Page 141 of Primal Bonds

It was almost noon, local time. The weak sun shone on moss-covered black rocks and scrubby tundra grasses. Houses appeared, colorful concrete boxes topped with corrugated steel roofs. To the north, a white-capped mountain range towered over the rapidly approaching city.

The bus let her off near the city center. She leaned against the bright blue wall of a coffee shop for a few minutes, making sure no one had followed her from the airport. When she deemed it safe, she grabbed a coffee and an egg sandwich and ate standing at the counter, one eye on the door.

After that, she walked the streets for several hours, getting the lay of the land and searching for Corban. But if he knew she was in Reykjavik, he wasn’t making himself known.

Sleep dragged on her eyelids. Except for a short nap on the flight from Baltimore, she’d been up for more than twenty-four hours. She checked into a hostel and curled up on the pristine white sheets, the switchblade beneath her pillow, her right hand on the iron dagger’s smooth ivory handle. She slept lightly in the way of her cat, one ear cocked for danger. But all was quiet.

When she awoke, it was late afternoon. This time, she donned a wool sweater beneath the hoodie. The iron dagger went into her right boot, the stiletto the left, and the switchblade back into her front pocket.

Five minutes after she left the hostel, she scented silver. Her breath sucked in, but she forced herself to look casually around. A couple of tall, glittering ice fae males strode toward her, pointy ears poking through their long, white-blond hair. She turned and stared into a shop window, heart pounding, watching their reflections as they passed by. Against her side, she held the switchblade, open and ready.

But the men only gave her a quick, uninterested glance before continuing into a nearby pub. She released her breath and continued walking.

Where in Hades was Corban? His animal was a wolf. If he was in Reykjavik, he should have scented her by now.

Her stomach grumbled. Dinnertime. She fingered the meager amount of krona in her pocket and chose a pub that didn’t look too expensive.

The décor was cozy, with dark wood and warm lighting. A long bar ran the length of the room, and in the back, a small fire was burning in a stone fireplace. A slim, dark-haired waitress greeted Marjani with a cheerful hallò and showed her to a small corner table.

Removing her hoodie, Marjani sat with her back to the wall and surveyed the crowd. It was mostly locals, the Nordic rhythms of Icelandic mixing with English, and everyone dressed casually—jeans, T-shirts, cotton sweaters, even a flannel shirt or two.

The waitress recommended a local ale and something called a lamb boat sandwich.

“Sounds good.” Marjani shut her menu.

She touched her quartz, which also served as a smartphone, through her sweater. She’d turned the phone off when she boarded the jet and never turned it back on.

She should probably call Adric, but she’d left him a note. If she contacted him, they’d just argue. And then he’d order her back to Baltimore, because he thought she was too broken to be out on her own.

She didn’t want to be forced to disobey a direct order from her alpha. Even if he was her brother.

The lamb boat sandwich turned out to be an upscale sub sandwich—a bun stuffed with slices of fried lamb topped with onions, red cabbage and pickles. She ate slowly, sipping the ale between bites.

Her skin prickled. She sipped her ale and glanced around.

A tall, rangy man with shoulder-length blond hair slouched at a nearby table, drinking a beer. He met her eyes, not bothering to hide that he was checking her out.

Her breath snagged.

Holy singing crystals, he was beautiful, with slanted cheekbones and sky-blue eyes framed by dark eyelashes. His straight nose had a small bump on the bridge, a tiny imperfection that only heightened his appeal, and his black ribbed sweater stretched across a hard chest.

His cheek creased in a smile—and fear wrapped icy fingers around her lungs.

She jerked her gaze back to her sandwich, her stomach tight, heart thudding in her ears.

Fuck, she hated this. A couple of years ago, she might have smiled back, seen where this led. But not anymore. No one touched her. She didn’t even let members of the clan get too close.

A shadow fell across the table.

She snarled, her cougar rising to meet the threat. She forced it down. Shifting in the middle of a human pub could be fatal. The fada and humans had treaties about those things. A fada shifting in a pub for no reason would be automatically targeted by the authorities as feral.

She could be shot on sight—or slapped into a cage.

And she’d have to admit Adric was right after all—she was too broken, too close to going feral, to be out on her own.

The tall blond male smiled down at her. Spoke.

Still fighting the cougar, she had to concentrate to make sense of his words.

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