And now the fear was beginning to creep back, because Rory had been her only hope. If she couldn’t tell him where she was being taken, how would he find her? She remembered the prophecy Brady had recited.
In twenty-five years, half-angel, half-human mates will be discovered living among you.
Warriors, all, with names like flora.
Pity she wasn’t a warrior. Right now it would have come in really handy to know Kung-Fu or kick-boxing, or have a ninja throwing star hidden in her panties. Smack-talk probably wasn’t going to cut it.
* * * * *
Rory was sitting with his eyes closed, fingers pressed to his temples, thinking so hard it made his head ache.
“It’s just vague impressions. A rutted road – she’s being jounced around a lot. She can smell strong perfume…and cow shit.” He thumped the wall of the fire truck with a metallic clang, then shook his hand, wincing with pain. “That’s all I’m getting – cow shit. What good is that?”
From the expressions on their faces, the other guys could plainly hear the rising panic in his voice, but they were out of ideas.
“There are two cattle farmers out this way,” said the Chief as they barrelled up the road toward a T-junction. Culkin to the East. Jeffries to the West. Left or right. We choose wrong…”
He didn’t have to finish the sentence.
“She’s my mate,” Rory said, his breathing fast and panicky. “It’s my responsibility to make the right choice.”
“No,” said Ben.
Rory turned desperate eyes to him.
“Brady should choose.”
“She’s not Brady’s mate,” Rory protested. His voice shook.
“No, but Brady will choose right,” Ben said. He held Rory’s gaze, steady and true. “Brady always rolls lucky dice. He never picks the short straw. He always chooses the right card. Trust him – he’ll make the right decision.”
Rory shifted his gaze. “Brady?” he asked, grabbing his arm hard enough to leave bruises.
Brady nodded, face grim. “I’ll make the choice,” he said. “East. We’ll go east.”
