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The aviator frowned as his spyglass moved to the airship gaining on them. Willow could tell the exact moment he realized Rory had lied to them. Tension crept over his shoulders. His knuckles whitened on the brass cylinder. When he lowered it, his eyes darted about, and he licked his lips.
He bellowed a warning shout to the crew below deck. Willow stole his spyglass and used it to knock him out. Their pursuers’ bowsprit rammed into their hull, splintering wood. Their airship teetered and jerked as the balloon filled with manabeeze jostled. Bodies and cargo slid across the tilting deck. The wheel spun as the rudder changed direction. The rigging creaked as it stretched.
Holding the wheel for dear life, Willow feared they’d capsize. A crew member slid past her, hit the quarterdeck railing, and ricocheted overboard. The wind swallowed his cry.
Manabeeze swarming inside the balloon somehow balanced the ship. Shouts of chaos came from both crews. Clambering to her feet, ignoring the blisters on her skin, Willow checked the other airship and found them scrambling to patch a hole in their canvas. A slow trickle of glowing balls popped out of the tear. Nero paced the deck, barking orders. They must have damaged their own when they rammed. Grinning, she returned to the wheel, thinking she could steer them away, but instead locked eyes with the real reason for that tear—an angry tattooed crow shifter, half covered in blood.
ChapterFifty-Three
Air whipped the shifter’s mop of black hair into angry blue eyes. His well-used leather armor was streaked with gore and dirt. He must have come straight from the battle. Unlike Rory, who had a single dagger left, he retained a full arsenal across his muscular body.
Heart leaping into her throat, Willow looked for a weapon, maybe a splintered piece of wood. The spyglass had rolled away. Nothing. There was nothing. Taking a chance, she glanced over the taffrail to the landscape below. Water glistened under the morning sun. And bioluminescent trees. Lots of them. They were over the ceremonial lake, not far from the Order. It had been years since Willow was here, but she remembered the lake was deep and large. Maybe she could jump.
The intruder’s brow arched mockingly as if daring her to try. Inky tattoos on his neck glimmered, reminding her of the dragon’s scales. A blue sparkling teardrop winked beneath his left eye. Although he seemed deadly, he put his tattooed finger to his lips and quietly stalked past her.
A Guardian.
She exhaled and wracked her brain, trying to remember which one. Did he know her father, Rush? An image flashed in her mind. On the day she’d been kidnapped, this brooding Guardian was there. He’d looked at Rory like he knew her, like he wanted to murder her.
Oh no.
Willow had been wrong to call the six beautiful monsters fallen angels. Now that she had a comparison, she could see the difference. This Guardian had smile lines at the edges of his eyes—as though he’d been happy once, long ago. A true fallen angel, someone who’d lost his way. The others were devils born into the darkness… souls that had never seen the light.
It is not night when we see your face.
Dashing their words away, she watched warily as the Guardian crept up on Rory. She was hunched over one of the crew, blocking his windpipe with her forearm. The fallen angel’s fists flexed at his side as though he restrained himself from the impulse to strangle.
He glanced toward the airship still working to fix their leak. The angle revealed his face again. Willow had seen that same look on Nero after the first time she’d accused him of stealing his daughter’s mana. She’d only been eleven or twelve. They’d been playing chess in the garden, and Nero had left momentarily. When he returned, his old man’s gray hair was gone. Her aunty returned with more.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Nero taunted Willow.
“I’ll tell her what you’ve done!” she sobbed out.
Nero sat back, glanced at the chessboard, and moved his pawn, taking the queen. Then he tipped over the king.
“Checkmate,” he’d said, a slow smile curving his lips.
Victory—that was the look on the Guardian’s face.
His boot scuffed the deck as he drew closer. Whether Rory heard above the wind and engines or sensed a shift in the atmosphere, she tensed without looking up. She let the unconscious crew member fall and straightened to her full height, stepping to the side.
When she faced the Guardian, a look of tired resignation met him.
An aviator jumped out from behind a crate. He took two brave steps, then lightning struck him. He burst like a balloon, spattering innards and blood over their faces. Through the mess, the Guardian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Rory hadn’t flinched. She didn’t even wipe the blood from her face. Despite her father’s actions, she was fearless, unbreakable, and never cowed. Willow wished she could be that brave.
“How did you do that?” Rory’s gaze narrowed on the Guardian as he circled her. “You’re a little too high to be connected to the Well, right?”
“We both know I can fly higher than most.” Cocky ego flashed in his eyes.
Rory’s brows raised, confused. He stalked to the carved taffrail and glanced over, checking the other airship. Satisfied they were still busy, he leaned a casual hip against the wood.
They stared at each other for a long, hard minute. Willow swore she felt the air crackle against her skin. The smell of lightning burned her nostrils. Tension increased until it felt like something would snap. Maybe Willow imagined it. Maybe they were friends.
But then Rory showed her palms and nodded to Willow. “I came here to return her to her family. I won’t stop you.”
His lashes lowered, wary.
