Page 161 of Lana Pecherczyk
“I thought with everything that happened—” River’s words died as Lark laughed.
She flipped open her windways, revealing what remained of her leg after the kelpie attack. “Turns out a wing-mate with a leg like this isn’t exactly appealing.”
Rage slammed through their mating bond. River’s fingers dug into Blake’s shoulder. “You’re telling me those fuckers are using this as an excuse to call off your mating? We just came from the Donna. She said the match was still on.”
Lark blinked. “Still on?”
“It was never broken in the first place,” Ash explained.
“Which means,” River said, urging them eastward, “someone else is blocking your match. I can think of only one family in our murder with a centuries-old grudge against us. Considering I killed the damned monster, and strangers are thanking my mate for saving their son, I think it’s fair to say they owe us.”
A war cry shattered the marketplace’s steady murmur. Blake’s head snapped up as a massive shadow eclipsed the sun. A black-winged male plummeted from above, talons extended, trajectory aimed directly at the crowd. Her muscles tensed, ready to duck and take cover, but no one else reacted. Not a wing flared. Not a face showed alarm.
The predator swooped and snatched a woman examining decorative sundials at a nearby table. She shrieked, her wings erupting from her back, snapping so violently that molting feathers exploded in a cloud. The pair spiraled upward in a tangle of limbs and beating wings.
“Shouldn’t we—” Blake clutched River’s arm. “Shouldn’t we help her?”
Lark’s laughter melded with an unexpected sound—Ash’s deep chuckle. Even his typically stoic face softened with a rare smirk.
“What?” Blake asked, heat climbing her neck. “What am I missing?”
River’s hand settled at her waist, his lips lowering to her ear. “That, my treasure, was a courtship swoop.”
“Ooh. But … she’s fighting him.” Blake watched the woman twist against her captor’s grip.
“Because that’s how their suitability is measured.” River’s breath was warm against her skin. “If she succeeds in breaking free, they’re not a good match.”
“Doesn’t the Donna decide that?”
“Even with her approval, they must still prove to the community they’re suited.”
The pair descended behind a row of caravans, the woman’s protests fading into the distance. Blake’s eyes widened. “But the males are stronger?—”
“Believe me,” Lark drawled. “We crows know how to fight off unwanted advances. Right River?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Lark shared a humorous look with Ash.
“I’m serious,” River replied. “The ladies love me.”
Something hot and possessive boiled in Blake’s blood. She didn’t like this talk about previous partners. And he said love. Present tense.
“The book?” she snapped.
Guilt splashed over River’s face as he circled his fist over his heart. “The Donna claimed it. We couldn’t get into the caravan.”
“Shit.” Blake tugged her hair. “It’s fine. I’ll just … draw what I remember.” She stepped forward, but the ground tilted beneath her feet, and she stumbled.
“First,” Lark interrupted, pulling Blake from River’s grasp. “You both look filthy and exhausted.”
“And hungry,” Blake admitted, her stomach twisting.
Her mate’s face paled. “I should have thought of that. I brought you straight here from?—”
“How about I take her back?” Lark suggested, gaze darting between the two Guardians. “You clearly need to be somewhere. Meet us at the roost.”
Blake noticed Ash waiting with unease etched into his features. Perhaps his mother had arrived. Or Cloud. Or maybe River hadn’t finished telling him what they’d found in the trove. Maybe he did.
