A sharpcrackshattered the silence.
Lykor spun, every muscle coiled, hunting for something—anything—amidst the thick greenery. The palms swayed in the breeze, their whispering leaves the only sound. Yet his gut twisted with primal warning.
Something was watching.
Movement flashed above.
Instinct eclipsed thought. Lykor’s arm shot out, a pulse of force whipping from his palm. His magic struck, colliding with a blur in the sky. A screech split the air as he yanked the object downward, his gauntlet clamping shut around it.
Feathers burst in a blue flurry as the creature thrashed against the cage of his grip. He peered at the strange four-legged bird, its heart thudding a frantic rhythm, tiny chest puffing in and out. Its hooked beak snapped at the metal claw, talons scraping wildly in a frenzied attempt to break free.
Shifting his hold so the feral thing didn’t beat itself bloody, Lykor carefully transferred the creature to his unarmored hand. Pain flared hot when it latched onto his finger, savagely peeling away a strip of skin.
Snarling as his blood welled, Lykor shoved the bird toward Jassyn. “Control this fucking thing.”
“If you let go, it’ll probably stop biting you,” Jassyn said dryly, gingerly prying the beak loose from Lykor’s mangled knuckle.
Lykor spun a stream of shadows around the vicious bill, clamping it shut. “No,” he growled, impatience scraping at the edge of his voice. “I meant…”
His words stalled the moment Jassyn’s fingers landed next to his wound, warmth whispering against his skin. A threadof mending light unfurled, hovering above the puncture in his flesh.
Lykor’s gaze snapped up, meeting uncertain amber eyes. A silent question hung between them, waiting for permission.
He knew—heknew—that Jassyn had the skill to mend without touching him.
But yet, he did. Like he had the previous evening.
And Lykor had no idea what to do with that fact. Didn’t know what to do with the heat creeping along his skin. The way his blood didn’t just lurch, but rushed, winding tight beneath Jassyn’s fingers. His instincts should have screamed for him to pull away, like they had last night—to sever whatever this was before it burrowed deeper, before it sank its teeth in.
But some part of him—something foreign, something he hadn’t known existed—reared its head, starved for more. To let the warmth linger. To let himself drown in it.
Lykor blinked, wrenching his mind back into place. He jerked his chin in a curt nod. Caught off guard by the contact, he wasn’t sure why he’d agreed. It was hardly a scratch.
Jassyn worked swiftly, knitting the injury back together before letting his hand drop.
Irritation ricocheted against Lykor’s chest—partially at the bird, but mostly at himself. He cleared his throat, picking up where he’d left off. “I meant…can you see through its eyes? Make it fly? Give us a view of the sky?” His attention flicked toward Vesryn as he approached. “Unless you’d rather stumble around aimlessly like the prince.”
Jassyn’s mouth parted as his gaze darted between Vesryn, the trembling bird, and Lykor. “Are you sure?”
Lykor shoved the creature closer, the shadows wrapped around its beak muffling its frantic squawks. “As long as it’s not me,” he muttered, “I don’t care what your coercion touches.”
“Do it,” Vesryn ordered. He brushed the feathers on the bird’s head, the oddly delicate gesture contrasting his rough voice. “We don’t have time to waste.”
Jassyn exhaled slowly. “What if I damage its mind?”
“It’s abird,” Vesryn snapped. “Whatever you see might help us find Serenna.” His jaw tightened before he mumbled, “And Fenn.”
Lykor shifted his weight uneasily as the last of Jassyn’s resistance buckled under obligation. A flicker of guilt stirred, but he ignored it.
Jassyn sighed, a shimmer of Essence sparking at his fingertips before sinking into the creature’s skull.
Talons scraping against Lykor’s hand, the bird twitched, beady eyes rolling wildly. Then, its entire body seized, pupils collapsing into black pinpricks.
As the unsettling magic took root, a ripple of uncertainty crept down Lykor’s spine.
Jassyn swallowed. “Okay,” he breathed, dragging the back of his hand across his brow. “Let it go, and I’ll—I’ll see where it flies. Maybe try to steer it.”
Retracting his shadows from its beak, Lykor cautiously uncurled his fingers. The bird scrambled upright, claws raking into the bed of his palm. With a piercing screech and a disgruntled shake, it ruffled its feathers and launched skyward.
