Page 129 of Revealing Fate

Chapter 46

THUNDERSTORM

ALIGHT PATTERING OF RAIN tapped on the roof of leaves overhead. Several fat, lazy droplets fell through the foliage—one landed on the curve of Felíne’s cheek, heavy as a teardrop.

Kal!

Her feet were moving before her brain had given the command. Twenty paces away, Kal struggled against his assailant.

A masked shurii man in first form held Kal by the throat, the crook of one muscled arm cutting off his airway. The man’s free hand pressed a heavy cloth over Kal’s nose and mouth.

Fifteen paces.

Felíne ripped her hatchet free of its sheath.

Kal found the hilt of a dagger and buried the blade in the man’s thigh. The man grunted in pain but did not release his hold. Kal jerked the knife free. Stabbed again. The masked man shifted his footing. Kal’s second attempt pierced the outer curve of muscle. Too superficial.

Ten paces.

Felíne was no warrior. But she was more than capable of providing a distraction. She raised Daybreak as she ran, the sound of her feet a soft thud on dampened leaves.

Kal tugged his dagger free once more. The movement looked labored. He flipped the blade in clumsy fingers. Tried to drive it through the man’s eye behind his mask. But the motion was slow. Too slow. The man dodged easily. The blade hit the dirt.

Something is wrong, Felíne thought. I’m here, Kal. I’m coming.

She could see Kal’s eyes grow lidded as he tried to focus on her. His hand fumbled on his person, patting, searching for another weapon. He had them. So why couldn’t he find any?

Five paces.

It was raining steadily now. The earthen smell of dead foliage and damp soil rose from the ground and hung trapped between the mossy trunks of old trees. Felíne filled her lungs with humid air and bellowed like a feral woodland creature.

Her feet left the ground.

She flailed, something snaring her by the waist, hoisting her from behind.

Kal’s eyes widened a fraction, rage battling with descending disorientation for control of his features. A strangled groan reverberated in his throat.

The masked man holding Kal tightened his grip. “Go down, damn you.”

Felíne hacked blindly at whoever had grabbed her.

“Ow, fuck!”

Daybreak collided with something soft. But not forceful enough to critically maim. A canvas sack was shoved over her head, the wet fabric inciting immediate panic. A large hand yanked at her hatchet. She gripped the handle like it was her last tether to life. The rain wet her hold, and her fingers slipped. Daybreak was pulled from her grasp.

“Let me go!” she shrieked. Or, rather, she tried to. Felíne gasped, cramped lungs only partially filling with stale air. The hood sucked into her mouth. Terror clamped her chest.

“Quit your fussing, and we won’t hurt you!” A man. Voice higher in pitch than she’d expect, given the strength with which he dragged her away.

“Kal! Kalevar!” The second name came out with less force than Felíne intended. Black crawled into the corners of her vision.

“Bit of a mess you’re in, missy,” the man said, too close to her ear. “The Battle Master, too. You’ll be answering to the Conclave. Both of you.”

Something snarled, the rumbling sound vicious and unfamiliar. The man’s suffocating grip tightened.

“Robb! Fuck. Robb! We’ve got wolves!”

Felíne couldn’t see past the damp bag covering her face, but she’d bet anything there was only one. Grim.