My leaden arms fell to my sides and my hand met with coarse, stringy fur. It moved up and down beneath my touch.
My eyes snapped open.
Isaiah waited several inches from my face, his body as tall as the bedframe, his head on the mattress, stretching to reach me.
“Hello,” I rasped uncertainly, and his tongue unfurled from his head.
Beyond Isaiah, another sound found me—soft breath, in and out.
I bolted upright.
In an armchair before the hearth, Patrick slept with his chin on his chest.
My slamming pulse slowed at the sight of him—purple eyelids, crossed arms, legs slack and too long for comfort. He seemed softer like this, the sharp edges of him muted in sleep.
I suddenly recalled a whisper in my ear telling me to lay down, to sleep.
He must have carried me to my bed, up all those f
