Reaper: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 2)

by Steffanie Holmes

  My whole body trembled. Sweat poured down my face. The force drove me back, my hand rising a few inches towards my face, my index and middle fingers pointed towards my eyes, threatening to injure me for my disobedience.

  “You don’t own me,” I grunted, pouring on a burst of strength. I slammed my hand down on the shattered glass. Pain screamed up my arm, and a bright white light exploded in front of me. An invisible force sent me flying back across the room. My back slammed against the kitchen island, sending a shower of crockery down on my head. I yelped as a coffee cup smashed into my temple.

  My hand burned with excruciating pain, like a thousand needles stabbing it at once. My whole body shuddered with intense nausea. I gritted my teeth, and yanked my hand from the ground, bringing it in front of my face.

  It was in a bad state, glass sherds poking from the skin of my palm, my fingers covered with painful burns. A blackened stain covered my index finger from the tip right to the web.

  But the ring – the black ring that bound me to my master – was no longer a thick black band, but a thin sliver of dull grey encircling my finger.

  “Oh,” I wheezed, my vision going blurry. The pain was taking over. I pitched forward, the bile rising in my throat.

  I’ve weakened it. I’m so close.

  The door to Ingrid’s room flew open. Byron stormed out. “What the hell happened?” He grabbed me under my arms and pulled me back on the couch. I tried to say something, but all that came out was a faint groan. My stomach clenched. I started to retch.

  “Christ, roll him over,” Ingrid grabbed my shoulder and wrenched my head over the side of the couch, just as I threw up all over her rug. My stomach clenched again, driving out all of its contents. My eyes stung with tears, but not as bad as the sting of that glass in my hand.

  Byron grabbed my chin and wrenched my head back and forth. My tongue was glued to the top of my mouth. “Cole!” He slapped my cheek. “What happened? What did you do?”

  “Stop …” I croaked. “Stop … fucking slapping me.”

  Byron dropped my chin and stood back. “He’s fine,” he told Ingrid, who leaned against the door frame, wearing only a fluffy pink towel wrapped around her shapely torso, and a worried expression.

  “He doesn’t look fine.” Ingrid knelt down beside me, wiping my hair out of my eyes. She pressed her hand against my forehead. “Cole, you’re burning up. What happened? Are you sick?”

  “I—” I coughed violently. “I tried to—”

  I raised my hand into the light. The ring on my finger still glowed faintly.

  “I was so close,” I mumbled, tapping the surface of the ring. It felt rough, as though it had been rubbed by something abrasive. I’d damaged it. I’d actually managed to draw up that power from within myself and cause harm to the ring.

  Somehow, my connection with Belinda had given me the strength to start breaking down the bond that held me.

  They do say love can set you free. I didn’t know it was meant literally.

  We stayed with Ingrid for five days. Every night I visited with Belinda, entering her bed and making love to her, sending all of my deepest thoughts and darkest secrets deep into her mind. We shared everything, every word, every thought, every secret desire. When I emerged from the strange dreams, my ring always seemed a little thinner, a little duller than the day before.

  Every morning Byron and I went out to the forest, trying to find the meditative state Ingrid had talked about, that inner power that could release us from the bond. I mainly went for Byron, because he needed my support.

  Despite the fact his finger had turned completely black and simply walking around seemed to cause him excruciating pain, Byron seemed reluctant to leave Ingrid and enter the forest each day. It might have had to do with the fact that he wasn’t sleeping on the couch with me, where she’d originally told him to, but in her room. Not that they were doing much sleeping.

  I couldn’t begrudge Byron his burgeoning relationship. It was nice to see him so happy, despite our current situation. It made him much more pleasant to be around.

  We hadn’t got on this well in all the years we’d lived at Morchard Castle. Byron’s taunting and bullying had got steadily worse since our father had died. When mother died, I hadn’t been able to forgive him for deserting her, for ignoring me when I told him how much she needed him. Our relationship had been strained ever since, tainted by that history. But being here with him was almost … fun.

