Page 67 of Lana Pecherczyk
“Because what?”
The sense of his emotions faded as he blocked the bond. But the fire in his demeanor remained. His hands slid down her face and traced the mating mark on her arm, leaving a tingling in their wake. Some kind of agony entered his expression.
He caught a lock of her sun-drenched hair and rubbed the strands between his forefinger and thumb, pupils dilating. “Did you know that crows see UV wavelengths?”
She shook her head.
“We see different colors,” he continued, still mesmerized by her black hair, turning it in the sunlight. “Each crow picks up the UV differently. Where other races see the ordinary, we see a kaleidoscopic masterpiece. They mock us for our endless treasure hunt—for chasing a pot of nonexistent gold at the end of a rainbow.” Blue eyes clashed with hers. The agony was replaced with something deeper that sent her soul soaring. “You are the furthest thing from ordinary I’ve ever seen. To me, your hair sparkles like a rainbow of colored diamonds.”
“Is that why you call me Sparkles?”
A curve of his sexy lips was her answer, but then his amusement died, and he asked, “Do you still love him?”
“I hate him,” she snarled. “I wish he were dead. Except he’s already dead, and I can’t even go back and tell him I fucking hate him and I wish he were dead. I survived the end of the world, and he didn’t, and I can’t even feel smug about it because … because I don’t know why! I should be able to feel good that I’m here and he’s not.”
Her fury burned so hot she thought she might be sick.
“It’s because you’re a good person,” he said, and held out his hand. “Give me the plant.”
“No.” She spun away protectively.
His deep laugh warmed her insides. “Trust me.”
Reluctantly, she handed it over. He placed it carefully at the base of a tree closer to the forest’s edge, then unsheathed a dagger from his bandolier. The blade flashed as he flipped it, offering her the hilt. “Bottling it up isn’t going to do you any favors.”
“You can talk.” She put her hands on her hips.
His lips flattened. “Take the dagger. It’s reinforced obsidian. Not metal, so it’s safe.”
Her brow arched as she refused.
“You bottle,” she accused.
“No, I don’t.”
“What do you call hiding your emotions from me unless it suits you?”
Silence stretched between them.
“Okay, fine,” he admitted. “Let’s both fucking do this.”
He produced another dagger from behind his back with a magician’s flourish. One flick of his wrist, and it materialized.
“How’d you?—”
“Take it.” He shoved the obsidian blade at her until her fingers closed around its hilt. “Good. Now that tree over there—see it?”
“Yeah…”
He jogged a few yards down and pointed to a spot above his head on its thick trunk. “Was he this tall?”
“Who?”
“The dickface we hate.”
Her lips twitched. When River’s own stretched into a slow, sly grin, a weight lifted from her shoulders.
“Lower,” she said. “He wasn’t as tall as you.”
