The sound was gentle–even anxious–but there were no words in it. No immediate answering flicker of intelligence. No rough deep voice saying her name.
She tried again.
“Brux, do you understand me? Nod if you understand,” she urged.
The wolfman just looked at her. There wasn’t a bit of comprehension in his golden eyes–love and devotion, yes but understanding, no–not a bit.
Kiera felt sick. This was bad. This was very, very bad. But what could she do about it?
She pulled back just enough to look down at herself. She was naked, warm, damp, and—thank God—mostly herself again. The warm water had brought her back from the edge of hypothermia. Her hands were free now and she saw some scattered ropes by the pool’s edge–Brux must have bitten right through them. The horrible numbness from the freezer had retreated.
She still felt shaky and weak and a little headachy, but she no longer felt as though death was creeping over her one cold inch at a time.
Brux, though…Brux had saved her…and lost himself doing it.
Kiera swallowed hard and tried to think.
“All right,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “All right, don’t panic.”
But inside, she was panicking. Because usually, even in his full wolf form, he understood her perfectly well. If he was so far gone now that he couldn’t understand her words at all, then maybe his mind was too deep in the void for her to bring him back.
No. No, she would not accept that–she couldn’t. Not after everything they’d been through together! She couldn’t just write him off as a lost cause. She loved this man–this wonderful, caring, sweet Monstrum warrior. She had to fight for him!
“Out—let’s get out. Go into the dryer,” she directed him.
Brux only cocked his head to one side, looking at her as though he was trying hard to understand her words…and failing.
The movement was heartbreakingly familiar—so much like Buck, the giant wolf she had first brought home—and yet now it terrified her because there was no sign he understood the meaning behind the words.
Kiera’s pulse skittered faster.
“This is worse than I thought,” she whispered.
Brux whuffed again, soft and uncertain. I hear you, the sound said, But I don’t know what you want.
She tried again, forcing herself to speak slowly and clearly.
“Out,” she said, making the motion with her hands. Then she pointed. “Dryer. Come on. Dryer.”
She repeated it twice more before something in his expression shifted. His ears flicked forward, and he gave a little rumbling sound low in his chest. Then, at last, he began to move.
Relief flooded through her and Kiera nearly cried.
“That’s it,” she praised him. “That’s right. Good. Good. Keep going–dryer. We need to get in the dryer.”
He rose from the pool with her still in his arms, water streaming from both of them. The sheer strength of him—even like this, half—lost and not fully sentient—still took her breath away. He lifted her as though she weighed nothing at all, cradling her against that broad furred chest while she pointed him toward the dryer.
The warm air chamber roared to life around them a moment later, sending spiraling gusts over their skin and through his fur. Kiera stood close—very close—keeping one hand braced against him the whole time. She hated to admit it but she was afraid that if she lost contact for even a second, he might simply dissolve into his beast forever.
Brux stood still and let the air whip around them, gold eyes fixed on her face.
Kiera stared back. They weren’t empty, those golden depths–not exactly. There was still something in them–some awareness. Part of him wanted to be pulled back to sentience–she was sure of it.
“Please, Brux,” she whispered. “Please still be in there–help me reach you.”
When they were dry enough, she took his hand.
It was larger than Brux’s human hand had been—broader, rougher, and claw—tipped now—but it still closed around hers with care.
