Page 166 of Lana Pecherczyk

“Rocco’s just testing structural integrity.” Salvatore folded his arms. “If your caravan can’t withstand a few pebbles, perhaps it’s not up to code.”

“Code?” Talo laughed. “There is no code at the Great Murder.”

“There should be, starting with minimum distances between kindling and sleeping quarters. Your piles are a fire hazard.”

“That’s rich,” Sera shot back, “coming from a male who almost burned down his nest after a three-day bender.”

“That was over a century ago!” Salvatore’s cheeks darkened. “Your memory stretches inconveniently long when it serves you.”

“And yours is conveniently short,” Ravi countered, defending her daughter. “Especially about who taught your sons to fly when you were too busy with gambling debts.”

Lark groaned and blocked her ears. The argument intensified. Farther down the boundary line, two crow shifters engaged in a tug-of-war with some kind of sash or curtain,while younger cousins on either side hurled increasingly creative insults … and pebbles as per Rocco’s instructions.

“Your kettle’s aura is black as ink,” Ravi hissed at Carlotta. “No wonder one of your sons rots in a dungeon and the other?—”

“How dare you!” The Cardona matriarch surged forward, wings snapping open, only to pause when River and Ash emerged from between two Umbria caravans.

The Guardians stopped short.

River’s fingers twitched towardPeacemakeras he scanned the gathering. When he saw Blake, relief washed through their bond. He crossed to her in four long strides, anyone in his way scattering. Ash prowled behind him, glaring at anyone and everyone, the wind stirring fallen leaves in his wake.

“You good?” River’s fingers brushed Blake’s cheek.

She nodded, warmth spreading in her chest. “Thank god you’re here. I feel like things are escalating.”

His gaze flicked to where the Cardonas still tried to measure the distance between roosts. Talo discarded his mallet and tied a stone onto the stake he’d installed.

“What is he doing?” Blake asked.

“Proximity stones. He’s setting up an alarm in case anyone tries to cross into the Umbria roost.”

Lark’s face paled. She limped closer. “Do they think Tommas’s family will steal from us?”

“Who the fuck knows?” He shook his head and motioned Ash in closer. When he arrived, River pitched his voice low. “We had a word with the Corvus. About Lark and Tommas’s match.”

“You did?” Lark whispered.

“It wasn’t the Corvusorthe Donna who blocked the match,” Ash announced.

Loudly.

Silence crashed over the gathering. Even the feuding cousins farther down froze mid-tug.

“What do you mean?” Tommas launched from his perch, wings snapping open to ease into his landing.

“Who did it then?” Lark clutched Tommas’s arm. “Who hates us that much?”

“No one hates you, love,” Ravi said. “Sometimes a match isn’t meant to be.”

Blake’s mate’s fury and outrage roiled through their bond. She never expected him to turn to his mother and say, “Tell them.”

Color drained from her face. “This isn’t the time.”

His voice dropped to that dangerous purr. “Is there a right time to tell your daughter you interfered with her love match?”

Ravi fretted with a vial on her sash. “I was protecting our family.”

“Protecting me?” Lark stepped toward her mother. “From what?”