stepped back, taking a moment to notice that sleep had claimed her.
Her eyes had fluttered closed, her breaths even and deep. Scanning her peaceful face, he took note that even with the bruises blossoming under her skin, there was an allure about her that he couldn’t quite put a name to.
As he watched her face lose its strain and relax in slumber, he realized the feeling he had was coming from her—she’d given him a sense of purpose and connection he hadn’t felt from someone.
How could this be?
For all his initial gruffness and reticence, somehow this brave woman had touched a part of him that he thought long buried beneath layers of hurt and loneliness.
“Monte,” she mumbled softly while slumber still held her captive. Her hand reached out blindly, fingers brushing against the rough fur of his arm before latching onto his hand. Her grip was soft, weak from exhaustion yet determined. “Don’t go.”
The touch froze him in place like a deer in a beam of light, surprised by its suddenness. Her request hung heavily in the silent room. He looked down at their intertwined fingers; her small, delicate hand contrasted greatly with his large, callus-ridden one, holding on with a quiet desperation that echoed through his own heart.
He didn’t pull away.
Monte’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. “Sleep now,” he murmured. “You’re safe here.”
Three
Monte
Thunder rattled the windowpanes as sheets of rain lashed against the cabin, blurring the world beyond its safety—almost drowning out Kiri’s shallow, labored breaths. Monte’s heart pounded, his eyes fixed on Kiri’s trembling form. Her flushed cheeks burned with fever, standing out against her pale skin—her condition filled him with dread.
“Lyall!” he bellowed into the crackling vidphone, desperation edging his deep voice. “I have an injured human female here. I thought I did everything right, but her condition is worsening.”
Static crackled, the vidscreen flickered before an error timer popped up, his connection growing faint. “...thevalmorabloom...summit...” Lyall’s words cut in and out.
Monte strained to catch every fragmented syllable while his mind raced as he tried to process what the healer was trying to tell him.
He had seenvalmorablooms before—they were known for their powerful healing properties—but they only grew in the most treacherous locations.
Could he make it to the summit in this storm?
And even if he did, could he find the bloom and get back in time to save Kiri?
But he had no other choice. He couldn’t let Kiri die, not after all she had been through. She didn’t deserve it, and there was something about her that intrigued him…
The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for the death of one of the first humans on Monster Island.
If he dared brave the tempest and retrieve the mystical flower from the peak, its essence could brew a curative tea—Kiri’s only hope.
The vidcall died with an ominous beep. Gritting his teeth, Monte tossed the vidphone aside, as it clanked onto the table and surged to his hooved feet. If Lyall wasn’t going to venture to his side of the lake, then he would go find thisvalmorabloom.
No raging storm would keep him from helping Kiri.
He lumbered to her bedside, drinking in her delicate features—the flutter of her lashes, the sheen of sweat along her brow. “Stay strong, brave one,” he rumbled, brushing her stray hair from her clammy forehead. “I promise, I’ll return to you with a cure.”
