"Shit. How long was he under?" Dane asks, feeling the temperature of my skin beneath my wet shirt.

"Ten minutes, about," Shanti replies. "The rakshasa lost his scent when I took him beneath the water, but it did not abandon its hunt for some time. Come," she beckons, "it may return. We ought to be far away from this place if it does."

Scooping me up like so much dead weight, Dane carries me quickly away from the water's edge and towards the westernmost end of the lake, where people who don't live across the street come to access the trail.

"What is this rakshasa thing, anyway?" Freya asks, jogging along beside us. "I caught a glimpse of it returning to the house. Can't say I've seen anything like it before."

Quickly, Shanti repeats what she'd told me.

"I do not know how Aengus Thorne came to have such a creature under his control, but he must be stopped," she says. "He cannot be allowed to return the gifts of the fire-drake, for if he does, I fear that Ainach will get what he has wanted all along."

"Which is?" Dane asks.

"To incarnate fully in this world."

"I take it that wouldn't be a good thing," Freya states.

Shanti shakes her head, her long black hair swishing against her back. "No. His avatar could wreak havoc here—a dragon, walking among men."

Freya checks my pulse as she lopes at Dane's side. "So what is he, like the antichrist or something?"

"Ainach is neither inherently good nor evil," Shanti answers. "He simply is. However, his designs on this world are unlikely to be highly beneficent towards humanity, or towards his intended host."

"Host?" Dane asks.

"I will explain all when we are safe. Suffice to say my father suspects Ainach has played a long game with Aengus and his cohorts, and that his design from the beginning has been the creation of one who could embody his full power."

"A-Ambrose!" I grasp at the front of Dane's shirt, hardly able to feel the fabric with my frozen fingers, and wordlessly pleading with him to set me down and let me go, for all the good it would do: I can't even walk, much less mount a rescue.

"Do not fear," Shanti reassures me, laying her warm hand on my upper arm. "There is a place and a time for such a ritual, and the time is yet to come. Aengus will not attempt it until tonight, when the moon is at its highest point in the sky. Even then, he will need every relic, and he does not yet have them all."

Through my bleary vision, I note that Shanti has regained her full human form, and I understand a little better how different she is from the rest of us.

Wolves and other Shifters are humans who can take the forms of animals; Shanti, by contrast, is a nagi who can take the form of a human.

She'd shifted seamlessly from half snake to full woman, clothed in flowing silks and completely dry. Meanwhile, I'm still soaked, freezing, wrapped in a scratchy blanket, and feeling ridiculous as Dane carries me along like a pathetic sack of shivering potatoes.

If potatoes could shiver.

As I indulge in this line of thinking, I realize I'm probably not entirely coherent.

We emerge from the trees and into the parking area, and Dane heads for his old SUV. He'd left it tucked beneath the overhanging trees on the lot's far side, where no one but creeps and ex-cops on stakeouts park.

Freya opens the back door for him, and he lays me on the long bench seat before fishing his keys from his pocket and handing them to Freya.

"Get the heater going," he tells her. "Not too high, though. If he warms up too quick he could go into shock."

"I know Dane," she gripes as she does what he says. "You don't gotta mansplain hypothermia to me. I've been through more survival training than you have."

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts as he quickly and efficiently cuts my wet clothing off me with his multi-tool and removes it. I try to object—I'm wearing my favorite Spider-Verse t-shirt and I don't know if I'll be able to find the exact one again—but I still can't speak coherently and Dane ignores whatever protest I manage to make.

He tosses the ruined clothes and the scratchy blanket in the back and then rips open a small packet Freya hands him from a first aid kit, pulling out a shiny, and extremely crinkly, survival blanket. He wraps me in it before beginning to rub his hands gently over my torso and chest.

As he does, and heat begins to spread through me like warm honey, a heavy drowsiness tugs at me, and I shut my eyes and listen to the pleasant humming sound in my ears.

"Hey, hey! Noah—wake up!"

I hear Dane's voice, and for a moment, I'm years in the past—a high-schooler, exhausted from a night of studying for exams, trying to get a few extra minutes of sleep on a winter's morning while my  brother harasses me to get up and go for some stupid 'Pack run' in the snow. I try to ignore him and snuggle deeper into the comfort of my irresistibly warm bed, but a sharp smack across my face startles me from sleep's embrace and I open my eyes, staring up at him in shock.

And suddenly, I'm very much in the present again.

"Dane...?"

"Goddamn it, Noah," he hisses for the second time tonight, his hands on either side of my face, "I am so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. You gotta stay awake right now, okay?"

I stare up at him—at the shine in his intensely amber eyes, the crease between his brows, and at the hints of silver in his dark hair that I hadn't noticed before—and then something crumbles inside me, unable to resist the pull of emotional gravity.

"'Kay," I nod.

Dane slips his arms around my back and lifts me, holding me to his chest.

"I'm sorry," he says again, rubbing his hands up and down my back over the crinkly blanket.

"S-Stop...s-saying that," I gasp. "You...n-never say that."