  I wanted so badly to believe that Ingrid’s solution could work for both of us, but every time I went into the forest and sat in the tress, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t connect my mind to that inner, primal bird. Byron clearly couldn’t, either.

  “Maybe you can’t do it because you can’t free your mind from its current preoccupations.” Ingrid said when I told her about my troubles. “I was able to do it because I’d lost everything when I left – I’d given up my home, my family, my whole life to be free. Maybe your love for Belinda is keeping you tethered.”

  “I’m so close. How do I un-tether?”

  “I don’t know, Cole. I’m not an expert at this.” Ingrid pointed down at my ring, which was no longer black but a kind of mid-grey. “It looks like you’ve got some sort of progress. Unlike poor Byron. His finger just keeps getting blacker.”

  “I think Byron’s inability to focus on meditation has more to do with a certain distraction.”

  She smiled. “It’s nice that you came to find me, Cole. Really it is.”

  Byron and I went back to the forest, folding our clothes neatly and hiding them in the hollow trunk of a rotting oak, before forcing a shift and flying up to roost in the highest branches. Byron settled on a thick branch, spreading his wings out to catch the sun, and I landed on a thinner branch a few feet away, so that I could observe him and see if I could figure out what he was doing wrong.

  He sat still, his bill tucked under his wing, his eyes closed. Other birds flew past us in the trees, a brave starling even calling out a taunt to him before zipping away. But Byron didn’t look up, didn’t move, gave no acknowledgement that he even registered the outside world. He definitely had this meditation thing down better than I did. So why wasn’t he making any progress?

  He lifted his head, and inspected his ring. It was still as tight and black as ever.

  I fluttered down and landed beside him. “Don’t worry,” I said in caw-tongue. “You’re doing really well. I’m sure you’ll start seeing some progress soon—”

  “Cole.” Bryon said, his voice quiet.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry. About Mum. I—”

  He shook his head, the fringe around his neck bouncing. He didn’t look me in the eye.

  “You’re sorry for what?” Where was this coming from? Byron had never once acknowledged our mother’s death, except to taunt me. I wanted to hear this, needed to hear this.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry it didn’t seem as if I cared.” He didn’t turn towards me.

  “You didn’t care.”

  “That’s not true.” He shot back, his head whipping around and his eyes resting on mine at last. I stepped back, shocked at what I saw there. Rage, and pain. Deep-rooted, long-brewing pain. “I cared very much. I was such an idiot, I thought you were just being you, trying to get my attention so that I wouldn’t leave you, so that I’d stay behind at the castle instead of having some semblance of a life. And when I realised you were serious, I felt so helpless, so unable to comprehend losing her, I just didn’t try. I was scared of seeing her like that, I just didn’t come. I told myself I’d go tomorrow … always tomorrow. And then she was dead, and it was too late.”

  “She asked for you, all the time.” I turned away, not able to look at the hurt in his eyes any longer. “I was the one there every day with her, whenever Morchard let me get away. But all she wanted was you.”

  “I failed her, and I failed you.” He croaked bitterly. “Some big brother I am.”

  This con
versation was veering in an unknown direction for both of us. We’d never talked like this before, with such raw emotion. Weariness overwhelmed me. I was tired of the strained relationship between Byron and I, tired of the anger I carried around over his neglect. I realised now that he loathed himself for failing our mother, even more than I did. I hadn’t quite forgiven him for it yet, but I was starting to.

  “Let it go, Byron. It’s in the past. If I forgive you, and you forgive me, can you go back to busting my arse for everything?”

  “You … forgive me?” His eyes grew wide.

  “Of course.” I shrugged, realising that it was true. I had forgiven him. A great weight lifted from my shoulders. “It’s what they would have wanted, Mum and Dad. They would want us to look out for each other. I’ve done a pretty crap job at that, but I’m going to try and change, starting with getting that blasted ring off your finger—”

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  I whirled around. Another raven had settled itself on the branch opposite us, its beady eyes trained on mine, its beak inclined towards me in a menacing manner.

