Blood Lands (Savage Lands #5)(64)

Warwick turned the bike down an old dirt lane, overgrown and barely a road. I knew this place. The longer we went down it, the more the need to turn around grew. Everything in me screamed we were going the wrong way. We must leave.

Warwick blew out, his hands crunching down on the bars.

“Keep going,” I forced out when I really wanted to say turn back. Breathing in and out, the compulsion to leave itched at my muscles, my head pounding with the pressure.

Warwick let out a strangled grunt, pressing the throttle on the bike, picking up speed.

From a distance, I saw a trail of smoke curl above the trees. Killian’s cabin.

“Faster!” I leaned over Warwick, pressing his hand harder on the gas, punching the bike forward. You could feel the sensation of going through cobwebs, a pulse of extreme power.

Then it snapped. Like a cascade, relief washed down on me, relaxing my muscles, allowing my lungs to move in and out for a moment.

The bike screeched to a stop, yards away from the cottage, both of us tensing, spotting a silhouette stooped on the front step of Killian’s cabin.

“It’s about time you got here.” The person shuffled out from the shadows. “The book gave you good directions then?”

Unblinking, I stared at the twisted figure in bewilderment.

“Ta-Tad?” I stuttered, still not believing my eyes. “What are you doing here? I-I thought you were dead.”

“Some probably wish I was.” His gaze went to the side of the cabin before he came back to us. “Come, it’s cold and wet out here. I’ll explain everything inside.” He motioned us to follow him, already going back indoors.

Climbing off the bike, Warwick and I looked at each other. He wagged his head with a snort. “Life is never boring with you.”

He strolled for the doorway.

Something clicked in, seeing other figures moving toward the entry. “Warwick...” I called out, turning his attention back to me. My mouth formed the words to prepare him as a shout pierced the night air.

“Uncle Warwick!” Simon came tearing out of the cabin, racing for him.

Warwick knew they were alive, but as I did, he compartmentalized what needed to be dealt with first and would think about the rest later. He had no time to really think about his sister and nephew, or at least he never expressed it to me if he had.

His frame jerked, his brain connecting to where we were and who was running for him.

A guttural noise came from the big man, his response snapping him to action. Leaning down, his arms open, he swept up his nephew in a bear hug, clutching Simon to him like he would never let him go. His lids batted at the emotion, his chest heaving with a mix of agony and relief, probably reliving the moment he thought they were dead. Never to see them again.

The little boy clung to him, squeezing his uncle so tight.

“Warwick!” Eliza came running out, wrapping her arms around her brother and son, the family holding on to each other.

Warwick never showed emotion, not to anyone outside his circle, and barely to those inside it. But seeing him with his sister and nephew, the deep love he felt for them was palpable, filling my eyes with tears.

Eliza glanced over his shoulder, a watery smile for me.

I smiled back, letting them have their moment.

Eliza wiped at her eyes and stepped back.

“Gods, we were so worried,” she choked, a wet laugh mixing in her throat. “I’m so happy you guys are okay.”

Warwick swallowed, nodding, not able to respond in words, probably thinking the same about them. But I knew Eliza didn’t need to hear words. Warwick didn’t need to speak for you to feel how much he cared.

In my life, I realized words could be twisted, used as lies, trickery, and bait. A person’s true character was in their actions, the truth spoken through doing, not saying.

Warwick set Simon down, the little boy already tugging on his hand, a whirlwind of energy and words, wanting to show his uncle some bugs he captured and toys he had.

As Simon yanked Warwick toward the house, his gaze snapped back to me, his eyes catching mine with intensity.

“You coming, Kovacs?” His voice was private between us.

“Don’t I always?” I winked, catching up with them.

Eliza had been right about me.

I was part of Warwick’s very exclusive circle.

His family.





“How did you make it out that night? Is my mother, okay?” My feet paced back and forth in front of the fire, my brain rattling off a million questions. “Where is the nectar?” I could feel its power nearby. The call to it kept my legs moving back and forth. I could also feel the hum from the fae book. “You have the book here too... how?”

“Sit down, my girl.” Tad watched me calmly. “I will explain everything.”

My hands ran through my damp hair, my back-and-forth stride over the tiny space not slowing. Nibbling my lip, I forced myself to perch on the chair opposite Tad, my knee bobbing. The need to move, to follow the pull, was almost too much.

“Breathe, Kovacs.” Warwick’s command brushed my neck, my eyes flicking to the man on the sofa.

Simon cuddled up between his uncle and mother on the sofa. Zander rested on the back behind Eliza, his eyes constantly drifting to her. Neither of them showed any extra attention to the other so far, but I still could pick up a vibe, a familiarity and closeness between them.