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Soaked, muddy, and even bearing a few bruises—but here and alive.
Alive.
“Thank you.” I rasped it to my own version of the big dude in heaven, gulping hard as Jayd hauled Shiraz into a ruthless hug. Somebody had found another jacket for him but her embrace knocked it partway down his shoulder, exposing a perfect stretch of coiled, soaked sinew.
I openly gawked, only to be cut off after a few seconds. Ambyr Stratiss, poofing into existence from seemingly nowhere, rushed up in a cloud of breathy Arcadian. Wasn’t a damn diss I had for that, either. Given the same permission to grope the man, even sounding all Marilyn Monroe about it, I would have done the exact same thing.
Right now, I was ecstatic just to see him. Walking. Breathing. Engulfed in a family lovefest, with no noticeable damage except a few cuts and nicks. While I’d never known the completion of such a moment, I imagined he was just as joyful and—
Shit.
The stare he lifted, boring into mine, was full of nothing but grief.
That was when a huge recognition impaled me.
Punching two anguished words out of me.
“Where’s Crista?”
