Bonded to the Rakian Berserker (Rakian Warrior Mates #3) - Elin Wyn Page 0,26
we’ve wasted even more time.”
“Don’t be saying that,” Gavin said, enclosing her cold hands with his. “We didn’t know until we tried. And now you’ve warned another family. Right?”
Esme nodded. He was right. She knew it.
It just didn’t feel like she’d done enough.
The sleek golden form of the giant cat that stepped out of the shadows shocked Esme for a moment, until she remembered who she was with.
In a moment, Jormoi stood before them.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’ve crawled through every warehouse, every building that would be remotely large enough to hold so many people, and nothing has their scent.
“How can you be certain?”
“Everyone smells a little different,” he explained. “And when you have them divided into four groups, that makes four scents to trace that are even more unique.”
That made sense. A mixture of herbs would be hard to mistake for anything else.
“If they had stayed here, even for one night, I’d have known.”
“They must’ve skirted around the town, gone straight through,” Gavin agreed. “But still,” he added, “we’ll check again. Just to be certain before we leave.”
Jormoi nodded. “I think we should start--”
Then terror crashed over Esme, dropping her to her knees.
“What is it?” Gavin grabbed her shoulders, holding her upright.
“I don’t know…” she whispered, hands pressed to her temples as if she could press the sharp pain back. “Something’s wrong”, she said, “terribly wrong.”
Then certainty struck and she reached for him. “The caravans. Oh Lady, the caravans.”
“We need to go,” Gavin said, gathering her into his arms.
“Why wouldn’t they leave?” she cried out as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “It can’t happen again.”
“We won’t let it,” Jormoi reassured her.
And then they ran.
13
The caravans were burning.
Esme’s low moan as they approached the old market Square sent despair echoing into the night.
Gavin gritted his teeth as they bounded from one rooftop to the next, the growing blaze spreading as they approached.
“That’s not an accident,” Jormoi said, running beside him.
It couldn’t be.
No candle or lantern falling over inside of one of the wooden caravans would have caught that way, sparks from the central campfire wouldn’t have caused so much damage.
“Look there!” Esme shouted into the wind.
He followed her outstretched hand to see a group of small figures huddled in the middle of the ring of caravans.
Their way out to safety blocked by the spreading inferno.
“Easily fixed,” he reassured her as they leapt from the last roof bordering the market Square, dashing across the open ground to meet Henrik.
The older man’s arms strained as he pulled at the corner of the least damaged caravan, trying to move it, to open the ring, the protective circle that had become a trap.
“Let us do that,” Gavin said as he set Esme down. “Stay close,” he urged, and she nodded quickly, face pale.
He and Jormoi each took a side of the caravan, the heat scorching their skin, the crackling of the wood filling their ears.
“Now!” he shouted and together they easily lifted it, running sideways until it stood away from the others, making a break in the ring.
“Throwing it would’ve been easier,” Jormoi said. “It’s barely smoldering.”
“Yeah, but that’s someone’s home in there,” Gavin explained as they dashed back to the main fire. “Anything we can save is something these people won’t have to rebuild. It’s not like they have much to start with.”
“You’re getting soft,” Jormoi teased.
Brynlee and Freya were shepherding the children who had been trapped out to a far corner of the market square, while the rest of the men and women spread out, battling the flames.
“I’m going to stay with Brynlee!” Esme called out.
Gavin nodded. She wouldn’t be alone, and focused on the children, she’d stay far from the worst of the blaze.
Safe enough.
For now, it was as safe as possible.
“We’ve got to keep it from spreading further,” Hendrick ordered. “Collapse the stalls, get them away from the caravans.”
Jormoi took off at a sprint, racing down the line of booths, pulling the burning fabric loose until it smoldered in one crumpled pile.
The other men formed a line to the well in the middle of the market square, bringing buckets of water to douse the cloths with, so they could be reused to cover the burning caravans in an attempt to smother the flames.
“Too slow,” Gavin muttered. “But it’s working.”
Despite the progress, the battle-trained awareness in the back of his mind stayed crouched, ready.
This was too easy.
Even without their help, Hendrick’s people would’ve been able to handle this.
Maybe they would’ve lost more caravans, maybe more people would have been injured.