“I’d expected as much.”
A tense moment slips by.
“They’ve shown no signs of coming back to the burrows, Kaan. Or communicating with the sentries. If she doesn’t make some form of contact soon …” The beat of silence speaks louder than her words. “You know how it is with some.”
They don’t return.
Ever.
“She’ll come back,” I pledge before stuffing my mouth full, chewing as I dust off my hands. But my words echo off the vast tunnel, taunting me with the truth.
That they weren’t as sturdy as I thought they were.
Raeve’s tamed a Moonplume before, yes … but she was younger then. A hatchling, in the eyes of a dragon.
Now she’s a grown fae, hiding from a world of pain.
Convincing myself to believe she’ll make it through this without turning wild is perhaps the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
We scour the wide gully between two jagged mountains, hunting movement amongst the trees, rocks, and the bright river cutting it all in two.
Tufts of grass and small sunshine-colored blooms have burst past patches of half-melted snow, sweetening the air with the smell of life. Luring fluffy white kitzus that bound across the meadows, pausing to nibble sprigs while their massive ears twitch and swivel.
We pay them no heed as we slice through clotted clouds, Líri’s light dimmed, every whip of her wings angled to cut the currents with smooth, silent precision. But they’re a sure sign we’re in the right spot, the bite-sized creatures the perfect prey forotherthings.
Biggerthings.
Líri’s hunger radiates through our bond, my own empty gut gurgling to be filled. It hones my senses. Makes me keenly aware of the large creature moving amongst the trees even before its dense musk reaches us.
Líri tilts, swooping clear of the clouds. I lean over and peer down her side, stare sharpening on a dark shape prowling through the undergrowth beneath the compact trees—
A bhar. Male. Bigger than most.
Meaty.
Our hearts hitch in unison, the muscles under my tongue tingling in eager anticipation.
Líri twitches, no doubt considering an impatient plummet, followed by a swift dart between the branches. Butit risks a painful wing-snag. Not to mention the thorny vines that bind the thick trunks and tangle with their gangly limbs. I’ve pulled enough of the prickly fuckers from the soft pad on the inside of Líri’s claws to be certain I never want to bust through a canopy again.
I grunt my displeasure.
She hesitates. Changes course, finding a strong current to glide upon, allowing us to hover—her eyes so trained on the gaps between the trees it’s as if her head’s caught on a pike, the rest of her body gusting with the wind.
We wait, watching. Catch glimpses of the bhar moving toward the wide-open meadow teeming with the small kitzus they so love to snatch.
A tiny white bird bursts from the canopy near the meadow’s outskirts. Sure sign the beast is getting close. Preparing to charge.
I flatten against Líri’s back, our hearts thumping hard and fast. Filling our muscles with a surge of energy.
Utter stillness, and then—
The bahr explodes free of the trees much faster than its plump, shaggy body suggests it should move, its short limbs powerfully built, exploding with sprinting might. Its paws gouge patches of snow as it launches toward a group of nibbling kitzus that scatter for their lives.
The bhar releases a roar that appears to confuse its prey, making some of them spin and dart in the other direction. The sort of sound that might’ve intimidated me before things became so clear.
Before I realized the savage urges I’ve spent the past twenty-three phases mostly ignoring are actually the key to a simpler existence, void of the need to think or feel orremember.
Líri dives.
