Page 92 of Lana Pecherczyk
She opened her eyes to an annoyingly handsome face, struggling to contain laughter.
“I knew that,” she said.
“Oh really?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms. “And you’re missing the point.”
“The point is”—he lowered his lips to her ear—“that we’re not going anywhere for a very … long … time.”
Excitement and unease tangled through her. “What do you mean?”
“Stand back, and I’ll show you.”
She hesitated.
He raised a brow. “Remember my promise back in the forest?”
“Not really.” She blew a lock of hair from her eyes. “Too bloody busy fearing for me life.” She cleared her throat. “Mylife.”
“Not that part. Afterward, when I said I’d never let you get hurt.” He harrumphed, then scowled, as if something in her words bothered him. “Stand aside, and I’ll demonstrate why we can’t leave.”
“Fine. No need for dramatics.”
River’s expression went blank. A stillness came over him that triggered warning bells in her mind. Then he clenched his jaw, grunted and grabbed her shoulders. He lifted her clean off the floor as if she weighed nothing and deposited her behind him near the kitchenette. Then he patted her head and said, “Now be a good little rainbow mouse, and no more squeaking until the big bad birdy finishes his lesson, okay?”
She pouted. “Get fucked.”
“Gladly.” Heat flared in his eyes.
“Finish your lesson, bad bird.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
“I’m finishing it.”
“I’m waiting.”
His stare intensified. His hands flexed at his sides. Tension crackled between them, hot enough to combust. Then he shookhis head, cursed under his breath, and returned his attention to the door.
“As I was about to demonstrate,” he ground out, “we’re stuck in here.”
River gave Blake a pointed look to ensure she paid attention, and then rammed his shoulder against the door. It rattled, but held firm. He checked if she still watched, then stood back and kicked it. Nothing. And it wasn’t a soft kick, despite his bare feet. The entire caravan rocked when his heel struck the wood.
“Maybe it’s jammed,” she offered weakly.
Huffing, he joined her by the kitchenette but positioned himself between her and the door. When she tried to sidestep for a better view, he reached back with a large hand and pinned her against the counter.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered, suddenly all serious.
Before she could protest, his free hand swung toward the door. A thunderous gust of air exploded from his palm. It hit wood without effect and rebounded, gusting back in their faces, and up her pants and hair. Beads and decorations clattered. Objects and papers tumbled from the booth. The horse whinnied outside.
She’d glimpsed enough over his arm to see the blast had come from his hand.Mana. Magic. It was only the second time she’d witnessed it used. The explosion had rocked the van hard enough to tilt it and frighten the horse.Thiswas the power they said she would hold?
Wait.
“Is the horse alright?” Alarm jolted through her.