  “Hello, Pax.” Byron said, straightening up, our discussion instantly forgotten. My heart plummeted to my stomach. If Pax had found us here, then that meant Morchard wasn’t finished with me. And Byron … what would he do to punish Byron if he caught him? I moved in front of Byron, placing my body between him and Pax. If he wanted Byron, he’d have to get through me first.

  Tension crackled in the air between us.

  “For two birds who are supposed to be in hiding, you sure do make a lot of noise.” Pax blinked slowly. “I didn’t have any trouble finding you.”

  “Let’s not waste time with idle chatter,” I croaked, my voice dripping with menace. I lifted one foot off the branch to brandish my talons. “If you’re here to fight us, let’s go. May the best bird win.”

  “Relax, I’m not here to peck out your eyeballs.” He snapped his beak a couple of times. “As much as I would enjoy that. I have a message for you.”

  “I don’t want to hear anything Morchard has to say.”

  “This isn’t from Morchard, and you’ll want to hear it. Trust me. Sir Thomas is getting married in three days’ time. Your girl is catering the wedding. Four hundred people have been invited, all crammed into one marquee. Dignitaries, nobility, even a royal or two will be in attendance. And Morchard is planning to kill them all.”

  “What?” My blood turned cold. “How?”

  Pax shrugged. “I’m not privy to the details. Ever since you both left, Morchard has been even less trusting of us Bran. All I know is that I’m supposed to wait in the woods behind the marquee, and when he gives the signal I cut a wire. But I’m pretty sure whatever he’s planning has got something to do with those awful diseased ravens he’s got flying around the place.”

  I remembered what Belinda had told me about the Morchard dosing the birds with some highly infectious virus. I could guess at what he planned. I thought of all those people who would be at the wedding; Ryan and Alex, Libby, Elinor, Bianca … and Belinda … my precious Belinda. I couldn’t let this happen.

  “Why are you telling us this?”

  “I thought it was obvious. I want to you stop it.”

  Pax lifted his wing. The ring that encircled it glowed faintly, a harsh line of stripped feathers around it revealing red, wounded skin beneath. He must have been in almost as much pain as Byron. But that meant—

  “The pain is quite something else,” Pax said sheepishly. “I don’t know how you two live with it.”

  “You went rogue?” I couldn’t believe it.

  “Don’t get any funny ideas. I still hate your fucking guts, both of you. You were always the favourites, always the ones given the best jobs, while Poe and I were stuck on endless looping guard duties. But you’re right Cole, it’s fucking ridiculous that we’re doomed to remain slaves to that man for the rest of our lives. I don’t want four hundred fucking deaths on my conscience. If Morchard wants to murder people, he can do it himself. Or at least pay me for my trouble.”

  “What are you going to do?” Byron eyed Pax suspiciously. I bet he was wondering if Pax had some clever plan to relieve him of his ring that we could somehow make use of.

  “I’m sure as hell not going to sit around a forest all day trying to perfect my bird yoga, like you two pussies. I’ve heard on the grapevine there’s a rogue wolf up in Scotland who has a witch imprisoned. Apparently he’s freeing birds left, right and centre. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

  And with that, he took off again.

  Byron turned to me, his eyes gleaming. “Can you believe it? Pax, of all the birds, has gone rogue.”

  I nodded, but I wasn’t thinking about Pax. I was thinking about all my friends, and all those people at Libby and Sir Thomas’s wedding. I had to do something. I had to warn them somehow, stop the wedding, destroy the birds. I had to go back.

  I didn’t want to go back. I was breaking the solemn promise I’d made myself. If I saw Belinda again, I would barely be able to control myself. I would want to go to her, to stay with her, even though I was not yet free. Going back would mean resigning to a life of slavery. But I didn’t have a choice, not really. Every person who had ever been kind to me was going to be at that room – including the woman I loved so much it hurt – and even though I’d done nothing to deserve their kindness, there was no fucking way I’d let them die just so Victor Morchard could have his revenge on me.

  It was time Victor Morchard paid for his crimes.

