Page 245 of Lana Pecherczyk
“She’s not a crow,” Ada murmured, leaning closer with professional curiosity.
Blake turned her head toward them and discovered she could move it in ways that should have been impossible.
“The magpie collects…” River mumbled. “She’s a magpie.”
His deep voice sounded more like thunder. But nice thunder. Like the rolling promise of rain after a drought. His lips curved into the most beautiful grin Blake had ever seen. “Look at you,” he gushed, so proud. “You’re as big as a crow.”
“I thought magpies were smaller,” Ada mused.
“Not where Blake comes from.” His eyes blazed with love and admiration. “Australian magpies are the most vicious, territorial, and fiercely protective creatures on earth. They’ll defend what’s theirs to the death.” His teeth flashed in a grin. “And she’s mine.”
Blake opened her beak to tell him he was wrong—that they belonged toeach other.
What emerged was pure music. The most beautiful song spilled from her throat. It was complex and melodic, like warbling wind chimes.
Everyone went silent, transfixed at the sound of notes that probably hadn’t been heard for thousands of years, at the return of something lost.
Chapter
Seventy-Five
Blake watched the ceremonial lake swallow sunset the way the ocean had once swallowed her life—whole and without apology.
Six days had passed since her transformation into a magpie shifter. She still couldn’t quite believe it, still caught herself holding her breath when UV light struck just right. Even now, a simple sunset became a light show. Colors she’d never known existed burst across her vision, flooding her bloodstream with liquid euphoria.
A crow cawed overhead, and Blake’s lips curved instead of twisted. Funny how perspective changed everything. Back at that Perth jetty, when Jeff had abandoned her and sailed away, that harsh sound had felt like cosmic mockery, as if the universe itself was laughing at the girl who’d lost her husband, her iPhone, her whole world.
What a numpty she’d been.
Another crow joined the first, then another. Their wings cut sharp silhouettes against the dying light. These weren’t harbingers mocking her misfortune. They were family calling their location to their murder, reminding themselves wherethey’d been, where they were going, and most importantly, who they were with.
They were the most loyal, protective, forgiving souls she’d ever met. They’d claimed her without question, made her understand that home wasn’t a house with a workshop beside eucalyptus trees, or even this magical place.
Her windways whispered against her ankles as she moved closer to the water’s edge, drawn by bioluminescence stirring beneath the surface like scattered stars waiting for darkness. A heavy weight tugged behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at the black and white feathers folded against her back.
Almost one of them, but not quite. Once she might have balked at the difference, but seeing it now filled her with fierce gratitude. Even though no other existed in this era, being an Australian magpie meant carrying home in her bones always. It meant she had a reason for feeling territorial and protective to the death. It meant she had purpose.
Losing everything when the world froze hadn’t been the end.
Maybe it had been the beginning of possibilities she’d never been brave enough to imagine.
Everything here pulsed with life, with promise, with the kind of magic that made a woman believe anything was possible.
“She’s got the razz, alright.” Wonder threaded through her voice.
“Hey, flock-faces. Those aren’t for yanking.”
Blake’s head whipped around to where River stood by the forest’s edge, a few yards away, attempting a conversation with Rush about the evening’s ceremony setup. Holly and Hazel were more interested in trying to steal River’s newly generated, rather sparkly, blue-tipped primary feathers. They’d grown back fuller than ever within three days.
He’d been so proud.
Had attributed it to Blake’s extra wing fondling every night since. Her wings ruffled, and she blushed at the memory. Tonight, there would be more of the same. She couldn’t believe she got to spend the rest of her life with this hot, sexy, and loving crow shifter.
River had traded his Guardian leathers for simple dark trousers and a white linen shirt that clung to his torso in all the right places. Blake didn’t blame the twins for their obsession with him. She was obsessed, too. He snapped his wings irritably, almost as if swatting flies. In reality, he was avoiding tiny grabby fingers.
Blake pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
Farther down along the forest’s edge, a platform rose under the hands of three shirtless, very buff Guardians. Some of the old-world, Well-blessed women Blake had recently met were gathered nearby to “supervise” their mates’ building expertise. Laurel, the self-appointed supervising committee and liquid refreshments organizer, shouted over the rim of her cocktail glass for her mate to redo a particular low rigging. He’d not tightened it properly.
