Colt shoves a hand through his inky hair. “You want company?”
“No,” I rasp, needing to be alone right now.
“Check in, in an hour. Please.” Azrael’s almost gentle voice is at odds with his harsh, biting tone earlier. Now that the Praetorium is gone, his eyes have lost their glow, and the air doesn’t feel quite so charged with his power.
I dip my head in acknowledgment, not trusting my voice to come out steady. Shoving up from my chair, I stalk out of the room, trying to ignore the worried glances my two friends, who are more like brothers, are exchanging.
I’m lost in my chaotic and jumbled thoughts as I wind my way through the underground network of tunnels, meetingrooms, and living quarters that has been our valor’s base of operations for centuries. If I pass anyone, I don’t notice it, too caught up in the self-doubt no one can stir up better than my father.
When I finally emerge from the underground complex, I blink owlishly at the full moon shining brightly overhead. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright moonlight after hours underground.
While we have living quarters underground in case of emergency, most of our valor lives in houses scattered around our territory. All but the most powerful flights live together in the center of our land in a small city of sorts. There’s safety in numbers, so most flights choose to live near others.
As the strongest flight in the valor, Azrael, Hal, Colt, Remy, and I split our time between our house near the edge of our territory and the closest human city, Willow Bend. One of the many ways we keep our people safe is by building alliances with other supernaturals and amassing wealth from the businesses we run.
Despite our efforts to keep our valor safe, we’re still forced to hide what we are. Gone are the days when our people could soar across the skies from dawn to dusk, under the waning and waxing moon and in the rain, snow, or sunshine. Now, most of the valor doesn’t even remember what it feels like to roam freely and fly wherever they want.
I’m losing hope that we’ll ever live without the shadow of the fae and their never-ending quest for power looming over us.
As I swing my leg over my bike, I try to let all the worries over our future fade away. I need a break from all the thinking and feeling and doubting.
Shoving on my helmet and gloves, I start up my bike and ride without a destination in mind. I ride hard through the windingback roads, taking curves faster than I should as I enjoy the freedom and the feeling of the wind whipping around me.
I’m unsurprised when my mindless riding leads me straight to Willow Bend. I’m always going to be drawn to Lark, even if continents, oceans, or realms separate us. That’s just how it is, and there’s no use fighting it, despite what Azrael thinks.
I ride through the quiet streets of the city, most of the residents tucked safe and sound in their beds at this point in the night. As I follow the pulling in my gut, I expect to find Lark doing much the same.
Instead, I spot her and her bright green bike in an empty parking lot long before she has the chance to notice me. Pulling into an adjacent lot, I cut my engine before the loud rumble of my bike gives me away.
From my spot under a live oak, I send a text to Azrael to let him know I’m alive. Then I run my gaze over Lark, pleased to see she’s wearing a leather jacket, boots, and what I hope are riding jeans.
I watch Lark painstakingly practice slow-speed maneuvers. While she has weaving, tight turns, and small circles mastered, Lark struggles with doing figure eights. I wince each time she drops her bike and fight the urge to rush over to her to make sure she’s okay.
At least until she goes down with her bike on top of her legs. She lies under the machine, unmoving. I wait with my heart in my throat for her to jump to her feet like she has all the other times.
But she doesn’t.
“Get up,” I whisper, quietly begging her to be okay. “Get up, dove.”
When she still doesn’t move after a few more seconds, I rip off my helmet and sprint over to her.
As soon as I reach her prone form, I collapse to my knees at her side. I try to figure out what to do. I don’t want to move her and chance making whatever damage caused her blackout worse, but I also don’t want to leave her vulnerable and exposed like this.
I hover my hands uncertainty over her prone form before leaning in to get a look at her face. Maybe there will be some blood, scrapes, or wounds that’ll give me a clue as to what happened.
As soon as I can see her breathtaking, delicate face, Lark’s startlingly green eyes blink open. She stares at me in confusion for a long moment before her eyes widen. “Rook?”
Once she recognizes that it’s me, she struggles to sit up. I place a gentle but firm hand against her chest, preventing her from moving. She gasps at the contact and goes limp underneath me.
A part of me, that I don’t want to acknowledge, loves how responsive she is to my directions, but I shove that thought away.
“Easy now,” I tell her as gently as I can, trying not to let any of the worry bleed into my voice. I don’t want her freaking out and potentially hurting herself worse. “Don’t try to get up, dove. I think you blacked out.”
Her nose crinkles in confusion before she processes what I said. When she does, her cheeks redden, and she gives me a guilty look. “I didn’t black out. I was just… lying here, moping, and silently berating myself for dropping my freaking bike yet again while doing the world’s simplest maneuver.”
I fight the urge to wilt in relief, not wanting her to see how scared out of my fucking mind I was thinking she was hurt.
Instead, I force a small laugh and try to comfort her. “Figure eights aren’t simple. They’re outrageously difficult for how easythey look. There’s nothing to feel bad about. I’m pretty sure everyone struggles with them.”
