Page 150 of The Seeker
“I trust you.”
Her angle wasn’t perfect, but she hit the first Grigori in the shoulder, spinning him around so she had a clear angle on his back. The second arrow pierced his spine.
“Dust,” her spotter said.
“Find me another one.”
Where was the Fallen? Patiala bit back a curse and resisted the urge to abandon the house and find her daughter. She needed to trust Meera. She needed to trust Rhys.
“Dust,” he spotter said again.
And again.
And again.
Patiala picked off the Grigori one by one, but she was no match for the Tomir warriors moving like shadows through the haven.
But still there was no sign of the Fallen.
The old manpatted the hound dog on the head and glanced at the laughing raven that perched on the top of his house.
“Are you afraid?” the bird asked.
“Who are you?” He was irritated he couldn’t discern the raven’s identity. This was a trickster. A dragon sent to mock him.
“I am your audience,” the raven said. “I came here for a show, but you are boring me. Are you afraid of the Wolf?”
“I’m not afraid of a mongrel woman.”
“She’s old.” The raven taunted him. “She killed Nalu, who was far more powerful than you. I think you’re afraid. You probably should be.”
The old man turned back to his fishing pole. “My sons can win this battle for me. That is why I made them.” Soon he would rid himself of these vain Irina and turn his attention back to the real prize, a city filled with vulnerable humans ripe for the taking. And he would rid the city of the lurking power he’d sensed weeks ago.
This territory was his and his alone.
“Your sons will spill their blood and take your spoils.” The raven’s message was as annoying as his voice. “But why would you want your sons to enjoy the fruit of this battle?”
“The prize of an old warrior?” He picked his teeth. “I like softer flesh.”
The raven transformed into a black cat, sliding between the old man’s legs. “Don’t you know who waits in that haven, Bozidar?”
“Of course I do.”
“No you don’t. If you did, you’d never let your sons enjoy this prize.” The cat clawed up the old man’s back and hissed. “Somasssssikara.”
The old man rose to his feet. He hadn’t known the haven guarded a keeper, not that he’d tell the annoying messenger taunting him.
Somasikara?
The lure of such a soul was too powerful to resist.
The old man flipped off his bright red hat, walked off the porch and across the road, passing through the wards with barely a hitch. He shrugged off the itch along his skin. Their wards were nothing to him. Not now. Not with his blood staining the ground. His sons had made their sacrifice, and he reaped the benefit.
Havre Hélène would be his.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Meera felt him as soon as his step breached the wards. “He’s here.”
