He watched her from beneath that curtain of damp black hair but made no other move. He might not have been able to. Coming face to face with him drove in just how long he’d spent outside. Mud streaked him from head to toe. Beneath his usual scent, he reeked of sweat and musk—though Loren found herself breathing in the primal scent, anyway. It meant he was really here. She wasn’t dreaming.

“Go back to sleep,” he told her, moving to get up. “I’ll sleep on the couch—”