Page 13 of Flight of Fate

Strong wingbeats whip the air, and they are coming closer, closer, until my captors fall silent, the swaying of the bag stopping.

“Have you come to play?” Gus’s shout nearly makes my heart stop, so close to my ears. He must be holding up the bag like a trophy toward the crows circling above.

I tell myself it’s instinct knowing those are, in fact, crows out there and that they have come forme. It’s something more, though. The tingling in my chest grows stronger, like an ancient song of power and violence, of destruction and retribution.

“Come here, Crow. We have a little something for you.” Pain blooms along my back as I’m jostled around in the bag like a rag doll.

Wake up, Ayna,the voice in my head sings.Listen.

Listen to what?I want to prompt, but the bag is being torn open, and before I can make out much of the green and gray blur that is my surroundings, I hit the ground. Stars dance in my vision, threatening to take my consciousness, but at least, I can breathe again—once the force of the impact stops holding my chest in iron claws.

For a long moment, all I can do is gather my breath, blinking into the pale morning light tinting the seam of the forest in harsh, sharp shapes. And there above me?—

Wings spread wide as it circles out of reach, a majestic crow surveying the scene. A few feet above it, a second bird flutters, its movements less graceful but laced with the same sort of power.

“Have you come to get this one back?” The toes of Gus’s boots nudge my side, flipping me over, and fresh pain sears through me.

I’m bound. Helpless. I’m on the ground. And the ground isdeath.

Youare death, the voice in my head objects.

I want to ask him who he is and what he wants, but the part of me alert enough to pay attention knows better than to expect answers.

Get up and fight,the voice orders.

I don’t bother pointing out I’m bound into a useless bundle and there is no part of me that’s still able to fight.

Gus toes me again, and this time, his boot traps my head, bending my neck so hard I believe it will snap, but when he releases me?—

The leather string shifts on my beak enough for me to open it a fraction of an inch. Not much, but when I give a pathetic caw, the sound hatches into the world.

Like struck by lightning, the circling crow flattens its wings against its sides, and I fear it will shatter if it hits the ground at the speed it’s gaining. But before it might have splattered on the leaf-covered rocks, its form flickers, expands, larger, larger, stretching into a tall, powerful male.

A beautiful, terrifying male, feathers flying from his arms as the last of his wings retracts. Smoke curls at his fingertips like ink in water, and his eyes are black from the pupil to the lid.Nightmare given form, I think for a breathless moment as I take him in, the angular features, heavy brows, black waves streaming around his head like on a phantom wind. Plain dark leathers cover him like a second skin, showing off the powerful muscles in his thighs, the broad expanse of his shoulders, the strong arms, and slender hips. The silver hilt of a blade peaks out from behind his neck as he cocks his head to the side, all predator.

I know I should be terrified of this male. Of death incarnate, the unadulterated rage rippling through him like a wave across the ocean.

The ocean.

Turquoise blue waters. The wind on my face. The sun on my skin. Freedom. Like flying.

“Hello, my little crow.” His voice clangs through me like a reckoning, clearing the haze in my head.

Myron. This isn’t just any male. This is Myron. King of Crows. And my mate.

I’m faintly aware of Gus and the twins drawing their weapons as they take in the horrible beauty of the male facing them with the wrath of the gods.

My wrath,the voice in my head corrects, and I recognize the Brother Guardian for who he is.

Nine

Myron

There’ssuch emptiness in my head—solid, black emptiness—at the sight of my little crow bound and broken on the ground. I barely see the three males standing around her, slender silver blades drawn and horrified at the sight of me keeping them at bay.

My Ayna?—

That darkness spills into my vision, tinting everything in black ink while I peer out into the world with death on my mind as her feeble caw slips into the morning air.

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