Page 64 of Colton’s Mate

“Betraying you,” Callie said. “Because she’s evil. I don’t suppose you have a gun on you anywhere?”

Then everything seemed to happen at once.

The crow minions made a move, but Callie ignored them and went for the leader, squeezing off two shots at Rohene.

The crow queen was lightning-fast—and fucking magical. She raised her hand and the bullets went wide, hitting Jason’s car.

Then the crows were on Callie.

They didn’t use their guns—apparently Rohene wanted her alive and undamaged, for the probing and the extracting. Callie shot one minion at close range—not fatally, unfortunately. Then she pulled her knife and started putting the hand-to-hand fighting techniques Kitty and Colt had taught her to good use.

For a minute she thought she might break free. Then Rohene whistled again, and the sky was filled with crows.

Fuck.

A second later, she heard the shriek of an enraged owl. A snowy white form plummeted out of the sky, knocking flying crows everywhere.

Colt? No, Remy. He slashed at the minions around her, avian and human. Then he grabbed Callie around the upper arms with his talons and beat his wings, lifting her off the ground.

She shot her remaining bullets at the crows trying to attack them, and then clocked one with her empty Beretta before kicking at any that came near her.

Once again, she thought they were going to make it. Then Rohene lazily raised her arm and Callie felt an invisible rope slither around her waist. She was halted mid-air, Remy straining to get her away.

And refusing to let go of her.

The crows converged on them, tearing at his wings, and then everything went dark.

Chapter 27

Callie woke up in a stone dungeon. It was a high-ceilinged round room with smooth walls and only one door—also stone, and which fit so tightly into the surrounding wall you could barely see it. The only way to tell it was there was a small metal grate about eye level.

Where you could look out, or someone could look in.

There wasn’t even a slot for someone to shove in a tray of half-rotted prison food. Which either meant she wouldn’t be here long, or they weren’t planning on feeding her.

She looked the other way. Remy was lying on the floor, his face bruised and bloodied. One shoulder looked misshapen.

She crawled over and examined it. Damn it all, they’d dislocated his shoulder, and now it was all swollen. It would be hell to put back, but it had to be done before it started to heal—and predator shifters healed fast. Even ones that were half-owl.

If the muscles healed while it was out of place, it would never be right.

She hoped she could do it.

Gingerly, she tried to arrange him so he was lying straight.

“Ow!” he said. His eyes opened. “Do you need to go jouncing me around like that? Because, wounded, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Yes, you are, and yes, I do. We need to get your shoulder back in the socket before it heals any further.”

He tried to move his shoulder, and yelped again. “Fuck. Do you know how to do it?”

“Sort of?”

He sighed. “Awesome. Okay. Do exactly what I say.”

He walked her through the process, which involved propping him up against the wall, holding his injured arm at just the right angle, putting her foot on his chest and popping the shoulder back in place.

He grimaced but didn’t cry out again. After it was done, Callie said, “You seem like you’ve done that a lot.”