Chapter 7 #2
I’m lost in my chaotic and jumbled thoughts as I wind my way through the underground network of tunnels, meeting rooms, and living quarters that has been our valor’s base of operations for centuries.
If I pass anyone, I don’t notice it, too caught up in the self-doubt no one can stir up better than my father.
When I finally emerge from the underground complex, I blink owlishly at the full moon shining brightly overhead. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright moonlight after hours underground.
While we have living quarters underground in case of emergency, most of our valor lives in houses scattered around our territory.
All but the most powerful flights live together in the center of our land in a small city of sorts.
There’s safety in numbers, so most flights choose to live near others.
As the strongest flight in the valor, Azrael, Hal, Colt, Remy, and I split our time between our house near the edge of our territory and the closest human city, Willow Bend.
One of the many ways we keep our people safe is by building alliances with other supernaturals and amassing wealth from the businesses we run.
Despite our efforts to keep our valor safe, we’re still forced to hide what we are.
Gone are the days when our people could soar across the skies from dawn to dusk, under the waning and waxing moon and in the rain, snow, or sunshine.
Now, most of the valor doesn’t even remember what it feels like to roam freely and fly wherever they want.
I’m losing hope that we’ll ever live without the shadow of the fae and their never-ending quest for power looming over us.
As I swing my leg over my bike, I try to let all the worries over our future fade away. I need a break from all the thinking and feeling and doubting.
Shoving on my helmet and gloves, I start up my bike and ride without a destination in mind. I ride hard through the winding back roads, taking curves faster than I should as I enjoy the freedom and the feeling of the wind whipping around me.
I’m unsurprised when my mindless riding leads me straight to Willow Bend. I’m always going to be drawn to Lark, even if continents, oceans, or realms separate us. That’s just how it is, and there’s no use fighting it, despite what Azrael thinks.
I ride through the quiet streets of the city, most of the residents tucked safe and sound in their beds at this point in the night. As I follow the pulling in my gut, I expect to find Lark doing much the same.
Instead, I spot her and her bright green bike in an empty parking lot long before she has the chance to notice me. Pulling into an adjacent lot, I cut my engine before the loud rumble of my bike gives me away.
From my spot under a live oak, I send a text to Azrael to let him know I’m alive. Then I run my gaze over Lark, pleased to see she’s wearing a leather jacket, boots, and what I hope are riding jeans.
I watch Lark painstakingly practice slow-speed maneuvers. While she has weaving, tight turns, and small circles mastered, Lark struggles with doing figure eights. I wince each time she drops her bike and fight the urge to rush over to her to make sure she’s okay.
At least until she goes down with her bike on top of her legs. She lies under the machine, unmoving. I wait with my heart in my throat for her to jump to her feet like she has all the other times.
But she doesn’t.
“Get up,” I whisper, quietly begging her to be okay. “Get up, dove.”
When she still doesn’t move after a few more seconds, I rip off my helmet and sprint over to her.
As soon as I reach her prone form, I collapse to my knees at her side. I try to figure out what to do. I don’t want to move her and chance making whatever damage caused her blackout worse, but I also don’t want to leave her vulnerable and exposed like this.
I hover my hands uncertainty over her prone form before leaning in to get a look at her face. Maybe there will be some blood, scrapes, or wounds that’ll give me a clue as to what happened.
As soon as I can see her breathtaking, delicate face, Lark’s startlingly green eyes blink open. She stares at me in confusion for a long moment before her eyes widen. “Rook?”
Once she recognizes that it’s me, she struggles to sit up. I place a gentle but firm hand against her chest, preventing her from moving. She gasps at the contact and goes limp underneath me.
A part of me, that I don’t want to acknowledge, loves how responsive she is to my directions, but I shove that thought away.
“Easy now,” I tell her as gently as I can, trying not to let any of the worry bleed into my voice. I don’t want her freaking out and potentially hurting herself worse. “Don’t try to get up, dove. I think you blacked out.”
Her nose crinkles in confusion before she processes what I said. When she does, her cheeks redden, and she gives me a guilty look. “I didn’t black out. I was just… lying here, moping, and silently berating myself for dropping my freaking bike yet again while doing the world’s simplest maneuver.”
I fight the urge to wilt in relief, not wanting her to see how scared out of my fucking mind I was thinking she was hurt.
