SkyFall (Taken on the Wing Book 2) (16 page)

“
Damn it, exile,
”
Torrent kicks, doubling
Cooper over and breaking a rib. He abandons Cooper
’
s arm and instead boots him again. The
knot in Cooper
’
s thigh makes him cry out in
spite of his desire to remain silent for Flay
’
s
sake.

“
Tell me how it opens,
”
Aledaar demands.

“
It won
’
t open for years,
”
Cooper gasps but he
’
s silenced by his broken ribs and
pounding head.

“
We shall see,
”
Aledaar strides from the bedroom leaving
Cooper alone with Torrent.
“
We bring him alive, Torrent.
Do not disobey me.
”

“
Cloud!
”

The same wall of debris and wind that
tears Cloud from Soar
’
s arms pins him down so he can
do nothing more than watch as it takes her. By the time it releases him, his
lungs are empty and the entire roof rattles under golf-ball sized hail. As he
rolls into the doorway to avoid the shattering hail stones, the noise from the
tornado fades to be replaced by the music of running water.

“
Cloud,
”
he gasps and as his hearing returns, the
splashing changes into the distinct sounds of shattering glass from Cooper
’
s building and those around it.

“
I will find you, Cloud,
”
he swears. The hail yields to the dark of
night and falling rain. The storm knocked the power and out other than a frozen
ice-blue after-image from another burst of fork lightning there is nothing to
see.
“
If I ever have you in my arms
again... just give me a chance to make it up to you.
”

Soar shifts his eyes to gryphon
sharpness, allowing him to use even the smallest amount of light. The cascade
of glass continues, broken only by a few cries for help but none from Cloud.
Most sensible Friday night drinkers should be holed up in Cooper
’
s or any of the other street level bars.

Once he drops from the edge, Soar stays
as far from the buildings as he can. The strong winds suck jagged chunks free
of the buildings and into his path. The chatter of tiny pieces of broken glass
on intact windows accentuates explosions of larger sheets as they land below.
As Soar gets his bearings, he figures his van may not have escaped the tornado.

Damn, she could be anywhere and he
circles one building after another, scanning every balcony and hole for her
until he reaches the Bow River where the devastation stops. He can only hope
the wind didn
’
t drop Cloud in the water.

Soar follows the tornado
’
s path back toward the downtown core and
there, six stories up amongst the fluttering of curtains freed from their
apartment windows, he spots movement inconsistent with the rest of the damage.
As he gets closer he sees long flight feathers protruding through the bars of a
balcony railing and a bare foot, no, a hand, as still as the windblown feathers
are disturbed.

“
Cloud,
”
he calls. Magic hides his gryphon form
and disguises his voice as something humans will dismiss as uninteresting
background noise.

He alights on the patio ledge and grabs
hold of the rail. Cloud's naked form sprawls over flimsy furniture and
planters. As he tosses furniture aside, she moans and his heart leaps with hope
the tornado left her with enough life to save.

A human doctor might see her shaking and
drawn in limbs as a convulsion or evidence of head trauma but the seasoned
soldier in Soar identifies something very different - battle stress - and in a
gryphon her age it could very easily turn deadly.

Cloud
’
s flushed and swollen throat tries to
protect her body from the absolute terror of the storm. White circles surround
the dark centres of her eyes and she
’
s
scared almost to death. Unless he can settle her in the next few minutes there
will be nothing he can do but watch her slip away in the dim light of the
storm.

In the field, a group of fighting
gryphons will step in for another in this kind of shape using everything at
their disposal to bring the traumatized gryphon back to reality, calming their
body and mind to reverse the condition humans call shock.

Gryphons call it death because without
help, that
’
s where Cloud is headed.

“
Cloud,
little gryphon,
”
Soar soothes as he gets a
large striped cushion off her.
“
You
’
re
okay, Cloud. All over, eh?
”

As long as he doesn
’
t make a big deal out of it and remains
calm she has a chance but damn it, she
’
s
been carried three blocks by a tornado and thrown into a pile of planters. Soar
turns his head aside so she
can
’
t see the moment where his confident mask
fails.

Her stubborn limbs don't make it easy to
untangle her from the other debris and other than an alarming asymmetry of her
upper torso she hasn
’
t received even a scratch. He
read somewhere about a tornado destroying a house, leaving the kitchen table
and an unfinished puzzle intact. They
’
re
an unfinished puzzle alright, Soar and Cloud, and he hopes forgiveness hides
somewhere in the pieces.

