The raven attempts to weave its way through the attacking mass of crows, demonstrating aerial grace and skill. But there are too many crows and in a burst of white feathers, the bird plummets.
Fearscreamsthrough my veins, ringing in the hollow of my chest. Without thought, I spring over the balustrade, reaching for my shadows.
I’m met with utter silence.
And the reality of my hasty decision strikes hard and swift.
The ground rushes toward me, a scream tearing from my throat. I’m going to land on the ground three stories below—and it’s going tohurt.
A white light blinds me and corded arms snatch me out of the air, clutching me against a broad and muscled chest. The familiar scent of saffron and smoke envelops me as my eyes fly open, meeting the incredulous stare of Ryc.
Behind him, two pairs of heavily white-feathered wings beatslowly against the night as he lands on the grass below.
Awestruck, I stare, struggling to breathe.
Or think.
Or speak.
His beauty renders me stupid.
Beauty like his has to be sinful.
His wings vanish in a burst of shimmering white light, hidden away from the rest of the world once again. Much like my own.
“What in the heavens are you doing?” he asks, his bewildered tone matching his incredulous expression.
What was I doing?
My eyes shoot wide.
The raven.
Squirming out of his arms, I scramble across the lawn, scouring the dark for the fallen creature. My bare feet struggle to find purchase against the damp grass and I stumble. More than once.
There!
Near the corner of the lawn the bird lies motionless.
Barely visible in the shadow, the white of its feathers appears a darkened gray with splotches of black. As I draw closer, it becomes clear it’s not black. It’s crimson.
Falling on my knees beside it, I glance above.
No crows.
Ryc’s light must have been enough to drive them off.
The creature lies on its back, wings splayed, chest heaving. Blood streams from an eye. Likely lost. The injury too severe.
Folding its wings with a delicate touch, I pull the creature into my lap, not caring about the blood. Its head shifts, and it pins its good eye against me as its chest continues to heave.
“Ryc!” I call over my shoulder. “Call Drunina!”
The healer.
She can help.
Ryc lowers himself to crouch beside me, seeing the bloodied raven in my lap.