  16

  Belinda

  The rest of the week passed in a blur of tiredness and caffeine. My new catering business and preparations for Libby and Sir Thomas’s wedding kept me busy every hour of the day, and Cole’s spectral presence in my bed kept me awake most of the night. Not that I had any complaints about Cole’s visits, I just wished he could inject coffee into my veins the way he injected lust.

  Every morning, I got up at 3:30am and baked several loaves of bread. Chairman Meow delivered them door-to-door around the village on a vintage bike. Apparently he was quite the charmer. Once the ladies in the knit ’n’ bitch got word of this service, we started getting phone orders. I had their calls diverted to Resurrection Ink, and Elinor and Bianca took down orders in between inking butterfly tramp stamps on gullible teenage girls. In the evening they came home with the order sheet and I started baking again. All this I had to fit in between prepping four courses for the wedding.

  Every day the order sheet grew a little longer. Bewitching Bites may have had a setback, but we were still soldiering on.

  And then, two nights before the wedding, Cole didn’t come. I lay awake, staring at the hallway, knowing I should try to sleep, but my body unable to rest. I ached all over, from weariness, and from want of him.

  Had something happened to him? Or had he left me again, for real this time? Had these strange visitations just been dreams after all?

  Sometime after 1am, I fell into sleep. I know it happened, because I awoke from some unremembered, terrifying dream. I threw my arms across the bed to search for Cole’s warm body, only to find it empty.

  I hoped in time the pain would deaden, that Cole would eventually be just another bug on the windshield of my life. Another horror story like Ethan that I’d be able to laugh about in a few years’ time when I’d dug myself out of my debt hole. I hoped one day the very mention of his name wouldn’t fill my eyes with tears or my stomach with butterflies.

  The only way to start again was one step at a time.

  “Hey Libby,” Bianca called out. “Have you had a hen night?”

  We were sitting around the living room, enjoying a glass of wine while helping Libby stuff Jordan almonds into tiny gauze bags. The entire day had been a frenzy of last-minute wedding planning, with a flurry of wedding planners, makeup artists, dress designers, lighting consultants, and professional dance instructors sprinting back and forth from Libby’s rooms. I’d only left the kitchen at
7pm after working on the cake and the desserts all day, leaving behind stacks of white catering boxes and a mess of monumental proportions that Simon was now dutifully cleaning up. Ah, the wonders of having a butler.

  Libby glanced up from the ribbon she was cutting. “No, I guess I haven’t.” She said. “All my bridesmaids are the daughters of earls or other important people Thomas chose to keep the noble families happy. They’re not exactly bosom buddies. And I never had many girlfriends. People tend to think I’m strange.”

  “You are strange,” Alex grinned as she tied off a ribbon and added another bag to our growing stack. “You’re marrying a vampire.”

  “You’re engaged to a vulpine. And she—” Libby gestured to Elinor with her elbow, “is going to marry a rock star who used to be dead.”

  “I know,” Alex grinned. “Welcome to the club.”

  “Right,” Bianca clambered off the couch and grabbed her coat. “Fuck this. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” Elinor demanded, tossing another bag onto the pile and grabbing her next handful of almonds.

  “Out. We are going to have a raucous adventure, as deserving of a hen night.”

  “In Crookshollow?”

  “Why not?” Bianca grinned.

  “We’ve got a mountain of Jordan almonds still to bag up,” Elinor, ever the sensible one, scolded. “We can’t be going out on the town.”

  Libby waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, who cares about the almonds? They were my mother’s idea. I don’t even like almonds. Let’s go get trashed and have shenanigans!”

  “I’m in.” Alex grabbed her purse. “Let’s go. Elinor? Belinda?”

  “I’m certainly not going to sit here tying ribbons all night while you guys have all the fun.” Elinor grinned. “Count me in.”

  I stared over my shoulder at the kitchen. I hadn’t taken any orders for tomorrow so I could focus on the wedding. Most of the prep would have been done. I should get an early night’s sleep, but it wasn’t as if I was sleeping anyway ...