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Not real. It hadn’t been real.

Luna grumbled beside him and turned away, hugging a pillow to herself, but he couldn’t feel her. Didn’t sense the bond.

“No,” he rasped, clawing at his chest, heart flipping over hard enough to turn his stomach. “No.”

A flash of silver shot across the room and up onto the bed, straight into him.

Stirling snuggled his way under Brand’s chin, bumping it once with his head before settling in and going utterly still. At first, the fox’s little heartbeat hammered in time with his own, but every passing second slowed them down and—little by little—he found his way towards calm. Towards sanity.

The first full breath allowed the bond to bloom again, and Luna’s peace washed over him like a gentle wave. The second freed him to take back his control.

Brand released the Greater with a long sigh, scrubbing both hands down his face, and tucked Stirling into the crook of his elbow as he eased himself from the bed.

There was no such thing as finding sleep again tonight. Not with an anxious buzz still running rampant over his skin. A cold sweat on his brow. Not when more of the same might greet him if he closed his eyes again.

He grabbed a half-full glass of water from a side table and made for the balcony.

Brand needed the salty tang on the air to fill his lungs, and for the breeze to tease gentle fingers through his hair. For the Montrealm to remind him that he was home, safe, and that those hideous scenes were nothing more than twisted recollections and imagined lies.

And he needed to do it himself.

There was no doubt in his mind that Luna would sit up with him the rest of the night, waiting for the sunstar to rise. That she’d rub the furrow from his brow and offer endless reassurances, helping him to breathe and find calm.

Amun pulled Brand aside after their meeting earlier, when everyone was dispersing, and gave him some words of wisdom. Gentle. Kind. “The relief fades,” he said. “And sometimes, harsh reminders of what was done rear up their ugly heads when you least expect them. They might never fully leave you. The worst thing you could do is feel ashamed when they happen. Trust me, I would know.”

Maybe Amun’s advice gave him permission to fall apart. Maybe his brother somehow knew it was coming. Either way, if that was truly the case—that they never fully left—it was imperative Brand find his own way towards peace without relying on Luna to soothe him every time he had an episode.

Besides, after the day she had, his mate needed her own disconnection from the world and its pains. Her own time to heal.

Brand set Stirling on the banister, his water beside. Leaning against the stone, he closed his eyes and let Straelon hold him instead.

Brand watched the first rays of Solyrian hit the land, this side of the Sacred Sisters and what lay beneath the twin peaks still buried in shadow, and smiled to himself.

It worked. He did his breathing and communed with himself, Stirling’s tawny fur beneath his fingers offering soft support, and it worked. Without drama. Without the need for his rage or tears. Just the waves as an accompaniment to the Montrealm’s majestic backdrop and his own growth.

Shite. Brand felt better than he had in ages.

The harsh reminders might never fully leave him, but he was in control of how he handled them. He was the master of himself. There wasn’t a creature in all of Bordoroth who could take the gift of that realization away.

Brand loosed a sigh, mirth bubbling its way forward, and tilted his face to the sky.

This—morning and evening meeting for a brief caress—had always been his favorite time of day, but now it was more. It held meaning. It was Brand and Luna made manifest in nature. The taste of her, the feel. A promise on the dawn, and a reminder of their reunion. Of their sacred bond.

A reminder that she was mere feet away from him and, while there was much to be done, they deserved a few moments alone before the chaos.

Brand turned from the sunrise, leaving the balcony for the bed, and stood there for endless minutes as he took in his sprawling mate. Luna slept like a storm on the sea, tossing over and flailing her limbs every which way. She could never seem to decide whether she’d rather be plastered to him or flat on her face, arms over her head and one leg hiked up—like she was now.

Fuck, he loved her like this. Loved what a bewitching mess she was.

Naked. Sheets barely wrapped around her waist. The lush globes of her arse on perfect display, thighs thick and inviting, his hands and teeth itching to sink into them. Wild, snaking tendrils of her chestnut hair covered and clung to everything other than her—his pillow, the headboard, hanging over the side, like it knew how desperately Brand wanted to look at her, and didn’t want to get in his way.

The iridescent glow of her skin in the low light was so much paler than his own. He pictured the perfect shade of pink it turned when his palm made contact and delivered the pleasure-pain she liked so damned much—a wondrous revelation he understood much better now that their bond had moved a step further and allowed them to feel everything the other did.

He drew in the smell of her, mixed with his own scent, ingrained so deeply into both of them. Sunstar and moons, salt and amber, pine and spice—strange yet perfect compliments. Sometimes, all he wanted to do was lay there and inhale it, and the peace it brought. Other times, it shot straight down his spine and stoked his desire.

Like now.

Brand couldn’t resist. After bringing himself back from a dark brink, he wanted a reminder of life. Of their connection. Wanted to worship something beautiful instead of dwelling for another second on all that was still ugly and painful inside of him.