Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,46

this. Why not give the little guy some hope?”

The bird spread his wings and hopped toward the base of the nearest tree. I took the hint and followed. I started regretting my decision when he fluttered onto the lowest limb and waited. For me to join him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He hopped the length of his perch in answer.

Living in a pinprick southern town out in the middle of nowhere, I had plenty of experience climbing trees. I stood under the limb and jumped. When I had a firm grip, I pulled myself up beside him. I shouldn’t have grinned. The second I did, he hopped onto the next limb and sat there, waiting.

It was going to be a long night.

It was still dark when I woke. Only a few hours had passed because my head throbbed from lack of sleep. I functioned better running on fumes than when I stole too little shut-eye. I always woke up more tired than I was to start with, and grumpier to boot. A low growl rose in my throat while I tried pinpointing what had roused me. Not the hounds. Not another dryad or a púca or the sensation of being watched.

No. The unexpected comfort had done it. That soft puff of breath at my ear helped too.

The cradle of limbs where I had fallen asleep held high above the forest, lashed to the tree trunk with my cape just in case, had been itchy, scratchy and hard. My current situation lacked two out of three of those amenities.

Blood rushed into my cheeks when I realized why I was so warm and what was jabbing my hip.

Rook reclined between the limbs, comfortable as any other bird in a tree.

During the night, he had pulled me onto his lap, wrapped his calves over my legs and cinched his arms around my waist. Attempting to evaluate the situation, I twisted to my left, where I was rewarded with a glimpse of him sleeping. His eyes were closed, and he was easier to see that way. At rest, he looked more like a man, though still an achingly handsome one. Not at all like he was a liar or a manipulator.

“You were fidgeting,” he murmured. “I was afraid you would fall.”

I tensed, and his grip tightened. “Where did you go?”

“Not far.” He kept his eyes closed like he knew what I had been thinking. “The dryad was luring my human half. The swiftest cure was to shift forms. I should have done it immediately, but I was—”

“Eyeing her boobs?” I supplied.

His chuckles rumbled through my side. “She did have a lovely set of...pinecones.”

I elbowed his gut. “Only a man would forgive attempted murder in exchange for a peep show.”

His fingers stroked up my arm. “You saved me.”

“I know.” I fought shivers from his touch. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That you need me.” He traced the line of dancing chills. “Or maybe you even like me.”

“Ha.” I planted my elbow square in his chest for leverage. “Liking you is the last thing I can afford to do, even if you weren’t a kidnapper, a liar—oh yeah—and the orchestrator of my impending doom. That last one was awesome, by the way.”

His gentle caresses stopped. “Why did you join the marshals?”

I drew back to look at him. “What does that matter?”

“Humor me.”

“The short answer is, if I hadn’t signed up, the conclave would have killed me.” Saying it out loud left a bad taste in my mouth.

He cocked his head at me. “What’s the long answer?”

I debated whether to tell him, but the peaceful night lent itself to sharing secrets. “When I showed up on their doorstep asking for sanctuary, I was just a kid. Thirteen with blood on my hands. They offered me a life I couldn’t have had on my own. They put me in a private school for fae children and helped me adjust to my new normal.

“When I graduated high school, I was given a choice. Enroll in the marshal academy, where they could put my talents to good use, or get put down. Apparently, they couldn’t afford to have someone like me running around unchecked.” I shrugged like it still didn’t hurt when I thought about it. “At first, it was about saving my bacon. Now it’s...atonement...I guess.”

“How did you know to contact them? Macsen never let on he had a daughter.”

He knew the answer, I could tell by the lack of inflection in his tone.

“He told Mom who