My legs collapsed under me. Ian lunged forward, barely catching me before I fell. My weight bore us clumsily to the floor, his body cushioning mine as I crumpled like an accordion.
"You're so thin," he whispered, and then he began to cry. No great, whooping sobs for Ian—oh no, that would never do. He cried quietly, tears flooding from his eyes and down his cheeks in a silent stream. He pressed his face against my neck and held me with all the desperation of a drowning man.
I was so tired I could make no sense of the headline he'd shown me. Missing for six weeks. That had to be a mistake; Russ had come to me outside the deli in Queen Anne only three days ago. But hadn't I thought, not so long ago, that I was missing large stretches of time? Could that have been an accurate assessment?
Russ. Damn that son-of-a-bitch—he had taken me through his realm on our travels! I couldn't believe it; what if he'd not been paying attention and had let me spend too much time in his world? Years could have passed—decades, even—by the time we'd ventured back into the human dimension. I could have died from malnourishment and thirst. I couldn't believe he'd taken such a risk without asking permission.
I looked up to berate him, but he had retreated out of sight, allowing my reunion with Ian to remain private and unimpeded by his presence—and awkward explanations.
It didn't matter right now what Russ had done to keep me safe on this dark journey. What mattered was Ian's arms around me, Ian's scent filling my nose, the comforting thud of Ian's heart against my side. I'd forgotten, in the years he'd been gone, how much the steady beat of that human organ meant to me. I sagged into his embrace, leaned my head against the cabinet behind us, and slept.