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Calloused fingers brushed at her temple and gripped her nape. For the barest second, Lunara was back in the cave, and she jerked away from the touch.
“Lunara?”
Relief was slow as Hedda’s murmur registered, the flashback warring with reality.
You’re home. You’re in the Montrealm. It’s fine. You’re fine.
“H-Hedda, I can’t…” Weeping moons, it was everything she could do not to start screaming again. “The bond isn’t…”
Admitting it to herself was one thing. Out loud was another.
Strong arms enveloped Lunara as she tried to suck air past the invisible fist around her throat, Hedda’s clean mint and lemon scent a gentle balm. Her friend didn’t say a word while she fell apart. Just held Lunara as she held Brand, steady as the mountains that surrounded them.
“They’re on the way,” a raspy voice murmured.
More hands joined the supportive fray, Fern a storm of petrichor and sweet flowers. Lunara had no idea how long they were locked together, swaying back and forth—only that the door crashing open finally snapped her out of the hypnosis and broke their embrace.
The light had shifted, the shadows longer across the wooden floorboards. Every particle in Lunara’s body ached, from skin to joint to bone. Her tears had long since dried, the mineral tracks tight on her cheeks.
Like wheat fields and sunshine, Magnus’s filthy, beaming face filled her vision from the other side of the bed. “Ach, there you are, witchling. We missed you.”
Why he was such a mess would have to wait for later.
His amber gaze bounced between her and his beloved brother, and she swore there was just the slightest hint of disappointment there beneath his smile.
Mag stroked her fingers where they clutched Brand before gently prying her away. “He’s not going anywhere, lass,” he murmured when Lunara whimpered and tried to fight him—a losing battle. “We’re just going to lay him down and get you both comfortable, aye? Easy. There you go.”
Lunara gritted her teeth as he tucked Brand into the sheets, torn between his logic and the overwhelming need to wrench her mate back and never let go again.
“How long this time?” she croaked instead. “Please tell me it hasn’t been another month.”
She couldn’t bear it if he’d been lost and alone with whatever that was for so long.
Magnus rounded the bed, wedged himself between the others, and cradled her face. “Not long at all. Only hours, depending how you look at it.”
“Two days,” Fern whispered, throwing her hands up when Mag gave her an arch look. “What?”
“I was attempting to ease her into it.”
Fern couldn’t have rolled her eyes harder. “She doesn’t need easing, she needs answers.”
Actually, Lunara didn’t mind a little easing. So much had happened in so little time, and the whiplash was taking its toll.
“Perhaps one answer we could start with is why she has my robe on,” Magnus grumbled from the corner of his mouth.
Huh. Will you look at that.
Who cared?
“She is right here.” Lunara swallowed against a sudden rush of saliva, a wave of pain leaving cold sweat in its wake. “And she is about to throw up.”
Lunara misted to the washroom just in time, her knees protesting as they hit the cold stone and she heaved over the basin. Insult to injury.
It was impossible not to think about how, were he able, Brand would’ve been there with a cool cloth and soothing words. With half a soft smile and hands that knew exactly what to do.
But what was she going to do?
The Montrealm was changed.
