Page 8 of Savage Thirst

"To stay away from this town and the townies, not to stir up trouble—that's what you promised me," he says. "There was a body found at the border."

I grin. "He was a straggler. Barely even counted as a person."

Asher stops walking. "Why did you come here, Kayden?"

"Maybe I missed you." I flash a sharp smile. "Maybe I wanted to check out your little kumbaya project. Offer a few notes."

"And?"

"As expected. Pathetic. Naive. Mind-numbingly boring," I say. I'm nothing if not honest.

"Thanks," he deadpans, sarcasm so dry it could start a brushfire.

"If you can't take feedback, Shadow Mayor…"

"You can't leave a trail of bodies behind you," Asher cuts in, his voice low. "I won't keep covering for you."

I laugh, cold and sharp. "You don't need to. Let them try to stop me. I'll enjoy the process."

"Kayden." That one word, weighted down with warning. The kind that usually comes before he tries the whole 'enlightened discipline' talk he brought from Southeast Asia.

But I beat him to it. "Relax. You won't have to deal with me much longer. I'm leaving soon."

He opens his mouth, but then we both freeze.

Movement. Running. Shouts in the distance. The forest stirs—birds, branches, some small creature fleeing fast.

We exchange a look. Then we move. No words needed.

The clearing hits us all at once—wet earth, cold lake, and two bulky figures that reek of shady business. One stands at the shoreline, arms crossed. The other is trudging out of the water, soaked to the neck, muttering a string of curses I haven't heard since my hundred-year binge through Eastern Europe.

"You didn't need the powder," the guy on shore grunts. "A good smack to the head would've done it."

"I told you, if Darius finds out we damaged her, we're both dead. Slow and painful," the one from the lake replies, just as I spot her.

A girl. Unconscious. Drenched. Limp in his arms.

"She'll heal before we get her there." Shore guy shrugs, already over it.

That's enough for us. Asher steps forward. So do I.

"Well, well, well," I say, voice loud and cheerful. "It's nice to walk into a scene where the bad guys label themselves."

The goons freeze and turn.

"Piss off before you get hurt, boy," the one on the shore snarls.

Boy. That's cute.

"Hand over the girl, and we'll let you walk away," Asher says, reasonable as usual.

I'm not feeling particularly reasonable. These two don't look like anyone's going to miss them.

"I said piss off!" the guy roars, his voice rolling through the trees like a wave of sound and something worse—ancient and wrong, stirring my gut with an unpleasant feeling.

Then the forest shifts. A rustle overhead. Shadows drop fast.

Something dives—sharp claws, feathers, rage. I catch one midair and snap its neck.