Page 38 of Lana Pecherczyk

“Oh, come on, River,” Ada cajoled, playfully slapping his chest. “She’s your mate. If she can’t get an invite, then who can?”

“Yeah,” Ash chimed in, mimicking Ada’s gesture with a mocking slap. “She’s an honorary member of your kettle. Ergo, you’re honor-bound to present her with Murder’s Call.”

River’s glare could have melted steel. “I only have two invitational coins. One for you and one for me.”

A gentle breeze lifted the hair over Ash’s right ear. He cocked his head as if listening to it, and when his hair settled, he shrugged. “We don’t need them. We’re Guardians.”

Doubt and panic warred in River’s eyes. Trix launched a barrage of promises about “super-duper tip-top features” forallof his weapons while Ada murmured something about forgiving him for hustling her son.

“I’ll take her if you won’t,” Ash offered, his tone casual but his eyes bright with challenge.

“Go near her, princeling, and I’ll gut you.” River stepped between them, still facing Blake. He fixed her with an intensity that stole her breath. Slowly and deliberately, he lifted his shirt all the way to his collarbone, revealing a landscape of hard muscle and intricate, yet broken, tattoos.

“Prove it,” he demanded, voice deepening. “Pick a tat and draw it.”

Chapter

Twelve

CIRCA 200 YEARS AGO

“Shh.” Manfri pressed his fingers to his lips as he stalked around the base of the tallest spire in the canyon.

Cielo frowned back at him. “What, like he can hear us from all the way up there! We can’t even see past the clouds.”

They glared at the ring of haze surrounding the spire’s peak way up high. Nothing had changed since they’d arrived a few turns of the hourglass ago, except the sky’s darkening color.

They’d devised a plan to survey the canyon for signs of the Collector. Ancient human ruins littered the area with forbidden substances, making some places inaccessible to the fae. All other spires had come up empty except this one, and they lacked the guts to fly into the misty barrier hiding the peak. It was the perfect hiding space for a paranoid crow monster protecting his treasure. It made complete, terrifying sense.

Cielo swiped his hand over gouge marks scarring the craggy spire’s surface. “This looks like a sigil—a warning sign. Maybe a ward, but I don’t feel mana in it. Do you?”

Manfri placed his palm on the gouges and felt only a cold, rocky surface. Natural stone, nothing more. He shook his head.

“I guess the only thing left to do is go up.” Cielo’s dark wings ruffled, and he shivered.

Neither of them moved.

“I also heard he’s a cannibal,” Manfri whispered.

“Nah, surely not.” But Cielo’s words carried no power, no conviction.

“We don’t have to go.” Manfri’s hand gravitated to his groin. “What if he eats the soft bits first?”

“Speak for yourself,” Cielo scoffed. “I have no soft bits.”

“Fine. Go then. You seem to be doing a lot of that lately.”

“Fine. I will.” Cielo’s eyes flashed, and his wings spanned wide, but he hesitated and met Manfri’s gaze. “You coming?”

“Always.”

Wingbeats thunderedas the crow shifters circled up the spire. Manfri pulled his bone dagger from his belt when they entered the misty top. Magic buzzed along their skin with the power of a storm. Mana. He tasted it on his tongue. This haze was magic, perhaps hiding something dangerous. Excitement and trepidation filled him in equal measure. Only treasure would be protected in this manner. This was surely the Collector’s hideout.

Two more wingbeats and they cleared the cold mist. Manfri squinted at the sudden light. When his eyes adjusted, he rubbed them to ensure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Look.” Awe coated Cielo’s tone.

The spire’s peak was a mountain of treasure that spilled down various platforms onto lower levels. Holes and tunnels were laced throughout the mountainous peak. Sunset limnedthe entire collection with a golden light that sparkled in some places but seemed to absorb illumination in others. There was no actual gold. No metal. No forbidden substances. Just jewels and knick-knacks and baubles and trinkets. Treasure.