Free Obsidian Wings by Laken Cane Page B

arms. She was dressed in black. Even her
strange, changing hair was hidden by a black watch cap. Her hands were covered
with black gloves, and Rune caught sight of a sheath buckled at her side.
    “I know,” Cree said, “that you don’t like me.”
    “I’d like you fine in a nice stir fry with some spicy ginger
sauce.”
    A quick gleam of anger, there and gone, showed in Cree’s
dark eyes. “Personally, I don’t like you, either. But I have some information
you need.”
    Rune’s stomach knotted. “What information?”
    “Can we go inside and talk?”
    “No.”
    Cree shifted from one foot to the other. “Fine. It’s about
Strad Matheson.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Can you put those away?” Cree gestured at Rune’s claws. “If
I want to fight, I’ll be sure to let you know. Right now, I need to talk.”
    She seemed sincere. Worried, even.
    Rune retracted her claws and fangs and took a deep breath.
She really didn’t want bad news about the fucking berserker. “What about
Strad?”
    “He’s too good for you,” Cree said, crossing her arms.
    “If you’ve got something important to say, spit it out. If
not, get the fuck away from me.”
    The tall bird curled her lip. “You’re a real bitch, aren’t
you?”
    “Fuck you,” Rune said. She wasn’t in the mood to cater to a
pissy bird. Disgusted, she turned to go inside. To hell with Cree Stark.
    The bird was on her in two seconds, her huge body bearing
Rune to the porch floor even as she shoved something sharp and deadly through
Rune’s back.
    Into her heart.
    Fuck.
    Almost immediately, she was incapacitated. It was bad that
she had a weakness. It was worse that the whole fucking world had learned what
that weakness was.
    She wanted to cry out, wanted to fight, but she had nothing.
    “Don’t ever give her your back, Rune.”
    She should have listened to the berserker.
    “You staked me,” she whispered.
    “I splintered you,” Cree corrected, her breath warm on
Rune’s neck. “A long sliver of obsidian, in case you’re interested. I’ve been
informed that a staking won’t kill you. It will, however, make you weak as a
fucking newborn.”
    Rune’s cheekbone scraped painfully on the rough concrete as
Cree grabbed her ankle and dragged her off the porch.
    Once at the side of the house, Cree undressed and stuffed
her black clothing and shoes into a mesh bag she’d brought with her. “Strad,”
she said, “thinks he can trust us. He thinks we have honor, at least amongst
ourselves. If you’re one of us, you’re going to be honored—maybe—by us. But
I’ll tell you a little secret. Strad isn’t one of us.”
    No shit, Rune wanted to say. But she couldn’t talk.
    Cree looped the string of the bag around Rune’s neck, and
then, she shifted.
    Sharp talons ripped into her clothes, and then into her
skin, as Cree lifted her from the ground. The almost soothing sounds of her
wings, whoosh whooshing through the air, accompanied the roar of wind
through her ears. The bird soared with her held securely in the grip of her
giant claws, taking her away.
    Away.
    Far below, she caught the bright shine of headlights on her
street. She imagined the vehicle was being driven by the berserker as he
headed, oblivious and impatient, back to her house.
    And then she could think of nothing but pain as the splinter
of obsidian sat solidly in her heart, reminding her with a black sadness of the
mad master, Nicolas Llodra.
     
     

Chapter
Seventeen
    Each moment seemed to last for an excruciating hour, but in
reality it wasn’t more than ten minutes before Cree set her down in the nest on
Spikemoss Mountain.
    And just that quickly, Rune was in the territory of the
birds.
    It was a whole new world.
    An inadvertent cry of pain left her as Cree dumped her on
the hard ground. She wouldn’t stay down forever, and when she was able, she was
sending Cree Stark to hell.
    “I’m going to tear your wings off and feed them to you,” she
said, as Cree paused to stare down at