Volcrian's Hunt (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) by T. L. Shreffler

the consequences. One night, they had returned to find his daughters and wife dead, the house razed to the ground.
    Crash hadn't asked the Wolfy mercenary to join him and hadn't expected him to. But Burn had lingered with him on the road, perhaps on his own hunt for vengeance, perhaps because he had nothing left. Both options were ultimately empty. Crash didn't pretend to know the man's motives, and they made no difference. Volcrian was a menace, and now his magic tainted the entire mainland, a spreading plague.
    They hadn't spoken of Burn's family since that night. They had shared very little of their pasts, spent too much time and energy on survival.
    “Volcrian will find us,” Crash muttered. “The plague will continue. Without the Cat's Eye, we will have to face him as we are. And you know how that will end.”
    Burn's frown deepened. “That's all you care about?” he growled. “Volcrian's wrath?” He took a step forward. “Sora risked her life for us countless times. The least you can do is show concern. You should be out searching, just like the Dracians, not wasting time on your own selfish motives.”
    Anger surged. Fire burned in his arms, his chest. Crash felt his skull throb. Before he could stop it, a dark shadow rose up from the grass, gathering in the air. The Wolfy's face flickered, a hint of fear.
    The assassin shoved Burn away and glared, seething. “Search the beach?” he snapped. “And not be here when she returns?”
    A sudden, inexplicable smile cracked Burn's lips. “Ah,” he murmured. “So you do care.”
    Crash paused, still breathing hard. The blackness glinted in his eyes again, and he passed a hand over his face, trying to clear it. No. He had to regain control. He could feel the fire spreading down his legs, up his back, dancing around his skull. Assassins were not meant to show emotion. He had been warned from a young age of its danger, the peril of losing oneself to wrath, to fear, to love—to anything.
    He turned away, pacing again, this time in a new direction. “We covered five miles today on foot,” he said bluntly. “The Dracians have searched farther. She's gone.”
    “Sora is resilient,” Burn murmured. “Don't give up hope.”
    “Hope?” Crash said bitterly. “Open your eyes.”
    His words hung in the air between them, an impenetrable wall. He gazed at the Wolfy, unflinching. Then he turned and stalked into the forest, back toward the beach. He rubbed his other hand over his face, swatting at the gnats. Burn was right about one thing—he needed to make himself useful, and now that his weapons had been found, he had plenty to do.

 
     
    CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    SORA FELT A strange tingling sensation. A dull roar filled her ears, rushing in and out, over and over again. At first she thought it was a dream or some trick of her mind. Then she felt the gritty texture of sand beneath her, the light brush of wind.
    A sudden thought jolted her awake. The ocean.
    Then a hot, terrible pain struck her. The tingling in the back of her skull moved forward, throbbing down her forehead, her nose, her teeth. She groaned, feeling as though her head had been split in two.
    But her shoulder...her shoulder hurt worse. Every beat of her heart brought a terrible, swooning ache. She clamped her jaw shut, seething, trying to breathe. By the North Wind, she thought. What happened?
    A shallow wave rushed up, licking her foot. The water was ice-cold. She groaned again, opening her eyes and blinking against the harsh light. The sun was blinding, as though her face was an inch away from fire. No more storm clouds, she thought vaguely. Where am I ?
    After a moment, she attempted to sit up and almost screamed. Her arm was useless at her side, her shoulder stiff with a deep pain. She glanced sideways, almost afraid to look, and saw her shoulder jutting out at an awkward angle. Dislocated.
    A wave of nausea rolled through Sora and she gritted her teeth. This would not do. If she waited too long,