Page 125 of Lana Pecherczyk

Blake stirred beneath rumpled sheets. Messy hair framed her face, lips still swollen from his kisses, eyes blinking into awareness. Last night’s sanctuary crumbled beneath the weight of reality, what he’d revealed to her, what he’d become in her arms. What she’d become to him.

He pressed his finger to his lips in warning. The languid heat in her eyes hardened into alertness. She clutched the blanket to her chest.

River yanked on his leather breeches, but they clung to his sweaty skin. His shirt followed, then his Guardian jacket. The caws intensified. Shouts and screams carried through the caravan’s walls. He cocked his head, calculating distances. Voices echoed from too far ahead, never behind. They must be positioned near the train’s rear.

“River?” Blake’s voice quavered behind him. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know yet.” His fingers flew through buckles and ties. “Get dressed.”

She nodded and dressed, her movements quick and efficient. She helped tighten his bandolier while he laced his boots.Working in tandem gave him a flicker of control until a bloodcurdling scream shattered the illusion.

River wrenched the door open and burst outside. Morning air slapped his face, sharp with pine and dew. His eyes adjusted to the dawn light as he scanned their misty surroundings. They’d left tropical growth behind. Towering pines now dominated the landscape. Ghostly spiderwebs glistened between branches. The path behind their caravan stretched empty.

Ahead, destruction carved a grotesque path. The nearest caravan lay split in two, belongings and blood splattered across trampled earth. Farther down the line, intact caravans stood abandoned, doors swinging in the breeze.

A harsh call pierced the sky. River’s head snapped upward to track a crow sentinel perched high in the canopy, wings mantled with stress.

“What happened?” The question tore from his throat.

The sentinel plummeted. Air shimmered around its form. Halfway down, black feathers retracted into skin, wings transformed to arms, and a body elongated. Sera landed naked and trembling, her familiar face contorted in terror he’d never witnessed from her before.

“Sis?” His stomach twisted at her expression.

Fingers dug into his elbows as she stumbled into him. “It was the horse.”

“The fake horse?” His pulse thundered in his ears.

“No—I mean yes.” She choked on the words. “We found a kelpie wandering near the murder. It looked like a normal horse. Lark thought it would be perfect to pull the nesting caravan.”

“Fa-ark.” Blake’s curse slithered from behind him. “So itwasa real horse.”

“Get back inside,” he barked, spinning toward her.

The dark look she returned could have frozen fire. She’d dressed against the morning chill in boots, thick windways, andlayers beneath her shawl. Rainbow hair flew like a red flag. One glance at her stubborn stance told him running wasn’t in her plans.

“It’s gone.” Sera’s voice cracked. “The kelpie broke free and—” Her hand slapped over her mouth as tears carved paths down her cheeks.

River’s spine stiffened. Sera never cried. Not when she’d broken both wings at twelve. Not when she’d been passed over for sentinel duties. Not even when their grandmother died. She was the toughest female he knew, while Lark wore her heart on her sleeve. Dread clawed up his throat, threatening to suffocate him.

“Where’s Lark?” he asked.

“Helping the others.”

Air rushed from his lungs. She was alive for now.

Blake moved past him, wrapping her shawl around Sera’s shoulders with murmured comfort.

“Which way did it go?” He forced his voice to remain steady.

Sera pointed past their caravan to the dense forest beyond, but something in her expression iced his blood. “Where’s everyone else? Ma? Dad?”

Her face crumpled. “They’re looking for the fledglings.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how they are—impossible to control, up at first light. A group snuck out to explore some passing ruins, and the kelpie…” She swallowed a sob. “It saw its chance.”

River crouched to inspect the reins trailing in the dirt. Teeth marks shredded the leather. Not torn in panic, but intentionally chewed through.