Cormorant Run Read online

  “And I’m fine,” he said, managing to throw in an extra special glare.

  “You very well might be fine, but I need time.”

  “I can go by myself,” he grumbled.

  “You can try.”

  He glared at her and she glared right back. He wanted to leave her, alone and injured, on the Isle of Man after she risked her life and saved him from an unknown, but probably very unpleasant and short, future.

  He wanted to abandon her.

  Just like his family had abandoned hers years ago. Just like he’d abandoned her when she needed him most. Why did she think it would be any different now?

  “Like father, like son, I guess,” she said.

  Ronin flinched. His glare lost its heat. “It’s not like that. I need to get back.”

  A strong gust of wind lifted them and separated them, rustling the green forest below. They drifted back to each other, flying close enough to continue talking without getting their wings tangled.

  “Why?” she asked.

  The glare returned. That was getting old.

  “I’m risking my life. I need to know why,” she said.

  Ronin drifted closer to her, his brilliant white wings and hair glinting in the sun.

  “The humans reached out asking for an alliance.”

  Shock slapped Cora in the face. “Couldn’t you have sent your rejection by letter?”

  “I came to negotiate terms, Cora.”

  “W…why?” Why would they even consider agreeing to peace with the people who killed her mother?

  “Haven’t you noticed how packed the Eyrie is? How there’s no room? Bird folk have started to make homes on the waystations, but even those are becoming crowded. We need space and the humans have an abundance of it.”

  “What do they want in return?”

  “Food. Transportation. Fishing partnership. Things we don’t struggle for.”

  It always came back to fish.

  King Edgar didn’t hold any love for the humans, and it had little to do with her own mother’s death. For the King of the Eyrie to respond positively to a cessation of conflict and agree to an alliance meant things truly had gone bad.

  “Doesn’t look like the humans want an alliance.”

  “No, it doesn’t, does it? This was a classic set-up.”

  “You knew?”

  “I should have.” His face contorted with emotion. Anger, but something else as well. Disappointment? Regret? Shame? Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant and Ronin’s stony expression returned to face the wind.

  In that moment of vulnerability, she’d wanted to reach out, to say something, do something to take the look away and make Ronin feel better. And that was the danger with Ronin. He could seduce her in a moment of weakness without even trying. Heaven forbid if he ever tried. She’d forget the anger and hurt he caused.

  A long arrow sped through the air from the forest below and struck Cora’s wing. Bone crunched. Pain exploded. Cora spun through the air from the impact, flapping her other wing. The air whistled by her. Panic slammed into her mind. She hurtled toward the treetops.

  Pain consumed her wing. A direct hit. Her luck had run out. She strained and it kept hanging, unresponsive. She couldn’t catch the wind.

  She wasn’t going to make it.

  This was how she died.

  Sheer agony cramped her entire wing and the other one was already injured. Even if it were in perfect working order, it wouldn’t be enough.

  Ronin’s body slammed into hers. Strong arms grabbed her waist and pulled her against his armour.

  What was he doing?

  She’d drag him down.

  “Drop me. You can’t—”

  He growled in her ear. “Hold on.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist and buried her face into the heat of his neck. Their only hope was a rough landing. She pulled her wings in and winced—only one wing listened. The other stuck out with a large javelin-sized arrow protruding from the middle section. Not ideal. The newly injured wing created an uneven drag and pain throbbed through her whole body.

  The wind blasted past them as they sped toward the trees. The air jostled her injuries. She gritted her teeth and tucked her chin, pushing her face against Ronin’s neck.

  He needed to level out. They were going to crash.

  Ronin spread his wings, catching the air. They slowed, levelling out a little more. They were still going too fast, heading toward the treeline at a break-neck speed.

  “Let me go, Ronin.” He needed to save himself. He had to live.

  Ronin held her tight and strained upward. Pushing his giant white wings against the air rushing past them.

  The treetops loomed ahead.

  He flapped his wings. Again. Once. Twice.

  They slowed, levelling out some more.

  And then they reached the forest. They barrelled into the treeline. Branches and twigs snapped as they flew past. Ronin pulled his wings in so he could maneuver around the larger trees. Before impact, Ronin wrapped his arms and wings around her and flipped them over. He hit the forest floor first. Cora slammed into him. Dirt shrouded them as they bounced and slammed into the ground again. And again. Until they finally slid to a painful stop on a patch of moss-covered soil.

  The sounds of the forest faded along with the pain as Cora’s world turned black.

  15

  “I’m afraid to lose you and you’re not even mine.”

  Drake

  Cora opened her dirt-encrusted eyelids slowly. The overwhelming throbbing sensation burned her senses. Her raw skin chafed as if it were on fire. The javelin arrow had broken off from her injured wing at some point during the crash, but a small chunk still stuck out like a piercing gone bad.

  She groaned and moved through the pain to push off the ground. Nothing else was broken—just the injured wing. Luckily, her flying gear had protected the majority of her body from getting covered by road rash and Ronin had broken her fall.

  Ronin.

  She managed an awkward sitting position with her pierced wing jutting out at an uncomfortable angle.

