Page 183 of Lana Pecherczyk
When they realized they’d been found out, their little dark eyes widened with the kind of reverence usually reserved for mythical beings. But they didn’t run. Didn’t fly away with their tiny, downy wings. They whispered among themselves in hushed, excited tones about “the human who swims” and “the blessed one who saves drowning birds.”
Blake’s jaw clenched. Even the children treated her like some fucking saint when all she’d done was jump in water. The weight of their innocent expectation pressed against her already fraying nerves. She didn’t want to be anyone’s hero right now. She wanted to rage, to claim, to tear something apart with her bare hands.
“Go away,” she grumbled, shooing them. They scattered in a fit of giggles.
“They didn’t mean to offend you,” a woman shouted from the nearby table. “They’re just curious.”
“It’s not them,” she said. “I’m just… I should go.”
In her haste to escape, she almost stepped on the little crushed flower left behind by one of the children. Giggles beneath the nearby table drew her attention. Wide, curious eyes watched Blake, waiting to see what she would do.
Was it … an offering?
Great. Now she felt bad.
She inserted the floppy stem into her wet hair and then sighed. The woman who had shooed the fledglings looked at Blake’s blue, Well-blessed marks. Like falling dominoes, the rest of her companions stopped their conversation and stared.
“Would you like to join our storytelling?” she asked Blake. “We’d love to hear about how you rescued the Domatri boy.”
It was hard to stay furious when they waited with such honest eagerness. Blake had always loved a good yarn. Jeff had been right about one thing: forging quick and fast connections through the safety of her phone had not built lasting connections. Not the way she’d approached it. But this was real life.
She smiled through the rain. “Sure.”
Two steps toward the table, Blake realized the thunder was getting worse. Rumbling grew louder, vibrations closer, impossibly rhythmic. The crow family searched the night sky. When one of them pointed, Blake realized it wasn’t thunder butwings.
Whoosh.
A startled scream ripped from Blake’s throat as strong hands hooked beneath her armpits, lifting her. Her stomach bottomed out. The world dropped away. The fledglings chased after her, proclaiming that they’d protect her, until a stern voice called them back.
Just as Blake was about to release a second scream for help, River’s upside-down face appeared above her—incorrigible grin, utterly feral, eyes alive. Rain plastered strands of his hair to his temples. Exhilaration pulsed off him, lashing through their connection, jarring against her inner turmoil.
He lowered his lips to her ear. “Trying to run, Sparkles?”
Her lips parted. Closed.
“Didn’t I make it clear?” His chest vibrated with possessive satisfaction, infuriatingly charming. “There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you. You’remine.”
Something inside Blake snapped. Hard.
“Put me thefuckdown, River Umbria!” Her hysterical shriek sounded foreign, even to herself. She slashed blindly at his face, kicking and bucking. “I want off.”
Her nails scraped stubble. He laughed and tightened his iron grip.
“You think this is a joke?” Globs of rain splattered her face, mingling with tears of sheer rage. “I was making friends! I was … gah! You parade around like some prize cock, try to rip your best mate’s throat out. Oh my god, is he dead? And now … now this! You can’t just snatch me from the sky like some kind of?—”
“Rainbow mouse?”
“—shiny trinket you found!” She flailed at him. “I amnotyour fucking property!”
She thrashed and kicked, throwing them off balance.
“Shit.” He banked and then corrected his flight path. “Easy there, Sparkles.” A flash of fear through their bond. “I haven’t flown in years.” Then quieter. “Might need to get used?—”
He repositioned her, scooping her beneath the knees and lower back. Self-preservation tossed her hands around his neck, gripping hard. Great, feathered wings beat steadily behind him, blocking out the moonlit storm clouds.
She stilled.
Wings.