"Sure I do," he argues. "I say it when I mean it. I say it when I need to. And I'll say it as many times as I have to, Noah. I love you. You're my little brother. And I'm sorry."

"Okay, okay." I push him away, grimacing even as I sniff and try, unsuccessfully, to stop the tears spilling from my eyes. "You've made your point. I love you, too," I add, a bit weakly.

"Hey, don't forget me!" Freya says, wedging herself in beside Dane to hug me and kiss the side of my face. "I love you, too, you little shit."

The close crowd of their bodies warms me quickly, and by the time they release me, I've stopped shivering. I'm still exhausted—physically and emotionally drained, and filled with dread at thoughts of what might be happening to Ambrose right now—but at least I'm in command of my senses once more.

Having reassured themselves of my wellbeing, Dane and Freya step back, and behind them, I see Shanti watching us with an expression of interest and curiosity.

As I kid, I used to think all families were as physically affectionate as ours. Learning that we were, in fact, considered something of a freakish rarity had caused me endless shame in middle school—especially when my big brother would arrive to pick me up at the end of the day and greet me with a hug and a kiss on the head.

Shanti's gaze, however, holds no judgement.

"Wolves are strange creatures," she comments. "You love and fight with equal ferocity."

"Snake-people don't?" Dane returns.

Shanti shrugs and pushes her long hair back over her shoulders.

"Nāgas are an equanimous race," she says, "overall. We are not given to excesses of emotion; neither to joy, nor anger. Rarely do we seek vengeance. Even when we have been wronged, we prefer to find justice through more gentle means. My father never sought to punish Aengus Thorne for his transgressions, despite the pain he caused."

"Then...your f-father is the same 'Nagaraja' that Aengus summoned in the f-first ritual?" I ask, glad to get a complete sentence out, even if my voice still sounds a bit weak and scratchy.

She nods, looking at me. "Yes. My mother was Rose Macleod, after whom your Ambrose was named."

"You were the baby, then. You survived," Dane states. "You're 'Kitty.'"

"I am, and I am not," Shanti answers—rather unhelpfully, in my opinion. "I will explain," she goes on, "but not here. Let us go somewhere more comfortable. My shop is nearby. We can speak safely there."

Dane regards her a moment, weighing whether to trust her, probably, and then nods. "I thought it was gone, though."

"It is there for those who need it," she answers.

"Fine, let's go." He moves away and I catch at his sleeve.

"Wait! We have to go back for Ambrose! We have to—"

"Noah, you're in no condition to do anything right now," he says, not harshly. "Let's get you away and safe—warm, dry, and rested—and then we can talk about your Mate, okay?"

"But—"

"He's right, No-no," Freya interrupts. "We need to know what we're up against, and be at our best before we charge in. Besides, no-one wants to be rescued by a guy wearing nothing but a big square of tin-foil," she says, gesturing at my blanket.

"Technically, it's Mylar." Dane comments.

Freya rolls her eyes and mouths his words back at me with a mocking expression.

Technically, it's Mylar.

I manage a half-choking laugh, and she winks at me and punches my arm—not very gently.

"Don't worry, runt," she adds. "We got your back. And that means we got dragon-man's back, too. We won't abandon him."

I nod my agreement and acquiescence, and then Freya makes me scoot over, so she can climb in beside me while Shanti takes the front seat with Dane.

He calls Julian while he drives, asking him to meet us and bring a change of clothes for me, and to pick up some food on the way.

A few minutes later he parks in front of the space where Shanti's shop was—or maybe is—and we disembark. Freya keeps her arm around me, and I feel like some sort of invalid as she helps me walk towards the small, indistinct little door.

Shanti unlocks it and pushes it open, and we all blink in confusion as we follow her through.

The shop is exactly as it was—the cluttered chaos of countless books, the strands of lights hanging from the ceiling, the warm atmosphere and the hint of incense on the air.

"How is this here?" I ask, staring around me in wonder.

"It was always here," Shanti says softly. "You were simply not welcome to find it, for a time."

"Why?"

I hear the hurt in my voice and clear my throat self-consciously.

I'd come to love this place, in the short time I'd known it, and having it taken away had stung more than I'd cared to admit.

Shanti takes my hands in hers, kindness softening her features and soothing the soreness in my heart.

"Because, as I have said, you were not what I expected to find, Noah Hunter, and I was not certain of the best course of action to take. I needed to consult my father and, in the meantime, I worried that this place might do more harm than good. It seems it has done some harm nonetheless."

I think about this for a moment. "Thom, you mean?"

She nods. "It is not my practice to decide whether the knowledge sought here is 'good' or 'bad,' or to judge the purpose for which it may be used. But when that man wandered in, and found the book about your kind, I grew concerned. The cloud of selfishness and ill-will which surrounded him was a match for the pain I saw around you. I should have warned you."

"I doubt it would have made any difference," I say.

She smiles. "Perhaps not. Perhaps something worse might have befallen you. I cannot say. But here—" She looks towards the door. "Your Fae friend comes bearing a feast. Let us rest awhile, and as you regain your strength, I shall impart my side of this strange tale."