Page 136 of A Warrior's Fate

Her chest tightened.

Speculations were that Kai’s challenger was tied to the death of his father. If this was them, then all of this could’ve been some kind of warning. For her…and therefore, for him.

Not fear but anger rose first in her gut. A defensiveness against an enemy she couldn’t see. A protectiveness over what was hers in the wake of a threat.

Determination etching across her face, Isla tucked the diadem into the inner pocket of Kai’s jacket, the heavy piece causing the fabric to skew.

Time was still not her friend, but she had to get this to Jonah with the book.

The guards in the square were startled by her sudden appearance beside them, but still, she managed to sweet-talk them out of a pad of paper and a pen. She’d slowed as she neared the alleyway again, ready to turn the corner and find something new. Ready for that lightning shadow. Ready for a fight.

But there was nothing amiss.

It took her as long to scribe the message as it did to realize she’d barely been breathing. The few slow inhales she made herself take had her dizzy, and the odd shapes and angles of the supposed letters had her fingers, her hands, and her wrists cramping.

As she looked at her poor copy of what was before her, Isla grimaced. Any improper curve or cut of her script could’ve completely changed its meaning or made it useless. But it would do. It would have to do.

And this—

Isla stepped back, observing the message again.

This had to go. No one could see it, especially not those two symbols. Ones that very clearly pointed her way.

Running to the guards again would only look suspicious, and none of the stores were open at this hour, not while cleaning still had to be done.

Isla looked at her arm then looked at the paint. It was so fresh, still wet as if it had been written mere minutes before she’d stepped foot back into the street from the call center.

Had they been here, waiting for her? Had they followed her from Jonah’s? From her hotel?

She couldn’t think of it. Not for her sanity or the sake of time.

Frowning, Isla brought up her sleeve—Kai’s sleeve—and rubbed away as much of the writing as she could, staining the fine black fabric with red. The marks became smudged, losing some of their shapes, but they were still there. Taunting her. As if whoever had done this had taken extra care to ensure they stayed.

With a curse, Isla braced herself, bringing out her claws and pressing them to the brick. A searing pain shot up her arm and through her wolf as she dragged them over the hard surface. Over and over and over. A hiss slipped her mouth as she noticed the blood leaking from the wounds caused by the pulling at her skin, not able to heal as fast as she was inflicting them.

But she continued, pushing past the ache, building up the scratches until the remnants of the mark of her home and the mark of her title were nothing but a mix of dust and blood at her feet.

Jonah hadn’t been at the shop.

When Isla had arrived at its door, her legs and lungs burning after her run from the square, it was locked. He didn’t answer when she knocked this time, and he didn’t appear to be inside when she peered through one of the side translucent windows. But something she did see—or rather, what she didn’t see was her bag, the book, and the marker.

The counter she’d left them on was bare.

She could only assume, or hope, he’d gone somewhere to investigate them. But after the way they’d left things, with his suspicious eye lingering over her before Davina had appeared, she couldn’t help but fear that he’d done something else with them. Something that would make her regret bringing him into the fray.

She wouldn’t let herself entertain it for long. Being distrustful of someone Kai viewed as family was the last thing she needed to add to her list of problems.

So, she wrote him a note with her borrowed pad of paper, saying that she’d be back in the morning—and for him to make sure he had that brew he’d concocted ready.

As she bent to slide the parchment into the small space beneath the door, Isla felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end again. She snapped up, so fast she nearly became dizzy, catching what seemed to be a second figure in the window’s reflection. Too dark and too far to discern through the glass—and gone by the time she turned to face it.

Isla was going to kill Eli—and every other member of her squadron.

In the grand scheme of things, when she finally returned to the hotel from Jonah’s, she had, at least, ten minutes to quickly get herself ready and get some food into her system. But apparently, the assholes had left her, departing the hotel for the guard base thirty minutes earlier than usual.

She didn’t need to wonder if it had been done on purpose upon noticing her absence. Even if he wouldn’t say it outright when they’d left for the hotel, Eli wasn’t thrilled about her actions at the banquet, fighting without formal order from him. And the other men could care less if she made it to training.

Now, she was stuck in this hell.

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