Page 58 of Lana Pecherczyk

“A kelpie.” River lifted his head, jaw tightening. “Curse that innkeeper for selling us a dud. I should have recognized it, but I was…” His gaze dipped to her lips. “Distracted.” The calm in his expression hardened. “We’re not out of danger yet.”

He moved to rise. Instinct drove her to follow—not from fear, but from a bone-deep certainty that beside him was where she belonged.

River calmly pressed her back down. “Stay.”

“Fuck you, cunt, I’m coming with.”

“Sparkles,” he groaned out, lashes fluttering. After a beat, he returned his heated gaze to hers. “While your filthy mouth makes me hard, now’s not the time to disobey.”

Blake’s outrage sputtered. “It makes you what?”

A flash of savage desire slipped through his block on their bond. His voice dropped to a growl. “You’re going to hate me for this, but I’ll make it up to you later…”

“Hate you for what?”

“Remember those debts you owe me?”

Her stomach knotted. She nodded cautiously.

“You’re going to repay one by staying under these ferns until it’s safe to come out.”

The Well seized his words. Magic crackled through the air. Electricity danced across her skin as invisible bonds pinned her to the earth. He eased off her, passing through the fronds sheltering them, and settled into a crouch. He glanced over his shoulder.

“You fucking arsehole!” Blake thrashed against the magical restraints. “What have you done?”

River pressed a finger to his lips, wolfish focus gleaming in his eyes. “Trouble isn’t over.”

A rhythmic wind thundered overhead, shaking leaves from branches. Three massive forms plummeted earthward. Their impact vibrated the ground.

She watched River through a gap in the ferns as he straightened to his full height. That familiar crooked grin lifted his lips as he cracked his neck and flexed his fingers. His shoulders settled into a fighter’s stance, every line of his body radiating lethal grace.

“If it isn’t the Well’s garbage collector,” said the largest newcomer as he approached River. Cream and brown feathers rippled on the folded wings behind him. White-tipped primariesbrushed the forest floor. “Still scavenging through ruins like the carrion-eater you are?”

River still faced Blake’s direction, giving her a perfect view of his cocky smirk.

“Careful there, moon-face.” River rolled his shoulders. “Those are big words for someone who needs backup to feel brave.”

Silence.

River laughed. “What’s wrong, afraid to hunt alone without your mama’s permission?”

The insult struck true. All three attackers bristled, their round faces flushing dark. But River caught none of it. He fixed his gaze on Blake, perhaps checking whether his magical bindings held. She bared her teeth at him, thinking shadows concealed her face, but his responding feral grin oozed male satisfaction.

“At least we hunt with honor,” another spat, “unlike you thieves.”

“Honor?” River’s laugh held no warmth as he finally faced them. “Is that what you call ambushing travelers on the road? Here I thought you were compensating for your buggy eyes.”

A hoot of outrage preceded the third’s snarl. “Your kind has been stealing our prey for centuries!”

“Yourprey?” River’s tone dripped sweet innocence. “Oh, you mean the mice you’re too slow to catch without our help flushing them out?”

Movement in the shadows triggered River to spit on the ground ahead. “Traitor.”

The deserter from the tavern walked into view, his black wings confirming he was one of River’s kind, yet nothing like him. Blake barely knew her mate but felt sure he’d never sell out his own kind.

“You’re the one bringing an outsider into crow territory.” The deserter sneered. “Some Guardian you turned out to be.”

“As if you care who enters crow territory.”