Page 112 of The Case of the Hollow Bond

“Cold water helps,” I say. “Touch helps. Scent helps. Panic doesn’t help.”

Theo swallows. “Tell me what to do.” The words scrape out of him.

I wrap the towel behind Ezra’s shoulders to keep him from shivering too hard. “Keep your voice low and be present.”

Theo lowers beside the tub. One hand braces on the tile, palm open. The other rests on his own thigh as though he doesn’t trust it near Ezra.

Ezra’s gaze drifts toward him. “You look terrible.”

“You’re in our bathtub half-transparent.”

“That wasn’t a denial.”

A small laugh slips from me. It breaks close to a sob, but it keeps my purr moving.

Theo leans forward by an inch. “Can I touch you?”

Ezra’s throat moves. “Yes. But I’m still angry.”

Theo reaches into the tub with the care of a man handling a blazing flame. His fingers close around Ezra’s wrist above the water. The old bond scar near Ezra’s shoulder darkens beneath the wet fabric. Ezra shuts his eyes.

The change is visible. His hand sharpens inside mine. His knee becomes solid beneath the surface of the water. Color returns slowly, starting high in his cheeks.

Relief moves through my scent, warm and possessive, and Theo’s alpha bends toward it without moving from where I put him.

“There,” I whisper. “Stay like that.”

Ezra opens one eye. “Bossy.”

“I prefer passionately directive.”

“I like when you take charge.”

Under other circumstances, I would enjoy the way Theo’s breath catches.

The shower beats steadily against the tub wall. Water splashes over Ezra’s arm, over Theo’s knuckles, over my soaked sleeves. The bathroom smells like mineral water, mud, fear, and the three of us layered together. For several minutes, nobody moves except to breathe.

Then Ezra’s fingers stop blurring. He’s still pale. Still shaking. Still furious beneath the humor. Present enough to glare at the drain.