He checks for broken bones, every touch
sweet and soft as he caresses her tense muscles the way he used to. Soar doesn
’
t see the body that used to drive him
wild, only
her
and the chance he may never
see her that way again. He knows her body as well as his own and after a minute
her shallow breaths deepen and she swallows.

“
There,
”
he
tries.
“
I
’
ve
got you, Cloud.
”

“
Pants!
”
she shouts and tries to
cover up but her left arm doesn't come down with the right. Soar
’
s running out of time. She can
’
t draw her wings in to increase her blood
pressure until he relocates her shoulder and he can
’
t do that without hurting her and making
things worse.

“
Alright, little gryphon. We
’
ll find you some pants. Indoors first,
okay?
”

Soar gathers her in his arms and holds
the base of her left wing, reaching around behind his back with his left hand
and immobilizing it as best he can so no movement pulls at her shoulder. His
other arm takes her just below her butt.

“
Easy,
”
he
stands and waits only long enough for her to inhale again then he sits on the
rail, swings his legs over and drops, taking air as gently as he can and
gliding toward his van.

Cloud clings, her fingernails sink in
wherever they find purchase on his skin.

“
Remember what you used to ask?
”
Soar whispers over the wheeze of wind and
chatter of breaking glass. He flares his wings so their descent and landing
will be gentle.
“
You always pushed me for that
one word answer, elegant you called it, and I have it. One word that tells you
everything. One word on which the rest of my days hinge.
”

Tell me about your day, Soar.

A rough tremor shakes through her. She
draws in sharply and doesn
’
t exhale though she tries to
grunt past the blockage in her throat. Half a mile later he touches down and
her muscles relax. With her head drawn back, her breathing eases. Soar keeps
her bare feet from the ground as he finds the key and opens up. A slush of hail
and broken glass covers the toes of his boots.

Once inside, he draws his own wings in
and wastes no time in setting her shoulder. It
’
s tricky without someone to hold her wing
so he improvises. After wedging her in at the table, he ties the wing up before
putting her hand on his shoulder, locking her elbow and feeling the dislocated
joint. He snaps it back in place.

Cloud screams, a good sign, though no
less alarming than the silence he listened to all the way to the ground. After
lowering her arm and bending it gently across her stomach, he holds it still.
The rest of the job is up to her.

On his knees at her side, Soar holds her
shoulder as she continues to shriek. Her throat rattles with the discharge of
phlegm, which combined with swelling, choked her. The sound breaks and she
swallows.

“
Draw your wings in, Cloud,
”
Soar
coaxes.
“
Please, little gryphon,
please.
”

Soar keeps her upper arm pinned to her
side so her shoulder doesn
’
t dislocate again and she
growls and tries to fight him. Elbows in is not a comfortable position for
shifting but it
’
s better than the alternative
of relocating the joint again.

Another cry breaks free as Cloud does
what he asks. Her large flight muscles soften and narrow then become rigid and
he has to hold her tighter to protect her shoulder as the big bones draw down
and in and the feathers start to fade.

“
Fucker!
”
she hollers, presumably
at him, and Soar would laugh if she wasn
’
t
in so much pain. He
’
s never heard a curse stronger
than
‘
crap
’
pass her lips and hopefully
never will if this is what it takes to make her swear.

 A solid fist bashes the camper door as
the last flight feathers disappear.

“
Police, everything alright in there?
”

“
It
’
s open,
”
Soar
hollers.
“
We need help!
”

He doesn't need them thinking he hurt the
naked female seated at his table.

The two police officers, a man and a
woman, don
’
t need a second invitation. A
piece of glass that must be the size of a building hits the ground on the
opposite side of the camper and the two pile in even as the camper still rocks
in the explosion.

“
What do you need?
”
the female gets her bearings first and
shoves her partner aside.

“
On
my buddy
’
s balcony a few stories up
watching the lightning,
”
Soar rambles like he
’
s overwhelmed.
“
The wind sucked her out found her a block
away.
”

“
Pants,
”
Cloud moans.
“
The wind took my pants.
”

“
Yeah,
baby,
”
Soar whispers.

Another teeth-rattling crash shakes the
camper. Little missiles pit the aluminum surface and there
’
s a snap as a window cracks. Soar
’
s grief for his beloved second home will
have to wait.