Ciaran’s blood ran both hot and cold, his skin shimmered in the attempt to stay human.
Kellan read some more. “’To blame the moon or mead is foolish when?—'”
“You think these are linked?” Ciaran asked. “The siren call weeks before the event?”
Kellan nodded. “Knowing what we know now, yes.”
“There’s a pattern,” Dylan said.
Ciaran had almost forgotten he was there, but when he looked over at him now, he saw him clutching the cat to his chest, wide-eyed.
“Two hundred years, more or less. The Bass Strait boys said, ‘She’s overdue.’ That’s what they said.” He began to rock back and forth. “Oh, fucking hell. It’s gonna be bad.”
Kellan dropped the book onto the table and slid his hand over Dylan’s neck, cupped his jaw, and made him look up. “Dylan,” he said sternly. “Look at me.”
Dylan snapped out of his spiral, which impressed Ciaran, and obediently looked up at Kellan. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Kellan murmured, running his thumb along Dylan’s cheek.
It was a surprisingly tender moment between them, and Ciaran was reminded that, as their doctor, Kellan knew Dylan’s anxiety better than most.
“Breathe with me. You’re okay here.”
And Dylan breathed in and out, slow and measured, and his leg stopped bouncing.
Ciaran really needed to be more appreciative of Kellan’s efforts.
Sawyer stirred and opened his eyelids, capturing Ciaran’s attention, and he quickly took his hand in both of his and sat on the bed beside him.
“Hey,” Ciaran whispered. “Glad you could join us.”
Sawyer groaned, and then he coughed, pressing his hand to his chest. “Ugh. Why do my lungs hurt?”
Ciaran gently touched Sawyer’s cheek, his forehead, his chin. “Because human lungs are stupid,” he said. He locked eyes with him. “You scared me. Again.”
“Sorry,” Sawyer said, trying to sit up. Then he noticed Kellan and Dylan in the doorway. “Oh.”
Salem wriggled out of Dylan’s hold, jumped down, then quickly hopped up onto the bed and trotted up to Sawyer’s legs, meowed once, then laid himself down.
Ciaran couldn’t even be mad. “See?” he asked. “You made everyone worry.”
Sawyer squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what comes over me.”
“Yeah, well,” Ciaran murmured. “About that. Kellan has a theory.”
Kellan came into the room. “Which we can talk about later, when you’re feeling better.”
“I’m really tired,” Sawyer admitted.
Ciaran brushed Sawyer’s hair back and cupped his cheek. “Get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”
Sawyer smirked, but then he seemed to think about something and lifted the blankets so he could peek underneath. “I’m naked again,” he said. “And you’re not in here with me.”
“Okay, that’s my cue to leave,” Dylan said, but he only got to the door, seemingly waiting for Kellan.
Kellan snorted quietly and gave a nod. “Me as well. I would remind you both that physical exertion is to be avoided, but I’d have better luck holding back the tide.”
Ciaran gave Kellan a smile. “Thank you, Kellan. For everything. We’ll talk later, yes?”
