Page 60 of Lana Pecherczyk
Nothing.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall until she heard a sickening crack, followed by a gurgling sound nearby.
“No!” The scream tore from her throat as she thrashed. “River!”
Her restraints vanished between one heartbeat and the next. The sounds of battle had stopped.
You’re going to repay it by staying under these ferns until it’s safe to come out.
It must be safe to emerge.
Blake stumbled from the cover of her ferns on shaky legs. The metallic scent of blood mingled with ozone, making her stomach roll. Bodies lay broken across the forest floor, their cream and brown feathers stained crimson. Nature itself held its breath: no birdsong, no rustling leaves, just the soft pop of manabeeze abandoning corpses.
Chapter
Nineteen
Blake found River leaning against a massive trunk, flicking blood from his blue-tipped hair. His leather jacket bore fresh slashes, but his skin remained unmarked. Relief flooded her until she saw the battle light still blazing in his eyes.
“I had it under control,” he grumbled.
“Clearly.” Ash’s dry response carried across the clearing.
He loomed nearby, darkness incarnate with his wings spread wide, ruffling feathers to shed spilled blood. River huffed, pushed off the trunk, and stalked around the carnage. He prodded each owl corpse with his boot, confirming death while sidestepping rogue manabeeze that darted through the air.
Neither acknowledged Blake’s presence.
She’d thought River was dead. More relief, a dash of fury, and that stubborn animal attraction crashed through her like a tidal wave, leaving her skin buzzing and throat tight. Anger won. Anger was safer.
“You bloody nob jockey!” She jabbed her finger in his direction with each syllable. “What kind of idiot pulls that shit? Binding me with magic while you get your arse handed to you by a bunch of fuckin’…” Her brain scrambled for the right insult. “Bunch of glorified pigeons!”
River gestured at Ash. “As I said to this party-pooper, I had it under control.”
“Like hell you did.” Her voice cracked, betraying more than she intended. “I bloody-well heard you choking. I thought you were going to—” The truth lodged in her throat. She’d felt so damn helpless, so utterly useless. No magic had answered her desperate prayers. No power had risen when she needed it most.
“Aw.” River’s brows lifted in the middle, lips forming an excited smile as he vaulted over a corpse to reach her. “Were you worried about me, Sparkles?”
When he stopped toe to toe with her, his sweaty male scent wrapped around her. It was hard to ignore that damn infernal grin spreading across his handsome face.
“No.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. “Yes—dammit. Of course, I was worried. You’re my only guide in this bloody place.”
Smug knowing flashed in his eyes.
Heat crawled up her neck. The bond. He’d sensed her earlier, ill-timed physical attraction. Bloody perfect. Now he knew just how messed up she was inside.
River studied her flushed face until she squirmed. Then he slowly leaned forward until he was inches away and gently tapped a small gash on his pouty upper lip.
“I have a boo-boo,” he murmured intimately, deeply. “Kiss it better?”
Peals of feminine laughter shattered the moment. Blake whirled toward the sound. Behind Ash stood three figures watching them. All had dark wings folded against their backs. Their skin was etched with tattoos, and their bodies bristled with weapons—more crow shifters.
The female with a long, blue-tipped braid cocked her hip and said to River, “Does that line ever work for you?”
“Works for me,” answered the male.
“We’ll finish this later.” River winked at Blake before scowling at them. “Perfect timing, as usual, Sera. Dad. Lark.”
Blake’s stomach plummeted to her toes. She’d just cursed out River in front of his relatives. Great. She dragged her palm down her face and forced herself to look at them.
