Page 221 of Lana Pecherczyk
The Collector’s squawk of rage reverberated against the walls. “Intruders!”
She fell through the hole he’d made. Arms splayed, fused to mighty wings so broad they spanned the entire width of the pit. Taloned hands at the wingtips gouged the rocky walls, slowing her descent. Her lightning-scorched feathers had regenerated with a speed that struck envy into River’s heart.
She landed hard on a thick root jutting out from the wall. Clawed feet curved. Taloned toes gripped. Torn gown blowing. Her beak-like face contorted with rage as she took in the scene—her most precious treasure, the cryptex in Cloud’s hand.
“Youdaredefile my sanctuary?”
She flapped in a tantrum. Just once. The action blew wind into the debris, kicking up sand and dust. In the cover, she hopped to a lower root, violence etched on her face. Another fast hop, and she was within range, swiping her razor-sharp winged hand.
River spun away, shielding Blake with his body. Talons raked air where his head had been. Cloud moved in perfect synchronization, his butterfly knife flashing in the sunlight as he drew her attention left.
Another shadow dropped from above.
Ash landed with a devastating, ground-trembling force between River and his mother. Junk went flying as air blasted outward. Even in that ridiculous outfit, even without being able to see his face, he looked like a vengeful god, straightening and mantling his wings to a span wider than his mother’s.
Too big for the pit.
The display of power was impressive, but River caught the tremor in Ash’s hands, the same tremor that had shaken him as a chained youth. His clothing was shredded. Blood seeped through the windway’s pleats. Whatever feral beast he’d met in the other tunnel had not gone down easily.
“Still playing dress-up, little bird?” The Collector’s tone oozed sarcasm. “Still pretending you’re one of them?”
Cloud strolled between mother and son, within swiping reach of talons. He gave her a pointed stare and then turned his back.
He said to Ash, “Took you long enough, fuck face.”
“Missed me already?”
“Maybe.”
A quick, tense pause made River suspect this wasn’t rehearsed.
“Had to deal with one of her pets,” Ash said, flicking dirt from his feathered shoulder.
To anyone else, the exchange seemed ill-advised, out of place—a fool’s game in a hurricane. But River saw it for what it was. Enough time had passed since he’d contacted Ash that River knew the fae had avoided following him out of fear.
The Bad Place.
How many times had this mother used it as punishment against her child?
Cloud must have realized before River what Ash’s delay meant. He offered his back to the enemy as another target,a distraction to buy time for Ash to gather his resolve. To remember he was a warrior, not a victim.
“One!” Her snorting laugh morphed into a screech. “Did you think I only had one pet? That I’d come alone after your little lightning display?”
Dark shapes poured through the opening, fangs gnashing. Wellhounds. Their eyes leaked luminous blue acid that dripped and sizzled on contact. One, two, three of them clawed down the hole, finding exposed roots instead of metal.
River summoned mana, but it sputtered like a dying flame. He’d used too much breaking through the illusion, blasting the grate, and attempting failed healings. Blake shivered in his arms, but it felt more like a convulsion running out of steam.
More feathers tore free.
“Get her out,” Cloud clipped, moving to flank River on one side while Ash took the other.
Still brothers.
Still a triad.
Emotion clogged River’s throat. His grip tightened on Blake. “I’m not leaving you crows alone.”
“Yes, you are.” Ash’s wind slammed into an approaching hound, propelling it into the pit’s wall. “We’ve got this.”
