Luca shook his head back and forth, then he too shifted into the black wolf with a crackle of electricity. He did not venture away but waited for Allora.
Allora lay a hand upon Sienna's crown. Sierra shied away a little, leaning toward Nikolai. Allora brushed her hand down to the tips of a lock of Sienna's copper hair. "I am so grateful the hartstone has bestowed her gift upon you."
Sienna frowned, looking back where it still beat a constant pulse. "I am, too. But it changed me somehow." She gazed at her hands. "I feel something new burning inside of me. Not painful at all. But … different."
"We will discover what that might be tomorrow," said Allora. "Tonight, I believe your lover wants you to rest. He has also had a long, difficult journey." She smiled at Nikolai. And in her eyes he saw empathy for his tragic journey, not the physical but the emotional one that had nearly crippled him. Killed him.
He gave her a thankful nod.
Allora smiled, then turned toward Luca. She caressed Luca's muzzle. He licked her hand. She started to run away with Luca chasing after her. With a tinkling laugh, she shifted into the white she-wolf, the two of them disappearing into the shadowy night together.
Nikolai swept Sienna into his arms, his own muscles sore with fatigue from carrying her so far already, though he didn't give a damn. He'd let his arms break in half before he let her go again.
"Nikolai, I can walk," she said, clasping her hands around his shoulders.
"Enough. My own beast is going to claw right out of my skin unless I get you indoors and safe."
"Then take me home." She pressed a kiss to his neck and burrowed her head against him.
Nikolai's stomach flipped end over end at her gentle affection. Not an hour before, he thought he'd lost her forever. But the beating, living hartstone of Silvane Forest brought her back. He wasn't sure what it had done to her in the process. But like Allora said, they'd figure that out tomorrow. Right now, he wanted to be alone with the woman he adored, worshipped, cherished … and loved.
Chapter Twenty-Five
She had died?
"All I remember was a dream," she told Nikolai as he stoked the fire to life in the hearth.
Sienna sat on her sofa with a quilt wrapped tightly around her. Nikolai had taken it from her bed and covered her body the second they'd walked inside her freezing cottage. He'd gone outside and found a few dry logs and kindling. The chill slowly melted away, and yet Nikolai hadn't looked at her once since they'd come inside.
He stared into the hearth, one arm propped on the mantel, his shoulders bunched, his head ducked low. "What happened in the dream?"
"I wandered through a misty wood. All I could hear was your voice calling me." She fisted her hands in the edges of the quilt. "But I couldn't find you."
He didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't even look at her.
"Finally, I stumbled into a meadow where your voice seemed to emanate from a silver-white tree. When I touched it, my entire body caught on fire. That was all I remembered before waking up on the … on the hartstone." She longed for him to look at her, to touch her, to hold her. "What did the hartstone do to me? Besides bring me back. I feel different."
"I don't know," he said, his voice dragging on gravel and rock.
Silence deepened between them. Gilded by firelight, his profile was sharp, his lips pressed tight, his expression grim and distant.
"Are you-are you all right?"
He scoffed and finally turned to her. She swallowed hard at the tormented expression contorting his face.
"Are you angry with me?"
"Angry with you?" His tone was full of menace, yet he didn't move from the mantel. "I want to race back to Dale's Peak and burn alive every man, woman, and child who stood there and watched what happened to you. I want to hunt down that bloody bastard Volkov and his men and rip their fucking throats out with my bare teeth. I want to murder the world and bathe in their blood, and still, it wouldn't be punishment enough." His voice trembled with rising fury. His vocals strained with quaking rage. "Not nearly enough."
Sienna stood and approached him slowly, for he seemed about to bolt at any minute. Or combust with boiling rage. She lifted a hand from under the quilt.
He followed her hand as if it were a snake about to strike. He was afraid.
"Shhh." She reached out and swept a lock of hair away from his stern brow. His eyes slid closed, and he exhaled a shaky breath. "Let the anger go, Nikolai."
"I bloody can't." Voice still quivering, his chest rose and fell quickly, and his eyes remained closed.
"Yes, you can," she soothed. She slid one hand to cup his gaunt cheek. He'd worn himself out, saving her, his paleness more striking now that she could see him in the light. She lifted her other hand, letting the quilt drop to the floor. Wrapping his nape with a soothing caress of her nails, she dragged him closer.