Page 103 of Lana Pecherczyk

“It was her idea,” Cielo blurted. “The gifts.”

Silence crashed between them.

“Her?” The stein suddenly felt fragile in Manfri’s grip.

“The human?” Nikan’s perceptive gaze tracked between them.

Instead of his usual denial, Cielo lifted one shoulder, a half-smile playing at his lips. “She’s not afraid to ask questions—like you, Mannie. She’s not afraid to leap without wings.”

Manfri shared a look with Nikan. This was the most Cielo had offered up about his human in months. Usually, when they queried it, they were met with the same answer. Not yet.

It seemed yet had arrived, but now Manfri wasn’t sure he wanted to know more.

“What questions?” Nikan asked.

“She once asked what it feels like to fly.” Cielo stared into his stein, thumb circling its rim.

“And?”

“I told her it’s like freedom.” Something raw edged into his voice, a crack Manfri had never heard before. “She didn’t laugh. She just … nodded. She understood even though she’ll never…” His gaze remained fixed on a point beyond the tavern walls, once again traveling where the others couldn’t go.

A treacherous ache bloomed in Manfri’s chest. This human felt pain. This human understood Cielo. This human wasn’t just one of the Untouched anymore. She’d reached places in his friend that Manfri’s wings couldn’t carry him.

“I’d have told her it’s like being king of the sky.” Manfri lifted his stein with a bitter smirk. “Free to shit on anyone below.” He gulped down the ale, the burn failing to cauterize the wound opening inside him. “But risking your neck for treasure like this is stupid.”

“Worth it.” Cielo’s eyes flashed as he gestured at his gifts.

“Is it?” Manfri’s stein hit the table hard enough to slosh.

Spilled ale seeped toward Cielo’s side. Their gazes locked across the table’s divide.

“Diamonds always are,” Cielo said.

“Not if they’re cut wrong—if they make you bleed.”

A shimmer of firelight caught the edge of Cielo’s distending claws as they scraped against his stein.

Nikan’s gaze darted between them, clearly understanding no actual diamonds lay amongst the gifts. Just when Manfriexpected the tension to snap, Cielo’s expression softened. His claws retracted.

“You fuck faces still know that I’ll always circle back. Right?” His brows raised. “I’ll always come home.”

Home.

The word meant something different for crows than for other fae breeds. It wasn’t a brick or mortar house, wasn’t a place or a treasure or a feeling. Crows circled overhead nightly for a reason. They mourned their dead for a reason. They reminded themselves of where they had been, where they were going, and, most importantly, who they were with.

Home wasn’t a journey but the people it was shared with.

Home was this—the three males around this scarred tavern table—the ones Manfri would always circle back for.

But it hadn’t always been three. It had once been two. Before that, the kettle, the murder. One day, they’d each find a mate and a new home. Nothing was written in stone. And if Cielo’s path took him places no one else could follow, then … where did that leave the rest of them?

He lifted his gaze to his friend’s. “How can you be sure she’s worth the trouble?”

“Your parents think it’s worth it, right?”

It, meaning obsession. The one thing. The all. The core of existence every crow yearned for.

It, meaning love.