And then the darkness closed over her.
33
BRUX
Brux was struggling to stay sentient.
He could feel it happening–the void was sucking at him again. Allowing the Rage to take over while he fought Higgs had brought the primal side roaring back to the surface, and now it wanted more. More blood. More violence. More mindless surrender.
It clawed at the inside of his skull and dragged at his thoughts, trying to pull them down into that old terrible emptiness where words dissolved and reason became instinct, and nothing mattered except hunger and fear and the need to protect what was his.
Already he could feel the edges of his conscious mind fraying.
Thoughts that ought to have come clearly were breaking apart before he could hold them. His human form still clung to him–mostly–but the wolf’s face remained, and his eyes still burned red with Rage.
His breath came hard and rough through his muzzle. Every scent in the freezing warehouse hit him too strongly—blood and fear and dead meat and the bitter stink of Higgs’ opened throat and, brightest and most important of all, Kiera.
Kiera. His mate.
Brux focused on her, trying to claw back from the edge of nothingness that threatened to suck him down.
She was slumped on the bloody floor where Higgs had thrown her, half—curled on her side, hands still tied in front of her, skin pale and ashy beneath the harsh freezer lights. Frost had gathered in her braids. Her whole body smelled wrong—too cold, too still, too close to danger.
She was freezing to death.
The thought came to him like a blow.
No. No, no, no.
He dropped to his knees beside her. The cold no longer meant anything to him. Neither did the pain from the stab wounds in his side and shoulder and ribs. He was aware of them, distantly—warm blood slipping down his fur and skin—but they didn’t matter. Monstrum healed quickly–those wounds would close.
What mattered was Kiera.
She felt like a statue made of ice when he gathered her into his arms. Brux couldn’t talk but a terrible, broken sound came from deep in his chest.
Too cold–she was much too cold.
Sentient thoughts struggled to the surface of his mind.
Must get warm…must heal…
His thoughts had become that simple now–that rudimentary. The long careful lines of reason he had fought so hard to hold were fraying faster by the second. There was only Kiera in his arms, limp and freezing and precious beyond measure. Only the certainty that if he did not warm her up right now, he would lose her forever.
Lose her. Can’t lose her.
The words barely meant anything in his slipping mind and yet the fear of it was enormous. He got to his feet with her clutched against his chest and staggered out of the freezing warehouse.
The change in temperature outside hit him all at once. The air on Plo’nix was cool—always a little cool—but after the deep freeze it felt almost warm. The sky overhead had deepened toward evening, lavender deepening to royal purple at the edges. The silver—threaded grass bent in the wind. The chiming trees whispered.
Brux barely saw any of it. He started toward the sanctuary–started in the direction where home lay. But could he heal her there?
At first he thought—shuttle. Take shuttle. Faster. Go to Mother Ship.
But even as the thought rose, it slid away from him again. It was too many steps…too many controls…too much thinking.
He could feel the beast pushing harder inside him, crowding out words and logic and memory. He did not trust himself to fly anything now. Not with Kiera’s life in his hands.
So instead, he ran.