Instead, I force a small laugh and try to comfort her. “Figure eights aren’t simple. They’re outrageously difficult for how easy they look. There’s nothing to feel bad about. I’m pretty sure everyone struggles with them.”
She snorts. “I highly doubt you ever struggled with anything riding related. The five of you look like you were born to be on bikes, with your tattoos and bad-boy auras. Can I get up now?”
“Yeah, you can get up.” I guiltily remove my hand from where it was still resting on her chest. I miss the feel of her as soon as I draw back.
I have to clench my hands into fists to keep from reaching out to touch her again.
“I struggled a lot when I started riding. I wasn’t a natural at it like the rest of them were.
So, I speak from experience when I say they’re way harder than they should be. ”
She sits up and pulls her helmet off with practiced movements. Tugging off her balaclava, she sets both to the side and glances up at me.
“I’m sorry I said that. I know everyone struggles, so that wasn’t fair of me.” Breaking eye contact with me, she looks sadly at her 636. “I’ve had it for a week, and I’ve already messed up the fairings. I’m a horrible bike owner.”
I glance over at the tiny scratches in the paint that happen regardless of how careful you are. I don’t really think they’re anything to worry about, but Lark looks like she’s about to cry.
I panic. I’d honestly rather be tortured for weeks than see tears trailing down the cheeks of the woman in front of me.
“It’s easy to fix, dove,” I rush to reassure her. “I promise. I know quite a few shops in the area that do custom paint jobs. You can also get new OEM fairings on eBay or parts websites, so it’s all very fixable. Getting frame sliders will save your paint from getting scratched up further, too.”
She sighs and rubs a hand over her face. When she drops her hand, she thankfully doesn’t look like she’s about to burst into tears anymore. “Yeah, I know I should’ve had the sliders. Coop already bought me a set. I just need to find time to take my bike over there.”
Jealousy at Lark mentioning another man’s name roils in me and threatens to awaken the beast slumbering in my chest. I forcibly smother it before trying to steer the conversation to topics that won’t end with me showing Lark more about what I am than I should.
Trying to find something to distract myself, I ask, “How long have you been out here practicing?”
Pulling out her phone, she checks the time, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Two and a half hours, apparently. I thought I had only been out here for thirty minutes or so.”
“Time goes fast when you’re focused.” I bite the inside of my cheek as I debate what to say next. “I know I’d be worn out from practicing that long. You might have better luck with figure eights if you come back to it another day.”
Her shoulders slump. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Not wanting my time with her to end, I rack my brain, trying to think of some reason to keep her from leaving. “If you wanna keep riding, I could show you a pretty cool spot a bit outside of town. It’ll only take twenty-ish minutes to get there.”
I’ve never shown my spot to anyone, not even my flight. It’s the place where I feel most at peace, and I want to share some of that feeling with Lark. I don’t know her hardly at all, but something tells me she could use more peace in her life.
Her gaze bounces around my face so long, I start to think she’s going to refuse. She eventually blows out a breath and says, “I’m probably going to regret this, but, sure, why not?”
I snort and stand up, reaching my hand down to help her up. “Why will you regret it?”
She takes my hand and lets me pull her to her feet. “I don’t really know you, and you’re taking me to some remote spot, where there’s probably no one around to hear me scream. You’ll then proceed to murder me and dump my body in a ditch, which I’ll definitely regret for the brief time I’m alive.”
She says it so matter-of-factly that I gape at her for a moment.
How and why is she so casual about someone taking her life? And why doesn’t it seem to bother her if she is killed?
I sigh, knowing I’m not going to get the answers to either of those questions tonight. So, I wait until her gaze meets mine again, allowing her to see the truth in my eyes. “I won’t hurt you, dove. Have many people have tried to murder you that you assume that’s what’s going to happen?”
She tilts her head back and forth as she thinks.
“I mean, more than I’d like. I’d really rather the number of people who have tried to off me be at zero, but that’s not how it’s shaken out.
” When she notices me looking at her curiously, Lark ducks her head and turns back to her bike.
“Welp, we better get going. Secret places to see and all that jazz.”
Lark hastily puts her helmet back on before I can ask her any of the questions that were on the tip of my tongue. Like who tried to kill her, what their names are, and where can I find them?
I’ll let her run away from my questions for now, but she won’t always be able to hide so easily from me.