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“Maybe we’ll land in the water,” Willow cried.
The hopeless look in Cloud’s eyes said everything. There was something in the deep, something horrifying none of them wanted to face. Willow vaguely remembered stories from her Uncle Thorne. Warnings never to wander down there alone.
“If you hate me, then kill me!” Rory’s voice was a hissed gurgle, breaking under his grip.
He roared in her face. It was so powerful, so full of deep-seated rage that it vibrated the air. But he didn’t let go. His wings continued to flap. He continued to hold both of them, paralyzed by the decision.
The airship jerked to the side. Cloud’s grip on them slipped. Willow screamed as she dropped an inch. Warning shouts somewhere behind him—the metallic click of guns.
Nero was here.
Cloud’s mistake was looking over his shoulder. He should have been looking at the strong-willed woman he held by the throat. She gripped his forearms, stopped kicking, and hoisted herself up. Her weight pulled him down. His head lowered enough for her to whisper something in his ear. His eyes widened, lips parted, and then she plunged her dagger into his tattooed hand, forcing him to let go.
Agony crumpled his face as Rory fell. Her dark hair streamed like ribbons. But she didn’t flail. She didn’t scream. She held Cloud’s gaze until the deep blue water swallowed her whole.
ChapterFifty-Four
Crows had long memories. Their nightmares never left. River was not new to violence. Crow shifters rarely were. He’d seen things in battle, things that didn’t make sense. Even with distance, sometimes clarity eluded him. At the worst times, random memories from battles sliced into his mind, haunting him in his sleep.
Blood. Gore. Broken wings. Teeth. Hair attached to membranes. Talons attached to dismembered fingers. Shadows. Strange sounds. Feelings of terror. Mystical lights.
The times he’d awoken in a confused, cold sweat were too many to count. He knew his mind tried to piece together the information he’d seen. It wanted to reassess the threat before it was too late.
The danger that sent him here—flying toward the ceremonial lake—was not from an enemy but a friend. While in the throes of battle, a shadow blotted out the rising sun. River had glanced up to see Willow and Rory escaping to their airship. Then he was struck by one of the undead. When he looked again, the airship was a speck in the distance while another tinier speck followed behind—a shadow with black feathered wings.
Suddenly, the taint in the Well oozed away. Energizing clarity washed over him. His wings found a little more power, his heart more strength. Cloud was his oldest, closest friend. They were brothers. River couldn’t let him make the biggest mistake of his life by exacting vengeance on the woman he used to love, who tortured and tore his heart out. It wouldn’t heal him. It would only make him worse.
This was exactly why River had never fallen in love. He’d seen firsthand how a gullible heart could be used, bruised, and abused. So he’d avoided it at all costs. The only time he’d ever regretted that decision were the nights he woke in terror, confused, and needing the comfort of a female’s arms—or between her thighs.
A storm brewed in the distance. River’s wings never beat so hard, something telling him to pick up speed. He dug deep into his reserves but knew he was almost spent, battle-weary, heavy, and sore. But this instinct buzzed across his skin. He didn’t want to get caught in the rain and could already hear thunder roll and lightning crack.
Glowing bioluminescent trees appeared—their lights brighter beneath the dark clouds. River’s gaze snagged on a silver head of hair on the shore of the Ceremonial Lake. He tucked his wings and dove.
Before he landed, he gave a quick survey of Willow’s surroundings but found no immediate threat.
The teenager was alive.
She was safe.
But alone, hugging her knees and rocking.
Landing without grace, River’s boots stumbled into a jog along the sandy beach. Lungs heaving, wheezing from their abuse, he pushed himself to get to her. Thunder cracked. He could taste rain and electricity in the air.
“Willow!”
Her head whipped toward him. Her red-rimmed eyes widened as she sobbed, and it occurred to River that she might think him the enemy. She’d been gone for so long from Elphyne, at such an integral part of her development. Who knew what happened behind the walls of Crystal City? And then there were the horrors they’d witnessed during the battle. That scream of anguish she’d released still sent shivers down River’s spine.
Tears created tracks down her dirty and blood-stained cheeks. She sobbed so hard she couldn’t breathe and gulped for air, trying to speak but unable. Her black military-style clothing was dirty and bloody. Torn in places. He forced his steps to slow, his aching wings to pin behind his back, and approached her as one would a caged animal.
“Willow, it’s River.” He kept his tone low and calm. He pointed to the Guardian teardrop beneath his left eye. “D’arn River. I’m a friend of your parents. I work with your father, Rush. Do you remember me?”
Whimpers shot from her cracked lips as she tried to gain control of her spasming diaphragm.
For Crimson’s sake.She was traumatized. Her hands were torn, and she cradled her arm like it was broken. Another crack of thunder startled her, and she squeezed her eyes shut and resumed rocking.
“Hey, Willow.” He crouched and tried to still his rabbiting heart. “Are you hurt?”
Her brows lifted in the middle, and she hugged her knees tighter and nodded.
