Crystallized instinct bid Losa to drop her cranium to her paws and lay still as the massive thundercloud monster moved closer. She focused intensely on the resonating timbre of his voice. Soothing. Deep. Like water running through a cave. Funny how the hysterical fear of dying silenced her conflicting thoughts all at once. It was as if a thick shadow had swallowed the sky of her mind; without frantic bursts of light and shrapnel, the armies tearing her apart fell quiet. There wasn’t time for pointless worrying when her body was crying for help—just as hunters don’t notice how lonely they are when physical hunger gnaws at their guts. Blood shouted louder than emotions. It was a trait that most wolves carried, a failsafe that was their birthright as predators . . .this all-consuming urge to survive despite other obstacles clamoring for attention.

Minutes ago, that masterful command had ordered Losa to flee just as recognition alighted in her lanterns. Unable to distinguish between memories of affection and those of torture, it made an executive decision for her: escape. Such split-second choices had herded her all the way to the lake. When all Losa wished for was to collapse and never open her eyes again, savage impulse compelled her onward. When terror and confusion froze her in place, lungs constricting and senses spiraling out of her consciousness, something cold and calculating possessed her. She had found water when she was thirsty and carcasses to take nourishment from. When danger lurked too close for comfort and reckless anxiety stole reason from her grasp, she found herself ingeniously hidden—without recalling how she’d done so. She became an empty thing. A tool.

And right now the tool-that-was-Losa positioned herself with unnerving motionlessness against the earth, long limbs like roots, galaxy-colored irises shut tight. She had reached crisis and Hurricane represented her only hope. At least the glorious titan was kind enough to explain his actions . . . the doe’s large ears flicked backward to follow the tentative boom of each word, a shiver working up her spine as he lowered his frame beside her. Don’t struggle. Don’t ruin things any more than you have. “I understand.” Trepidation threatened to swell in her abdomen, but her reflexive flinch at Hurricane’s presence reminded her of the pain that needed fixing. A hot, crawling wetness dripped slowly down her ribs. She lifted one satin jowl in a grimace. Claws flexed into the dirt.

I know him. I don’t remember him, but I know him. I injured myself like a fool, and for some reason he wants to help me . . .

The warmth of his enormous chassi enveloped Losa’s side like a rush of summer sunlight. The fur along her spine and hips prickled as if sensing electricity, so sensitive was the lass to the shadow knight’s touch. She swallowed hard, burying her sooty muzzle between her forepaws to hold back a whimper. He’s helping he’s helping he’s helping. Not skinning her alive. Not snapping her neck between his jaws, despite the fact he could rob her of life as easily as he blinked. His breath stirred the chocolate-toned silk draped across her shoulder. Her pulse jumped wildly.

“O-okay,” she rasped, fighting ferociously to keep her voice under control. It trembled violently anyway, betraying her visceral discomfort at having another creature so close. The dancer literally could not remember the last time anyone had been so near. She wished she could make the disconnected pieces of her past fit together. Then she might know exactly what to do, instead of trusting her basest nature to guide her actions.

Losa anticipated the first shock of contact. With a weakly muffled cry, she suddenly turned to press her face into Hurricane’s chest, as if forcing herself to be vulnerable would finally reveal why he meant so much.