AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s just cruel. Here I’ve been so nice to you.”
“Darting me is you being nice?”
“Fair enough.”
Nash rubbed behind his ear. “What’s this?”
“Oh, that little ol’ thing? It’s a combination tracking device and exploding kitty bomb.”
Nash’s eyes narrowed on Roark, who waved a remote control through the air. The human didn’t look pleased.
“Here’s the problem,” said Roark. “We want to trust your conversion to the cause, but at the first sign of betrayal, you go kablooey. Your brains get splattered all over Scath. Think of it as a back-up system.”
“You didn’t have to do this, mate. I’m greedy enough to sign up.”
The chip was necessary for the Brit. Though Cerberus may have bought his act, Roark suspected the guy did not intend to help Arisen Dawn. And Roark was a good judge of character. Despite his pretense at being a bad guy, honor infected Miller like a virus. “Yeah. It’s a just-in-case.”
Miller glared while Roark continued to lay out the plan. “We’ll jump on over to the Covenkirk stronghold after I set it up with a phone chat, selling our desertion and admirable character. First, I need to make a stop. I hate guests who arrive without a hostess gift, don’t you?”
“You’re barmy.” When the cell door swung open, Miller stepped outside, still rubbing his head, a bit groggy.
“One of the many charms you’ll learn to love about me.”
Roark led his prisoner-turned-partner to another building in the garrison where they walked to an apartment. The shifter listened before he gripped the doorknob. “Locked. You aren’t packing a set of picking tools, are you?”
Nash curled his lip. “No.”
“Oh, well.” Roark popped open the door. “Let’s hurry. Lort wouldn’t be happy to find us here.”
A puzzled Miller, brows scrunched, followed him through the living room, into a kitchen, and down the stairs to a cellar.
“There he is,” whispered Roark. “The gift.”
A naked male curled against the back of an eight-by-eight cage, far from the door. His eyes were wide open though vacant, his skin pale, his lips parted, mouth sagging. From the top of his matted hair to the tips of his dirty feet, he looked beaten, defeated.
Roark held up a hand, snapping his fingers to unlock the enclosure. “We’re here to take you home. Don’t be afraid.” He strode inside, seizing control of the male’s mind when the guy struggled, calming him enough to stop the fight but keep him on his feet.
With an arm around the human’s waist, Roark motioned Nash back up the stairs.
“What the fuck are you doing?” asked the Brit, following through the apartment.
“Like I said, I hate visitors who arrive with no hostess gift. Besides, this offering should put us in good stead with the Firebrands. They love do-gooders. Of course, Lort will be pissed to hell without his chew toy, but everybody can’t be a winner. I’m sure Cerberus will understand, and let’s face it, he’s the guy to please.”
Once they were outside in the central courtyard, Roark tucked Nash under one arm and the nearly comatose male under the other. He snapped out his huge black raven wings before soaring into the sky.
Roark whooshed upward with powerful strokes. When he leveled out, the wind ruffled through his feathers. Freedom. Fresh air. Scattered lights from campfires or homes winked below because even wild creatures sought warmth on a frigid evening in the high Darque mountains, hiding in safety from bigger, scarier monsters. He flew past a squadron of harpies who glanced his way. He nodded at them, admiring their tight V formation, their discipline, their determination while they hunted. Fortunately, they didn’t eye him as prey. He was just another dangerous night creature winging toward home with dinner in his arms.
“Holy shite,” said the Brit, his breathing rapid, his heart a heavy thudding rhythm. “Isn’t there a better way to travel?”
“Possibly, but I like the skies. We’ll land in a sec to take a portal to Scath. Then it’s back in the air to the Covenkirk stronghold.”
“Do not drop me, asshole.”
“And lose my partner? I gotcha. Not to worry, limey. I’ve never lost a passenger yet. Wait. There was a satyr, but he pissed me off. I taught him a lesson in politics. He who is stronger survives. The guy splattered on the ground after a fall of about fifteen hundred feet. He made a splendid dinner for the vamponies below us on the prairie, though. Goes to show, one person’s misfortune is another’s good luck. I’m all about the lesson.”
“Barmy. Like I said,” the Brit muttered, gripping Roark’s forearm tighter.
****
