Excerpt:
I wake to a muscular, silent figure looming over me, his wings casting unnerving shadows. Intelligent dark eyes scrutinize me from his smooth, brown face framed by cropped black hair and raven quills. He’s been around the block.
My guard shoots up. I’d stand, but my body’s too weak from the climb. “Your nest, huh? Sorry, I didn’t see your name on it.”
“It’s carved right over there.” He points past me to the rockface. My eyes travel over the stone, where he’d etched River in craggy letters. The carved name is so tiny I didn’t notice.
“Now you’re supposed to tell me your name. That’s how this goes.”
I blink. “Delene Fairborne. Listen, would you mind if I–– ow,” I scrape against the wall and suck air through my teeth. I clamp my eyes shut.
“Are you okay?”
I shrug the blanket off, and my injured wing flops lamely near my shoulder. River’s eyebrows lower, and he comes closer.
“Let me look.”
He stows his serrated hunting knife, presents empty hands, and crouches to examine my injury. “Relax. I won’t hurt you. Let’s see the damage.” He’s gentle, avoiding the wound and handling my feathers softly. He lightly touches the bandage.
“Dr. Lytle runs the Stockade, the underground bunker and lab where the humans imprison and experiment on our kind. His men hunted me down and shot me with a crossbow as I tried
to escape. The wound is still healing––I changed the bandage earlier, but without a spare set of clothes, I had to tear strips off my pants to re-dress it.”
“Hmm.” He examines the back with a frown. “There’s an exit wound.”
“Yeah, I pulled it out.”
“Well, that was stupid of you. You could have died if those goons pierced a blood feather.”
My temper flares. “Oh, as opposed to leaving it in. I’d rather take my chances, thanks.” My voice is hostile, though I’m grateful for his help. I still don’t know who he is or what he wants, and my mother warned me to be on my guard.
River sits back on his haunches, sighs, and meets my eyes.
“Doesn’t look good. How long have you been here, kid? A day or so?”
“I’m no kid. I’m seventeen.”
“Well, I’m eighteen. So, you’re a kid.”
“By what, a few whole months?” I snicker. “Okay. If a kid free-climbed in the pitch-black up a hundred-foot cliff to get here, I guess I’m a kid.”
After examining the wound, he says, “The damage looks fixable. Let’s clean this well to prevent infection.”
“I’ve cleaned the wound.”
“Clean deeper,” he admonishes. “I don’t have antibiotics, but I’ll try to get some. Or at least honey. Honey heals.”
He hesitates before retrieving water, then takes a rag from his pouch and soaks the cloth. With the knife still in hand, he comes closer.
“Look … You seem all right, but I’m a lone wolf. I operate solo. You have a target with a big ‘X’ on your back. I feel bad for you. I do. But you know how it is with our kind.” He gives me a blatant look, so here’s your cue to leave.
“Gee, I’d kindly vacate the premises, but I can’t fly.”
He rubs the back of his neck, agitated. “The valley’s full of drones. And they’ve got at least a dozen soldiers combing the forest.”
“I’m sorry.” I shift my eyes down. “You never asked for any of this.”
“None of us did,” he waves me off. “The soldiers are here.
I’m screwed either way.” He pauses and assesses me. “Stay the night. Then after that, I’m sorry, but you need to find somewhere else to hide.”
The night might be all I need. “Thank you.”
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