Page 145 of Primal Bonds

He strolled around the back and leaned against a building a few doors down so she wouldn’t scent him. A minute later, she came out the back door.

His mouth stretched in a grin. Got you.

He had the fae Gift of wayfaring, with two abilities: he could move fast as a striking snake, and he could blend into his surroundings. If he didn’t want you to see him, you didn’t.

Marjani hitched up her backpack and strode down the alley in his direction. He activated the charm that Sindre had crafted to disguise his scent and stilled, becoming just another shadow against the concrete wall.

Her nose twitched as she passed him. He tensed and held his breath, afraid her shifter senses would pick up the sound.

She glanced around and then continued walking.

He waited until she rounded the corner before heading after her.

Chapter 3

This far north, the summer sun set late. Marjani did a circuit of the blocks around the pub, but there was still no sign of Corban. By then, it was after eleven and she was dead-tired. With a yawn, she headed back to the hostel.

She slept lightly, waking twice when nightmares insinuated their chilly tendrils into her dreams. She was used to that. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds of the sleeping humans around her through the hostel’s thin walls. Waiting for morning.

Breakfast was croissants and yogurt. She washed it down with a cup of coffee and set out to find her cousin.

It was a shame she wasn’t really a tourist, because she would’ve enjoyed exploring the small, quirky city. She loved that the stolid concrete buildings were painted in crayon-box colors—red, green, blue, yellow. Even some of the corrugated steel roofs were brightly colored, and the streets were dotted with sculptures and murals. She passed tiny boutiques, funky coffee shops, and cafés that just invited you to come in and sit for a while.

But she didn’t catch even a whiff of her cousin.

And yet, the back of her neck itched. She could’ve sworn someone was following her.

She leaned against the wall of a combination bookstore/record store and looked casually around her. All she saw were locals going about their business. She rubbed her nape and told herself not to be so edgy.

Lunchtime came and went. When her growling stomach became impossible to ignore, she bought bread and cheese and sat on a bench in the Old Harbor to eat. The ocean was a deep, still blue with small boats bustling to and fro. Across the harbor, she could see Mount Esja, its snow-capped flanks covered in plush green moss.

She’d covered most of the center city. Could Corban be in one of the suburbs that spread out to the east and south? If so, she might spend days looking for him.

She was a strategist, a Gift common in cats. Her strat talent had been humming along in the background, fitting facts together along with a heavy dose of intuition—and now she just knew.

Corban wasn’t in Reykjavik.

She knew her cousin, knew how he thought. After the death of their parents, she and Adric had been taken in by their uncle Leron, Corban’s father. It hadn’t been a kindness. The man had been one mean SOB.

No one had mourned when Adric had stuck a knife in Leron Savonett one dark night.

His three sons had taken the worst of his abuse, with the eldest, Corban, coming in for more than his share. At times, the five of them had formed an alliance against Leron, covering for each other, helping each other with chores.

But Corban had enjoyed exerting power over his younger cousins. It was as if he had to prove he wasn’t the weakling his father said he was.

Adric had protected Marjani as much as he could, but survival had meant predicting what Corban would do next. She could write a whole book on her eldest cousin—his moods, his likes and dislikes, when to approach him and when to stay far, far away…

If Corban was in Reykjavik, she’d know it. Maybe he wouldn’t approach her straight on—more likely, he’d jump her in a dark alley—but he would approach her. If nothing else, he’d want to know why Marjani had come and not Adric.

Just before sunset, a chilly rain began to fall. Cold and hungry, she pulled up the hood of her jacket. The rain seemed to find its way between the cracks. She walked down to the Elliðaá River, found a quiet corner to shift to her cougar, and caught herself a fat salmon for dinner.

Corban had to be at the ice fae court. She and Adric had suspected for a while now that he was working with the fae—the night fae, for sure, and possibly the ice fae as well. Adric had managed to get the ice fae court’s coordinates, just as he had the coordinates of most of the other fae courts and fada clans around the world. Her brother was scary-good at things like that.

That night, she got another few hours of sleep before checking out of the hostel. Her only luggage was her backpack. It was a simple matter to shower and shrug on the pack. By four a.m., she was on a bus to the outskirts of Reykjavik.

At the last stop, she got out to walk until she reached a deserted stretch of road. The rain had stopped, but above, more heavy gray clouds had moved in.

She set her backpack on the side of the road and stilled. Her nape was itching again.

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