Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
The desert sands lifted at that instant, turbulent in winds that howled out of the canyons as the weather began to turn. Fuck. That would play havoc with Dahlia’s scent tracking—and they were losing any physical tracks before they ever had the chance to spot them.
A panicked falcon’s cry almost snatched away by the rising wind, but Adam’s falcon heard it, knew it. Dahlia angled sharply toward a low valley in the desert at the same time that Adam responded to Malia, telling her she’d been heard and urging her to keep on calling to him.
Her call was even weaker the second time around, but he was closer and had no trouble catching it. It was clear that Dahlia had already caught her scent, too.
They wouldn’t lose her, not now.
And this child of the clan was defiant and strong, because though her third cry was all but inaudible, she made it. And Adam heard it.
There she was, all wild hair and vivid turquoise jumpsuit as she looked skyward through the gritty dervish of the sudden sandstorm, one arm raised in a frantic wave.
He landed with speed.
“Uncle Adam!” A sobbing Malia ran toward him before he could shift, and he cradled her in his massive wings, knowing at once why she hadn’t been able to fly out, and why her call had held none of the falcon’s power.
Her left arm was broken.
Her wing would be broken in changeling form.
Though she was sobbing, she was trying to speak, too. “Eleri!” She rose on wobbly, weak legs. “He drugged her like he did me, but worse! I ran and ran like she told me to! But he’s with her!”
Adam shifted, uncaring of his nakedness because they were changeling; their ways weren’t human. Malia wouldn’t even notice. “Hush, little wings.”
He cupped her face in his hands and forced his voice to be calm. “I’ll find her. What can you tell me about where you were held?” Dahlia hovered, on watch, both of them aware that Malia could have a deadly tail—and the killer had already proven he wasn’t against using guns.
“A place under the desert.” Malia wiped at her face with her good hand, leaving behind streaks of blood.
“Where are you bleeding?” he asked sharply, because while his niece’s arm dangled in a viciously wrong way, he saw no blood on her jumpsuit.
“What?” She looked down at her hand when he pulled it up. “It’s Eleri’s. She was bleeding so much, Adam.”
His chest squeezed. “Okay, baby girl,” he said, keeping his tone composed because she would take her cue from him, “tell me where you were. I’ll go get her.”
“It had straw everywhere, open beams, and the floor was dirt, I think. It’s not far and I only got out because Eleri did something to him!” She shouted to be heard over the winds. “I was scared to call you straightaway because I thought he’d hear me, but I had to do it. I couldn’t wait anymore!” She pointed to the east. “I came from that way! There were rocks! Black rocks!”
Dahlia landed and shifted. “Clan incoming. I need a fresh scent—winds have messed up Malia’s backtrail.”
Malia thrust out her bloody hand. “Here, DeeDee. It’s Eleri.”
Shifting, Adam lifted off even as Dahlia inhaled the scent because more wings were coming down, more falcons landing—including Naia. Knowing Malia would be safe under their healer’s protective wings, he headed off in the direction his niece had pointed.
It was a risk not to wait for Dahlia, but Malia couldn’t have run far, even powered by adrenaline. She’d been weak, shivering from her unset broken arm. And Adam was faster than Dahlia, something that might make a critical difference if Eleri was badly injured.
The call of a gyrfalcon on the air, confirmation from Dahlia that he was on the right trajectory.
A tumble of black rocks.
He halted, his falcon’s gaze spearing through the desert sands that swirled around the fall of stone.
There.
The hatch was small and colored to blend in with the desert.
Dahlia called to him as he landed.
She’d picked up some kind of scent, wanted to follow it.
He called back to tell her to go—on the slim chance the Sandman had carried Eleri out, he wanted Dahlia on their trail while he searched for his mate under the desert. Others of the clan were now also close enough that both of them would have backup. His people were trained, good at their jobs—they wouldn’t need his order to split up, with half heading toward Dahlia, the others to him.
Shifting as she shot off, he hauled open the hatch, his skin so tight over his body that it hurt. “Be alive, Eleri. Just be alive.” Logic told him her abductor had to have panicked when he realized Malia was gone, had perhaps even heard her call to clan.
If he was smart, he’d have run straightaway. No time to waste. No time to hurt Eleri even more than he already had. No time to take her with him.