His lips parted to call her name, “Freya?”
The creature let out a long breath then collapsed to the ground, its long tails wiggling slightly.
In a blink, her form began to change.
The dark fur melted away. Her bones shifted. Limbs reshaped.
There, lying in the blood-stained grass under the heavy rain, was Freya—naked, fragile-looking, her body pale and bruised. The cat rested beside her, curled gently into the crook of her limp arm.
She wasn’t moving.
“Freya,” Torin gasped, rushing forward as he called her name again. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t focus on himself even though his wounds were severe.
He knelt and lifted her into his arms, heart pounding. Her skin was cold and her breathing was faint. She had come for him. She had saved him. This very woman who had gone through a lot
