Chapter 13: The Thing Hadrian Hid

"Shut the door," Hadrian said. "Nobody else comes out here."

I shut it and knelt on the cold boards.

The Commander's breath came in short, wet growls.

His eyes were half gold and half gray, and they didn't know me.

"Sir. It's Romilly. I'm a doctor."

"He can't answer," Hadrian said. "He went out to run at four. He thought the moon was enough tonight."

I put two fingers on the side of his neck, under the patchy fur.

His pulse was fast and thin.

His skin was ice.

And the bitter green note came off him so thick it coated my tongue.

"Blankets," I said. "Every one on the couch. And a bowl of warm water. Warm, not hot."

"If I let go, he falls."

"Then I'll hold him."

I got behind the Commander and took his weight against my chest.

He was so heavy my knees slid on the boards.

Hadrian was back in under a minute.

We wrapped him to the chin.

I laid a warm wet dish towel over the backs of his half-paws, the way you warm a frostbite.

"Breathe with me, sir," I said into his ear. "In. Hold it. Out."

His chest hitched against mine.

The fur along his forearm lay down slowly.

Then his fingers came back, one by one, long and human and shaking.

He was a man again, gray and old and soaked in sweat, and he was crying without any sound.

"Don't look at me, girl," he said hoarsely.

"I've seen worse, sir. I work Saturdays."

That got a broken breath out of him that might have been a laugh.

We got him upstairs between us without waking the house.

Mom was asleep in the big bed with one arm flung across his empty side.

He was asleep in the armchair before Hadrian finished pulling off his boots.

Out on the landing, Hadrian sat down on the top stair.

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