  Ronin lay in a heap of white feathers and limbs a few feet away from her with his glorious wings spread, one bent unnaturally.

  He wasn’t moving.

  “Ronin?” Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. He did not get to save her life only to die. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t allowed to die. Especially after she saved him. He should’ve dropped her. Why hadn’t he dropped her?

  She staggered to her feet and lurched over to where he lay, careful not to touch his wings. “Ronin?”

  Somehow managing to tuck both her wings in so they didn’t hit the tree she passed, she knelt by his side. If he was breathing, it was too shallow for her to tell with his armour on. Despite the broken wing and the bruised face covered in scratches, he looked peaceful, eyes closed, expression relaxed.

  Cora reached out and hesitated. No. She needed to know. Delaying the inevitable only succeeded in wasting time. It never lessened the blow.

  She pressed two fingers to his throat above the carotid artery.

  Nothing.

  She pressed harder and angled her fingers for a better position.

  Still no—

  There!

  A big gush of air escaped her lungs.

  She kept her fingers in place to feel each pump of his heartbeat—each thump against her fingers calmed her nerves and released tension from her sore muscles.

  He was alive. And that meant she’d live, too. And her father. At least for now. She didn’t want to think about the long list of challenges that just got added to their list.

  First, she needed to assess the extent of Ronin’s injuries. Just because he was breathing and only appeared to have a broken wing, didn’t mean he couldn’t be harbouring other serious injuries, such as head trauma or internal bleeding.

  Ronin had managed to slow and ease their descent, but he’d still taken most of the impressive
impact when they landed. She brushed his white hair from his face. Flipping her around to protect her had been the dumbest thing he’d done on this trip. And because of it, he’d saved her life.

  The moment Ronin regained consciousness was evident in the changes in his expression—his brow furrowed, eyes creased, forehead rippled, and mouth turned down in a full-face grimace. A low moan escaped his full lips.

  She brushed the hair from his face again. “Ronin?”

  His eyes fluttered open and, in that moment, when their gazes connected without any guarding, she saw more than pain and relief. Something almost akin to longing and it stole her breath away.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  His brows furrowed farther. “Who are you?”

  “Not funny, Ronin.” He better be joking.

  “Who’s Ronin?” He stared at her blankly.

  She blinked at him. He couldn’t possibly be serious.

  “Are you an angel?” he asked.

  She snorted. Now she knew he was messing with her. Sapavians weren’t angels. They were the result of scientists trying to create something in their image. “Nice try.”

  “Cora.” His deep voice rumbled and caressed her skin. With his gaze still locked with hers, he reached out toward her face. His hand shook.

  She tensed and jerked back.

  Ronin dropped his hand. His gaze shuttered, guarded once again, and still creased with pain. He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, thanks to you.” She scanned his body for more injuries. His armour appeared largely undamaged—dents and scratches, but nothing glaringly obvious to indicate the armour was compromised or they should worry about internal injuries.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Alive.” He rolled to his feet, wavered, and shifted to adjust his wing position. “Wing’s broken.”

  She stood from her kneeling position and dusted off her pants. “Your skills of observation and self-assessment are impressive.”

  He had the nerve to wink at her. “That’s not all that’s impressive.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She shut it right away, but it dropped open again. She shook her head. “The only thing that’s impressive about you is the thickness of your skull.”

  “Are you calling me dense?”

  “Catastrophically.”

  He jabbed his chest with his thumb and flung his other hand out to point to the forest. The shackles still attached to his wrist clanked with each movement. “I just saved your life.”

  Really, he should point up since they came from that direction, but that was the least of the issues with this conversation. “You said yourself you couldn’t wait for me to heal. Now you’re injured, too. And that little stunt could’ve ended a lot worse than it did.”

  “Little stunt?” Anger flashed in his gaze. If she were smart, she’d take the hint and a step back.

  She did neither.

  “You ungrateful brat. Remind me not to save your life next time,” he said.

  She stepped into his personal space and lifted her chin. “Unnecessary. There won’t be a next time.”

  “For someone who’s been hit twice with arrows, you’re awfully full of bravado.”

  They stood, toe to toe, seething at each other. Now was not the time to mention this attack was actually the third time she’d been hit with an arrow in less than a week. The ache of her newly injured wing started to beat out the rage.

  They fought like two seagulls over a dead crab while injured and stranded in the middle of Iom. The severity of their situation slapped Cora in the face and the rest of her anger fled.

  “We’re fucked,” she whispered.

  Ronin’s shoulders drooped and the tension in his face eased away. He broke his gaze to survey the surrounding woods. “I know.”

  “We need to move before those hunters come to claim their prize.”

  Ronin nodded and stepped back, taking the heat of his body with him. He raised his hand and twirled his fingers.

  She turned around and clenched her jaw. This wasn’t going to feel good.

  “Relax.” Ronin skimmed his hands along her injured wing. A shudder wracked her body.

  “Go peck yourself,” she said, without any heat.

  “That’s no way to talk to your saviour.” Ronin tsked while probing the skin around the arrow. “This doesn’t look good.”

