Page 169 of Lana Pecherczyk
“Alright.” Salvatore sneered at Blake. “You seem to know everything. What’s your grand idea?”
River took a step forward. “Watch your tone with my mate.”
The last thing they needed was more discourse.
“An idea,” Blake muttered, mind racing. “Of course, I have one.”
River lowered his head to her level. “You don’t have to do anything they tell you to.”
“It’s fine. I have an idea.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Sure.” She faked a smile, but she started this. She should finish it.
Idea. Idea.
A way to settle their dispute. She tapped her thigh, thinking.
Idea. Idea.
The memory hit her. Christmas Day. Her brothers, three sheets to the wind, challenged the Johnsons next door to a game of street footy. They used wheelie bins for goal posts. The winning team claimed cul-de-sac parking rights for a year.
Perfect. Sort of.
She pointed at her mate. “Don’t let anyone move. I’ll be right back.”
Peacemakerappeared in River’s hand. His feral grin promised consequences to anyone who disobeyed. His instant support left a warm, gooey feeling in her heart as she jogged back to the nesting caravan and headed inside.
The gratitude trinkets were so beautiful that she almost hesitated, wanting them for herself. She snatched the beaded silk first, then a crystal figurine, and anything that looked valuable until her arms were loaded.
When she returned outside, a storm had rolled in from beyond the dam wall. She dumped her treasures onto the ground between the two roosts. Before she could explain, the first fat raindrop splashed her forehead. Another followed, landing on her cheek.
The feuding families began retreating toward their caravans.
“Fuck’sake,” she bemoaned, looking up as the sky opened. “Just me luck.”
“Wait.” River’s command froze everyone in place. He assessed the rain with narrowed eyes, then shrugged. “A little water won’t hurt us. It’s not like we have to swim in it. We settle this now.”
Blake stared at him, surprised by his willingness. And his bossiness. To be honest, it was getting kind of hot. Already soaked, his leather uniform must be uncomfortable and heavy. But he looked at her with unwavering patience and trust.
“Explain the game, Sparkles.”
Summoning her courage, she faced the crow shifters and shouted over the steady downpour, “Where I come from, we settled disputes with a game.”
Eyes lit up. Several males shuffled forward, especially Salvatore and Talo, who eyed each other warily.
“What kind of game?” Rocco asked, flicking dripping hair from his eyes.
“Football.” When no signs of recognition answered her, she added, “Think of it as a battle for territory.”
Someone scoffed. “Who uses their feet in a game?”
“Or a ball,” another said. Paused. “What even is a ball?”
Blake resisted slapping her palm over her face. Did these fae not play sport? Had that been lost over time? She tried to size up an imaginary ball between her hands and explained. “A ball is like a stretchy, air-filled sack that you bounce around and throw and kick.”
“You throw around trapped air?” a Faelin asked.
