Page 178 of Lana Pecherczyk
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cloud’s gaze dipped to River’s chest. “Who’s your new tattooist? A two-year-old?”
Rage.
Flames on the sides of his face.
He flicked his hands out, claws distending from his fingertips. “Leave my mate out of this.”
“Crows before hoes, huh, River? Funny how your rules change depending on who’s spreading their legs for you in my trove.”
“Don’t. Fucking. Look. At. Her.” Each word ripped from a dark place in River’s soul.
“Why not?” A step closer, voice a venomous whisper. “Afraid she’ll see her future? Afraid she’ll turn on you, too?”
Something inside River snapped. The carefully constructed dam holding back years of grief, rage, confusion, and gut-wrenching guilt shattered. He roared and charged. His fist connected. Bone grated against bone. Pain shot up his arm, and he ignored it. All he cared about was turning that smirking, smug face into a pulp.
Cloud met him blow for blow. No finesse. Just raw, ugly violence. Knee to his ribs, elbow to the temple. Stars exploded behind his eyes, but he didn’t go down. He gouged Cloud’s thigh, shredding leather.
“Stop!” Talo bellowed, trying to intervene.
“No.” Ash blocked him, arm extended. “Let them.”
Sort out your shit.
River wanted to laugh. This wasn’t them sorting out feelings. This was hate. This was vengeance. He rolled, pinning Cloud, and rained blows down on that impassive, emotionless face.
“You’re fucking insane,” he shouted, spittle flying. “I saw inside your head! Your sick fucking shrine! My mother was right—you Cardonas are cursed! Black fucking rot inside!”
A fist to his ear. “Yet you’re the one who got off on it.”
“Like you get off on misery? You think I don’t know your plan?” River grappled him, legs and arms locked tight. “Think I didn’t see the maps?” He put Cloud in a chokehold, growled in his ear, “You want to burn it all down.”
Cloud smacked his head back, butting River’s nose, threw him off, and gained the upper hand in a scramble of mud and limbs. They were like fledglings grappling, all heart and no skill. But it didn’t stop them from trying to decimate each other, from finding a weak spot to exploit.
“You know shit,” Cloud snarled, kicking toward River’s dodging face. The boot glanced off his jaw. “Too busy licking your wounds to hear anything but your own fucking whining!”
“I know you’re here for the cryptex,” he countered. “Think we’re stupid?”
“Knowyou’re stupid.” Tattooed knuckles split against River’s cheekbone. He rolled back. More blows, targeted, vicious. Kidneys. Throat. Temple. Places that wouldn’t heal fast. Places known to hurt.
“Stop this madness!” Talo’s command was again ignored.
River surged, tackling Cloud low, driving him back. They crashed through boundary flags, then through a forgotten supply table. When had they left the field? Wood and pottery flew. Screams erupted from bystanders. The torchlight dimmed as they tumbled farther from the gathering’s center.
He dug his claws into Cloud’s forearms and swung him against a wall. Not a wall, the nesting caravan. Wood cracked. Beads inside clacked against stained glass. Something green inside flashed against the window, warping colors—Blake’s special plant.
It survived so much already. If River broke it now…
Reality came crashing down.
Suddenly, they weren’t opponents in a game. They weren’t even enemies. They were two losers covered in mud, bloody and bruised and fucking miserable enough to violate a precious gift.
The fight expelled from River’s lungs. His fists dropped to his sides.
“I would have followed you anywhere,” he choked out.
When Cloud merely stared, fists up, River gripped his shoulders and shook him, trying to make him see sense. He forced his friend to his knees, pinned him there, and shouted down, “We’retriad!More than fucking brothers. Why?”
