Page 15 of Lana Pecherczyk

River’s jaw slackened. This dick-monkey was impersonating a Guardian—the audacity.

And the vendor was complicit, right under his nose.

Had the whispered warnings of his arrival not reached them? Were they owl-brained?

As shock ebbed, River recognized the gift before him. A little fun was exactly what he needed to snap the sense back into him.

The dirty-faced vendor spotted him first. Her doe eyes widened to rival the moon. But the satyr remained oblivious as River stopped behind him. Good. All the more fun to peck out his eyes.

“How do I know he’s a Guardian?” the human asked the vendor. “I want to see credentials.”

The husky, defiant note in her voice urged him to lean over the satyr’s shoulder and wink as he said, “She has a point, you know.”

Wink?What the fuck was that?

“See? He agrees.” The shiny human gestured at River without really looking, then did a double-take that stroked every male instinct in his body.

Her plump lips parted. Rainbow-lashed eyes widened with hot, feminine appreciation. The kind so raw and sudden, it was painted on every inch of her Well-damned, beautiful face.

Shit.

He wasn’t prepared for this. He’d not expected anyone to ever look at him like that again. But the stirring her light had given him was nothing compared to the reaction inside him now. Seismic. Cataclysmic. He felt it down to the tingling tip of his cock. The bastard finally woke up from its half-a-decade hiatus, as eager to get close to this woman as the awaiting thieves and crows.

All this happened in the span of a wingbeat.

The satyr, still ignorant of a true Guardian behind him, let alone one of the Twelve, snarled, “My fist is the only credential you need.”

Death possessed River’s body. One moment, he was debating his dick’s divine resurrection. The next, he was yanking a horn and slamming his prey to the ground. Within seconds, his knee pinned the impostor’s neck. Black claws distended from his fingertips and pressed into chubby cheeks still wobbling from the impact with the ground.

Howdarehe threaten her?

Violence roared through River’s veins, warping his vision. One twitch, and he’d shred the satyr’s face. He’d claw into his mouth and rip out that tongue. Only the human’s sharp intake of breath stayed his hand.

The last remaining crows squawked and fled. Bystanders scattered, seeking safety at distant stalls or escaping to the next market aisle, far from where one of the Twelve prepared to dispense justice.

Justice?

For what, a stranger’s threat to a woman he’d never met?

No.

Justice was serving Cloud a cold dish called revenge. Not this.

The Well wants what it wants.

River’s panic resurged. This human wasnothis mate. No fucking way was he doing this for her. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Some kind of rainbow drug. His parched dick was a divining rod, and she was water. That was all. The notion doused his senses, and he retracted his claws.

He straightened, glowering down at the satyr. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t hack your balls off for impersonating a Guardian.”

“She’s covered in contraband.”

“And you took it upon yourself to—hey, where are you going?”

The human was already five steps away, melting into the market throng.Well-dammit.She moved as quietly as a mouse. But with the crowd dispersed and her prismatic dress gleaming like a beacon now that she’d hit the sun, she couldn’t hide for long.

River jabbed a finger at the satyr, intending to lecture, and came up short. Only one thought occupied his mind: chase the little rainbow mouse.

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