Out, Selene says simply.
The journey into his wolf's mind was long. It was a turbulent sea, every inch taken a victory.
Getting out is much easier.
Between one instant and the next, there's nothing more than a distinct yank from Selene's mind, and it's as though I'm sucked through a vortex and thrown back into my own head.
There's enough force that I pitch forward and almost hit my face against the ground before my hands fly up to save myself.
"Fuck."
My body's soaked. There's only a small light on in the kitchen; the rest of the house is dark, the windows showing evidence of nightfall.
I'm a used dishrag, flattened to the floor, struggling to push myself to my knees and check on Lucas.
Grimoire's hands grab onto my arms, pulling me up. He's huge again, his flames higher than normal, his eyes red instead of silver.
Where his hands touch me is odd; pressure without temperature. Not cold. Not hot.
