Page 125 of Kings & Carnage

It was empty.

I stepped cautiously from the trees and looked around, and a few seconds later Rock and Drago did the same on the other side of the clearing.

"Someone was here," Drago said, approaching the fire, kicking at a handful of cigarette butts. “Multiple someones. And not too long ago if this fire is any indication.”

"Fuck," I said, advancing on the fire, stalking the area as if some clue about Willa's whereabouts would materialize out of the night.

"She has a tracker," Rock said. "Where is she?”

Right. The tracker.

I was out of my mind with panic and I forced myself to breathe deep as I looked at the app.

I looked up from my phone and scanned the clearing again. "It says she's here.”

Rock and Drago looked around, pacing to the tree line and tracking it in the circle around the clearing, peering into the trees.

"Either I'm fucking blind or that app is a fucking liar," Rock said, his voice thick with frustration.

My heart was in my throat as I realized what was going on. "She dropped it. Or someone took it off her.”

I didn’t want to think about the latter possibility. I knew whoever had her could be hurting her, but the thought of anyone harming a single hair on her head, daring to touch her, made me want to go full psycho.

"Wait…" Drago stepped out of the clearing into the trees on the other side of the fire.

"You got something?" I asked, crossing the clearing to where he stood holding something in his hand.

He held it up for me to see.

A white feather.

"Let's move," I said, crashing through the tree line and starting through the woods.

Chapter60

Willa

Iran, wishing I’d had time to get rid of my wings. They snagged at low-hanging branches and made me feel like I was running with a parachute on my back.

At first I didn't hear anything, and I dared to hope I stood a chance of escaping them.

But then, up ahead, I heard the shouting of men and remembered there were others coming at me from all directions.

I called to mind the map of the woods surrounding Aventine — not the one Roberto had drawn in the snow, the one in Dean Giordana's binders. That one had been a topographical map and had included the cliffs and the Blackwell River.

I hoped to avoid one and potentially find the other.

If I stumbled off a cliff I was dead. If I could find the river I could follow it downstream into town.

If I didn't die of hypothermia first.

My feet were completely numb, causing me to stumble, and I knew there was a real danger of frostbite. The temperatures weren't extreme, but it was still fucking cold, and dying of exposure was a distinct possibility.

I swatted a low-hanging branch out of my way as I weaved between the trees, then felt it snap back and smack me in the face.

Blood trickled a warm path down my cheek, the least of my problems.

I thought of the Kings. Had Rock and Neo made it out of St. Andrew’s alive?

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