Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,51

shoulder. He didn’t get a third shot … and nothing—not even ashes—remained.

I ran on. Saw one man on fire and another struggling with Gianna. Saw a third racing toward the other van with a little boy slung like a sack over his shoulder.

I tugged Nex free, screamed, “Gianna, drop,” then, when she did, sliced open her assailant’s face. As his blood spurted and his scream rent the air, I slapped the two knives together and took out the other van. A million bits of heated metal were flung skyward, the man holding Reign switched direction and plunged over the embankment, heading for the river.

It was then I saw the boat.

They’d come prepared for trouble.

I leapt over the small rock fence and raced after him. I didn’t want to risk using the lightning on him for fear of hitting the boy, but I wasn’t about to let him escape either. I cut sideways through the trees until I had a clear shot of the boat, then called to the lightning yet again. A sharp lance of fire cut through my brain—a warning I was now nearing my limits.

The boat and the man inside it were incinerated.

The man holding Reign swore, then spun and raised a gun. I dove sideways again, crashing through the undergrowth and tearing clothes and skin. Bullets pinged off the tree trunks, showering me with sharp little daggers of bark.

I scrambled on all fours behind the tree and then took a deep breath. The pain in my head didn’t ease, and the cuts on my calf, forearm, and shoulder all decided to join in on the fun.

Twigs crunched; the felon, on the move, heading toward me rather than away. I took another deep breath, gathering strength, but before I could move or react, fire burned down the ridge. As the undergrowth around me burst into flame and a scream echoed, I scrambled upright, hooked my knives into my belt, then leapt over the small wall of fire. The remains of the man who’d attacked me lay on the ground, burning. I detoured around him then ran on for the small, unmoving figure on the ground.

“Leave him alone, or I’ll kill you” came a high, desperate demand.

I ignored her. She was hardly going to kill me if I held her son—not after her desperate efforts to save him. I scooped him up and hugged him close; he didn’t stir. Either something was wrong or she’d drugged him to keep him compliant until they were safe. Though I wondered if drugging him would have made any difference to Winter’s ability to shuffle through his mind, it wouldn’t have made any difference in this case. The men in the two vans had obviously followed her from the leisure park. The trap had been too well coordinated to be a last-minute event.

I glanced up the slope. Gianna stood on the edge, flames flickering faintly around her fingertips. She was tall, with burnished gold hair and a thin, gangly frame. Her face was pale and dominated by what might have been called a ‘commanding’ nose in a male, but had no doubt been a source of derision for her as a child.

“Who are you?” she said, clenching and unclenching her fists. “What do you want?”

I might as well hit her with the bad news first. “I’m Gwen De Montfort, and I’m here to save your life.”

“Likely story, if you’re his fucking sister.”

Meaning she knew Max well enough to know about me. I headed up the hill, only half watching where I was walking. The greater threat remained above me. “If I was after your son, I could very easily have killed you when I killed your assailant. And in case it escaped your notice, if the man behind the van had been a slightly better shot, you’d now be dead.”

She didn’t say anything to that, just clenched and unclenched her hands. Ready to unleash the minute I said or did anything threatening.

Which made asking the next question a little dangerous, but it had to be done—even if it was one that had the power to make or break me. “If you think so fucking little of Max, why did you agree to carry his children in the first place?”

She waved a hand. Fire followed the movement, bright in the gathering darkness of the incoming storm. “Because it seemed like a good opportunity at the time.”

The answer—though more than half expected—nevertheless felt like a punch to the gut. For several seconds, I couldn’t breathe,