Page 16 of Flight of Fate

Find a way to make yourself useful,Shaelak whispers in my mind.

Think, Ayna-think, Ayna-think.It used to be my strength, coming up with crazy plans that might buy me a chance at survival, but my mind isn’t working the way it does in my human form, bird instincts backing me into a corner where the line between life and death is thinner than I care for.

“Think it through, Crow King. You might not believe in the sway you hold in the Fairy Court, but we’ve heard about who you shared a dungeon with,” Gus takes over the talking now that he’s back on his feet, bleeding stinted and no longer leaning on the second twin. “Think of all the lives you could save—including your own, of course.”

That’s where those males underestimate Myron. He doesn’t value his own life above that of others—especially mine. When it comes to a choice, he’ll choose my life over his—just as I will always choose him.

That’s the sacrifice I realize I need to make. My way of making myselfuseful.

Even if Silas and Myron could take those three Flames in a normal battle, they aren’t attacking because they don’t want to risk me. But if I take that choice away from them…

Dying won’t make you useful. It will only make you dead,Shaelak points out, and I hate-hate-hate him—for his gifts, his meddling, his unbidden commentary.

So how can I be useful if not by helping them make a decision so they can kick those Flames’ asses?

Not that that’s the way to speak to a god, but Shaelak seems to have a sense of humor because his chuckle trickles through me like black honey as he tells me,You will only be of use if you step into your destiny and accept your role in this world.

I don’t dare look Myron in the eye as his gaze lands on mine for a heartbeat before wandering back to the male’s weapon at my throat and the crimson trace across the shiny silver of the blade.

And what destiny is that?I’m no longer sure if I know anything about who I am and who I am meant to be. Crow Queen, Queen of Tavras, bird or human, lover or friend. A part of me whispers that it would be easiest to find a ship and hide thereuntil it lays anchor by the coast of a foreign land where no one knows I once had a human body.

That’s for you to find out.

I want to throw a retort at him that being a god doesn’t make up for being cryptic and that his hints truly don’t change anything about the situation we’re in, but an invisible finger slides down my back so gently I nearly shiver. I instantly recognize Myron’s power, the strength that could shatter the world if he so pleased.

It’s the only warning I get to keep still as that same power wraps around the Flame’s blade and rips it away from my throat only to shove it down the male’s. Blood rains on me as he loosens his grasp, and I drop like a rotten plum, still wrapped in those leather strings. Before I can hit the ground, that invisible power slices through the strings, and my wings snap free, spreading enough to cushion my fall.

Pain barks through my entire body as my claws hit the ground, but I ignore it, flapping those wings enough to flutter out of the falling male’s path before he can smother me. Gus and the other twin are fighting Silas, who is upon them with his hatchet, delivering blow after blow while Myron’s power envelops me in a shield so thick not even the gods could penetrate it.

A wet, crunching sound fills the air as Silas takes off the second twin’s head, and he lifts his hatchet again to give Gus the same courtesy.

“Keep him alive,” Myron merely growls, and Silas stops his weapon mid-blow. Such control. Such strength hidden in the Crow warrior despite that grumpy sarcastic facade he likes to show us all.

“As you wish.” With a few efficient moves, Silas disarms the dark-skinned Flame who is readying to stab the Crow in the stomach, while all Gus can do is stare death in the eye.

Death—but not just yet.

“What do you want to do with him?”

Myron’s mouth splits into a dangerous grin that has my blood running cold, and the black of his eyes extends to thin, creeping veins around them. Not one look at me, whom his power is still protecting like that doesn’t cost him half a thought. “Recienne will want to know everything about this mission, and when the Fairy King is done with him…” He stalks toward the now trembling Fire Fairy, scanning. His features, the sheen of sweat covering his brow, the streaks of blood that must have made it all the way from the twin who held the sword to my throat—and who now lies barely twitching in the dirt, a puddle of crimson forming around his head where the blade runs straight from his mouth to the back of his neck and farther. “Then he and I will have a talk.”

He rips the cloak from the male’s shoulders, tossing it on the ground, and extends a hand to his face. Talons sprout from his fingertips, black and sharp like those of a crow, and his grin widens as he drags his index finger along the Flame’s cheek lightly enough not to cut deep but hard enough to draw blood. “We’ll have fun, you and I.”

A chill creeps into my bones at the sight of this side of my mate—the one who will torture and kill on my behalf, and I want to beg him to look at me, but his focus is honed on the male who dared touch me, dared capture and tie me up. Like a predator going for the throat, Myron swipes his talon down the side of the male’s neck, and Guardians help him, a dark stain spreads on the front of the Flame’s pants.

“He’ll die of fright,” Silas says with a dark chuckle, but I recognize the concern in his tone despite the clever disguise. “Let’s tie him up and get him back to Aceleau. I’m sure Recienne is eager to meet him.”

Myron snarls at the Flame’s face once; then he pivots, stalking for me and lifting me into his palms.

“Tie him up and fly to the palace, Silas,” he orders without looking at him. “We’ll need someone to site-hop that bastard back.”

He doesn’t look at me, chest heaving as he gulps down deep breaths of air like a male about to suffocate; his lids shutter, talons retracting, and when he finally, finally gazes down at me, his eyes are ocean blue once more and so, so weary. His thumb carefully brushes over my neck where the wound instantly seals, and he shakes his head, black strands falling into his face, covering the signs of exhaustion.

“What should I do with you, little crow?”

Eleven

Ayna

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