Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
The thought of losing her hit him like a blow. He was still too fragile. Too newly restored. Her touch had been bringing his mind back, piece by piece—if she withdrew all that would change. He could feel the darkness waiting at the edges again…that creeping fog of feral emptiness he dreaded.
He wished desperately he could speak to her.
I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t stop. It was instinct. I just wanted it off me. Please don’t be mad. Please don’t send me away.
But Kiera didn’t smell angry. At least, he didn’t think she did.
He took a hesitant step toward her, nose twitching anxiously, trying to read her scent—was she angry? Upset? Would she push him away? Would she regret bringing him home?
Brux inhaled again. She smelled…startled, yes. A little exasperated. And then, to his surprise, he scented amusement.
Kiera looked down at the purple splattered across her front, then up at Brux’s wide, guilty eyes, and let out a long sigh that turned into another laugh.
"It's all right—those foosters do look scary, don't they? And I stumbled into several of the camo—lakes when I first got here too. Come on—I'll spray us both off and then I think it's bath time—for both of us."
Brux’s ears lifted slowly. Relief washed through him so strongly his legs nearly gave out.
She wasn’t angry…she wasn’t going to send him away. She was even making happy sounds and faces–laughing.
But not the cruel kind of laughter you hear when someone wants to hurt or make fun of you. No, he could tell that Kiera was laughing with him–not at him. It was the kind of laughter that meant you are safe. The kind of laughter that made a place feel like a home.
He chuffed softly—apology and gratitude tangled together in his emotions—and stepped closer, pressing his purple—slick shoulder against her side in a tentative nuzzle.
Kiera made a soft sound and put an arm around his neck again, despite the algae.
“It’s all right, boy–you know I can’t be mad at you,” she said, smiling.
Brux wanted to memorize that moment in time. The weight of her arm…the warm press of her body against his. The scent of her—clean skin and braided hair and the faint sweetness of her shampoo, now mixed with the sharp, minty tang of the sanctuary air and the weird metallic stink of the algae.
Somehow it was just perfect–she was perfect. His mate. His goddess.
Mine, his instincts insisted, loud and simple. She’s mine now–I know she is.
But as his mind returned, another part of him—older, aching, and still haunted—whispered that he did not deserve this. That he had already had his mate. That the Goddess only granted one.
And yet…being with Kiera felt so incredibly right. And she smelled like his mate–or like one who could be his mate if only she would Bond with him.
How could that be wrong?
Brux didn’t know–he only knew he wanted to stay near her and never let her out of his sight.
“C’mon, boy–let’s get some of this goop off before we go home.”
Kiera led him toward a low structure—something like an outdoor wash station built into the side of a utility shed.
Brux recognized it instinctively for what it was–a place to clean animals. A place to rinse away dirt and blood and whatever this purple horror was.
The work—bots had already set up hoses and sprayers, neatly coiled, with attachments that clicked and whirred when Kiera touched the controls. A warm mist puffed into the air, carrying the scent of something clean—sharp and herbal, like crushed leaves.
Brux hesitated on the threshold, suddenly wary. Water wasn’t his enemy, but being sprayed and scrubbed by strange devices was not something his pride welcomed. He glanced back toward the reeds where the “poofer” still sat, wobbling and inflated, as if offended by the entire situation.
It was harmless, he now realized–it had only been afraid. But he had run headlong into its trap like a brainless pup.
Shame prickled again, but Kiera’s hand on his ruff steadied him. Her voice was gentle—teasing and affectionate.
“Come on, big guy,” she murmured, and the words wrapped around him like a command and a caress all at once. “Let’s get you cleaned up before you track purple slime all over my home. And if you’re very, very good, I’ll let you come into the bathing pool with me.”
Brux stepped forward, resigned. Anything for her, even if it meant enduring the indignity of a bath.
And as the first warm spray hit his algae—matted fur, he closed his eyes—because her hands were in his coat again, and the pleasure of that made his returning mind flare brighter with every touch.
8
KIERA
Kiera worked on the wolf until the sun started going down. His fur was so dense it was hard to get all of the slimy algae out of it. By the time she was finished, both of them were absolutely soaked to the bone and shivering because nights on Plo’nix got cold.