  “I tried to stop an arrow.”

  “The bone is injured. It’s sitting straight, but the swelling makes it difficult to tell whether it’s shattered instead of a clean break.”

  And the good news kept coming. This was by far the worst run yet.

  Ronin’s hands stopped their exploration. “The arrow needs to come out.”

  She had expected as much, but that didn’t make hearing the news any easier. The challenge would be finding a way to stem the bleeding and bandage the injury. Unlike the nick to her shoulder or the puncture wound through the patagium on her other wing, this injury was serious, the ulna bone damaged, the main artery potentially severed.

  “I have a mend kit,” Ronin said.

  Or at least that’s what she thought he said. Instead of focusing on his words, she became hyper aware of his hands on her wing. Not sexual awareness. More like one of impending pain. He’d have to grasp her wing to pull the arrow out and her whole body was already tensing in anticipation.

  Warm, large hands smoothed the feathers near the wound. Without warning, Ronin clamped down on the metacarpus of her wing with one hand and pulled out the remaining portion of the arrow with the other.

  Pain flared down her wing and spread across her back. She yelped in pain and tried to arch away from the source.

  “Shh,” Ronin’s hand maintained his grip on her wing. “I’m working here.”

  Little pricks of pain punctuated the intense throb emanating from her wings.

  “The arrow missed the cornu artery but splintered the ulna and possibly the radius bone. Shouldn’t need a splint as long as you don’t fly and keep movement limited and controlled. In about five to six weeks, it will be healed enough to fly,” Ronin continued.

  “Across the channel?” Flying the gauntlet across the most treacherous stretch of the channel with less than perfect wings would be a fool’s mission.

  “Probably not,” Ronin said in agreement. “You’ll need more time to regain your strength and endurance. That will add at least two weeks.”

  “Do we have two months to wait?”

  Ronin resettled his wings behind his back. The broken wing didn’t sit properly and jutted out. His face paled and he wavered on his feet. He would’ve adjusted his wings by instinct, forgetting the injury. From his tightly compressed mouth and deep frown, though, the injury just reminded him how unwise that was.

  Ronin visibly swallowed before answering her question. “I don’t think we have much of a choice. My wing will take the same amount of time to heal or more. I’ve had some of my men sustain similar injuries.”

  “But your father…”

  Ronin jabbed her with a needle from his mend kit. Most likely a dose of antibiotics laced with pain meds. It sent a jolt through her body.

  “My father will have to wait to learn of the humans’ duplicity. He will likely figure it out when we don’t return home as scheduled.” Ronin spoke as he worked, stitching together the wound.

  If the king could wait, why was he planning to leave her behind before they got shot out of the sky?

  “We could send a message,” she suggested. She wasn’t the only messenger. Others made it across using the waystations.

  “We will, but it will have to go through the Wap.” Ronin echoed her own thoughts and continued to work on her wound.

  And with the additional time and handlers, privacy couldn’t be assumed or assured. Cora’s contact, Ava, was the fastest, surest route to deliver messages, but without Cora, there was no messenger.

  “There.” Ronin smoothed her feathers down once again before applying t
he Eyrie gauze made especially for wing injuries. It would help slow the bleeding. “All done.”

  Cora nodded and turned around. Ronin’s anger and despair from earlier had faded away His gaze appeared tender, concerned even.

  Wow.

  Shock must’ve set in.

  She peered up at her bandaged wing. “You do some good work. If you don’t make it as a prince, you have a calling for the medical profession.”

  He dipped his chin. “Field dressing was a part of the specialized training I received.”

  “Of course, it was.”

  His open expression snapped shut and the cold statue returned.

  Hmmm. Cause and effect. She definitely brought out the worst in him, and vice versa. Why was she being so snarky? He didn’t deserve it.

  “Your turn.” She raised her hand and twirled her fingers in the air, imitating his earlier gesture.

  “Take this off first.” He raised his arm and waved; the shackles clanked.

  “Injuries take priority.”

  He shook his head. “I need this off first. Please.”

  Lines etched around his golden eyes. So, the prince didn’t want a reminder of how vulnerable he’d been. Well, who would? She couldn’t tease him about that. Instead of saying anything, she quickly picked the lock and removed the shackle. It fell to the ground in a clatter.

  “No more stalling,” she said, as if that had been his reason. “Time to assess that wing.”

  He scowled at her and turned around. Without her asking, he knelt down so she could examine the break better.

  “Can you hand me one of those needles from your med kit?”

  He tensed. “There was only one.”

  And he used it on Her. Cora’s chest constricted.

  “Turkey,” she muttered under her breath.

  “It had antibiotics in it,” he said. “You needed it more. A puncture wound is more susceptible to infection than a broken bone.”

  She turned her attention back to his wing. The humerus appeared to be completely broken.

  “This doesn’t look good.” She bit her lip.

  “I tried to stop a tree.”

  She shook her head, tempted to swat him, but she didn’t hate him that much. He must be in an incredible amount of pain—it showed in the tension of his shoulders and the crease of his brow. And he pushed it all to the side to patch her up and banter with her.