Theo is lightly stalking, stopping to squat and look at things, trying to find her path.
“Rebels, her file said. Killed in the battle of Kirkshire. She would have been a teen,” I answer.
“Who finished raising her?” Arch asks, watching Theo.
“No notes on that in her file. I assume she was old enough to be left to her own devices.”
Arch’s face is barely hiding his rage.
An unexpected flare of anger rises.I told him she was a bad choice. And I told him even before that that he should have a hand in this.
Before either of us can make a poor choice though, Theo is between us again. “I found her trail.”
“Perfect.” Arch’s voice sounds angry and sarcastic though. “To the air.”
THERE IS ABSOLUTELYno reason that we should not easily overtake our wingless, human bride.
And yet, we do not. Her trail loops and doubles, has fake offshoots and switchbacks, uses creek beds when possible.
To anyone less skilled than Theo, and Arch, she would be a ghost. As it is, she’s giving us hell.
The fifth landing within an hour to search for her trail on the ground and I’m antsy, pacing. But staying well out of the way of my chime, useless as I am.
I am afraid.Of so many things: that she’ll escape, that she’ll be injured, but most of all that she’ll be found by someone who reports her and thus, us.
None of the first year women tried to escape.Why would our bride do this?
Yet again, Theo directs us back to the air after finding the trail.She’s evading us.
I look at the sun and see that we have barely an hour of daylight left. Fear strikes my heart and this time, it’s fear for our little bride. The forest is not a safe place for a soft human.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fern
The hilt of the long kitchen knife is slick with blood, my fingers sliding in a manner I consider poor blade-handling skill.
I don’t stop until I’m sure though.
Sure that this goyle is dead.
I lean back on my knees and use my forearm to brush a hair out of my sweaty face.
I need to get up, clean up, salvage what I can, and get the fuck out of here.
I drop the knife and stand, pulling off the—now wet and sticky—purple robe I’m wearing. I’m sure I can find some better attire here.
When I had found the small household, I crouched in the grasses at the edge of the clearing, hoping I might be able to steal some supplies.
Unfortunately, it hadn’t gone that way.
I had seen a younger male gargoyle coming and going around the small homestead, working on the usual chores.
Younger alphas that haven’t formed chimes often live communally, I had known that before Ben’s little lecture, so I had wanted to figure out how many there were before I attempted to steal anything. After about fifteen minutes, Idecided I wasn’t going to get the opportunity, and since I didn’t have the time to burn waiting, I started to skirt the clearing.
I was so concerned with keeping an eye on the one goyle, and trying to avoid letting his animals alert him to my presence, that the other gargoyle had practically tripped over me.
As this random bat straightened, grabbing me by the arm and yelling for the first goyle, I cursed myself for an idiot.How the fuck did I let that happen?
