The rigid silence following Vlad’s brutal awakening hung above their heads like a battalion of stalactites ready to drop. Kobato was visibly shaken (blessedly alive, but shaken) and her horrified demon trembled as if preparing for doom to crash down and split his spine in half. He had hurt her. He had almost murdered her. Tears rivered steadily down Ko’s shocked face and that was Vladya’s goddam fault. Yeah, something was most certainly wrong with his brain, and there was most definitely somebody to blame for that, but the one directly responsible for the bruises under her skin was the very brute currently wishing he could rip out his own fangs in front of her. When Kobato had whispered “home” in that heartbreaking whimper, Vladya didn’t bother to ask for clarification; wherever his valkyrie deemed safe was good enough for the beaten gangster—even if that place were Hell itself. Vlad answered his angel in the same fatally level voice he’d used before . . . a tone so perfectly steady it surely restrained a scream. “Sure kid. Of course.”

But they didn’t go “home.” Not right away. Despite the rapid-firing of his nerves, the snapping electricity of terror threatening to burn the flesh right off his skeleton, Vladya felt too exhausted to obey his shrieking urge to LEAVE. Whatever had possessed him before had devoured the last fragile vestiges of energy clinging to its host. Kobato fared no better; Vladya found himself supporting her tottering frame as they made their way toward shelter, his skin crawling with the conviction that he had no right to touch her with his filthy, hate-tainted hide. Get the fuck over it, asshole, she needs you. Man up. The pitiful pair of wolves spent the night at Spring Grounds, sharing the den for the first time since they’d gotten there. Yeah. That’s right. Sharing. Like a proper couple or some absurd shit. Except . . . what should have had Vlad howling with joy and crying out in delirious relief stabbed his guts with freezing needles of bitterness instead. Probably had something to do with the appalling episode of whatever the fuck that was merely minutes before.

All the ragged tundra dog wanted to do was bury his muzzle in the richness of Kobato’s ruff like a pup hiding in his mother’s fur. All he deserved was a shallow grave in the middle of nowhere. When the girl shuddered next to him in the darkness, the sound of her hitched breathing yanking on Vladya’s heartstrings . . . and fanned the flames of that secret, starving desire for sensual touch that this dire situation absolutely forbid. Seriously?! his mind shouted incredulously, enraged at the pathetic yearning that infected what was left of his dignity. You think about sex NOW? Sleep hardly dared to intrude upon the silent, intense internal conflict tearing Vlad up anew; he had to be on guard, dammit, had to be awake enough to mentally punish himself for being so aware of the flow of Kobato’s sable pelt when delicate slivers of moonlight fell through the den, the uneven rhythm of her breath as it stuttered from her sob-wracked lungs. The softness of her tail when it brushed his side. The sweet perfume of her fur. The way she fit so perfectly in the fortress his snowy body created as he cradled her close, as if the universe had created them to be intertwined for eternity. It had always been Vladya’s nature to indulge his carnal cravings when they ravaged his blood—he was a gangster for moon’s sake, a violent outlaw accustomed to roughness and need and hacking his way through survival with teeth bared. Why wait for the slow, sweet fruition of love when acts of passion didn’t require it? Why not give in to the overwhelming keening want that was his instinctual response to trauma? It could only be proof that Vladya’s affection for Kobato was pure that the dragon contained that loving, aggressive drive rather than overwhelming his savior with something that might have thrown her already fragile emotions over the edge.

They left for Ko’s “home” as soon as the sleepy colors of dawn began to sift through the sky. To be honest, once he’d finally gathered his energy, Vladya felt somewhat at peace—because there was no freaking way he could possibly fuck up worse that he already had. That didn’t mean the frost-breathing phantom missed the anxiety emanating from his beloved, however. She kept close, the taut constriction of her muscles evident when the pair brushed canvases. Vlad dare not open his idiot mouth; he still had no fucking idea what had triggered his dangerous black out and guessed that Kobato was trying to figure out the same thing. What had they been talking about before it happened? Was it something either of them said? A word? A glance? By the time they’d come within a few miles of Munashii Gekko’s invisible wall, a far more sinister thought sunk its claws into the back of Vlad’s mind. What if . . . he hadn’t been hijacked? What if blaming Kershov for everything fucked up about himself was just a conveniently paranoid way of ignoring the disease of his own soul? Maybe there wasn’t an explanation for his assault on Kobato . . . and the arctic dragga was a battered time bomb about to detonate. Vladya nearly stopped breathing when that notion slammed into his skull. If that was the case, then he needed a backup plan. And that backup plan meant he needed to die.

“. . . Serris hasn’t heard from me since.” Kobato finished her sentence, raising her pretty crown to offer a tired smile. Vladya blinked rapidly, dragging his way back to reality. “What? Oh . . . stop worrying. I think we can handle a little scolding after what we’ve been through.” His eyelid twitched—a failed attempt at a playful wink—and Vladya internally slapped himself. Joking around: inappropriate. He perked her ears to hopefully catch whatever she said next, if only to stop himself from looking retarded (too late). Her adorable declaration—however much it faltered from her maw—made him bark out a laugh. That’s my girl. “Well that’s just perfect, sweetheart: I didn’t want to leave your side either.” The winter-bred warboy took a step so that his forepaw rested right next to one of Kobato’s own delicate forepaws and brazenly twirled his tail with hers—the wolven equivalent of holding hands. Was he being an asshole just to distract himself from his own abysmal thoughts? Mayyyyybe. But it was also a helluva lot of fun messing with this darling bird, and if Vlad didn’t do it now he might never get the chance again.

Obeying a spur of affection after Kobato withdrew her touch, the battle-scarred monster nuzzled between Ko’s silken ears and rested his chin on her brow, jaws lifting comically as he spoke. “Who is Serris to you, anyway? Hopefully not anybody who’s easily jealous.” He steadily increased the weight of his muzzle on Kobato’s crown, wanting to force a reaction from her. A grin. A giggle. Laugh, darling, please laugh—anything but that sad seriousness.