Page 9 of Mikoto and the Reaver Village
Talk about motivation.
Torloo decided they were ready for night maneuvers.
Sinder was finally forced to stay on his toes. His pursuerswere getting better at limiting his options. Careful steps and the musical humof crystals. Gruff commands in code and the eerie howl of wolves on the scent.
Torloo had brought two Kith with him. Torn and Yang were amatched set—light brown, blue eyed, and big enough to look a grown man in theeye. The wolves were packmates, companions, and bodyguards. Or possiblybabysitters. Not that the kid needed babying.
No doubt Adoona-soh felt better knowing her youngest wasn’talone. Few wolves embraced a loner’s status. But Sinder was in a position toknow that Torloo’s buddies probably weren’t a gift from his mom. They’d beenselected by his sire, for they had the Trebellair coloring.
Everyone was in fine form tonight. The encircling ranks weredriving him toward a narrow place, likely in hopes of penning him in. It mighthave worked if they’d had the support of wards, but most battlers sucked atbarriers.
Sinder streaked through the trees, circumventing the bulk oftheir ranks. Slowing to a stroll, he listened carefully, alert to movement inthe treetops. One of the reavers had an owl Kith, and she was a regular stealthfighter. Hisoka should bring in more for support. It’d be in Sinder’s nextreport.
Something hit him. Not hard, but not in a good way.
He’d been made.
Bolting away, Sinder strained his senses for the position ofhis pursuer. It should have been easy. Even if a reaver was warded, theirstones and sigils whispered in ways that every dragon knew. For sigils werewritten upon the wind, resonating with the songs of stones. But Sinder was at aloss. And that meant he wasn’t dealing with a warded battler.
There’d been a ward in the ranks after all.
Sinder leapt into a tree and quickly shed his tunic to checkthe back. A sigil shimmered against the cloth. Probably a tracer. He left itthere and fled through the treetops. Which smacked of desperation, but it wasalso Sinder’s best out.
Quick, but less quiet than he would have liked. And far fromgraceful.
Leaves smacked. Twigs scratched. Bark bit. Pausing tolisten, he peered back over his shoulder and caught the telltale gleam of asigil creeping over pale skin.
He hung his head and wished—not for the first time—forJuuyu.
His partner made short work of any form of sigilcraft.
This wasexactlywhy Hisoka frowned on solo missions.And why Boon was in deep shit. And why Sinder needed to either shed his skin—notideal—or go to ground. Camouflaged, there was a slim chance he could outlastthe night.
Right then, a wave of dizziness washed over him. A momentlater, he hit the ground, and pain lanced through his side. Sucking in ashallow breath, he forced his way onto his feet and focused on a silentretreat.
Was his pursuer aware that he was flightless? That littledetail wasnoton the approved lesson plan. With wavering steps, he madefor one of the grottoes he’d located during earlier reconnoiters. Not the bestof bolt holes, but it was closest, and that’s what counted.
Sinder crawled through a rocky narrow, tumbling into a denwith an earthen floor. Perhaps it had once belonged to wildcats or wolves. Itmight have been a good hideaway if he wasn’t so certain that the sigil thatcontinued to spread was beckoning to its crafter.
Clutching at his side, he waited to see the source of hishumiliation.
A scant minute passed. A few low words and a stealthyscuffle preceded Michaelson into the den.
“Go away,” he muttered.
“Not until I remove that sigil.”
Lovely. He was immune to Sinder’s words, as well. “Sassingback to dragons? You are one annoyingly over-qualified rookie.”
Michaelson lofted a couple of crystals, which took on a softblue glow. He sighed and said, “You don’t remember me, do you.”
“Should I?” Sinder studied the young man. Caucasian. Withdark eyes and hair, which hung in loose curls almost to his shoulders. In needof a shave. Built like a tank.
The battler shook his head. “Dragons don’t rely so much onscents. Colors and sounds are what trigger your memories, and my voice haschanged.”
Sinder frowned. He didn’t need lessons in being a dragon.He’d already been trying to pin down the man’s voice, which was deep andlightly accented. As if English weren’t the only language in his arsenal.
“I’ll give you a hint.” Beckoning with the fingers of bothhands, Michaelson quietly ordered, “Touch my nose.”
