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Amira Press
www.amirapress.com
Copyright ©
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
About the Author
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Fur and Feathers:
A Raven Saga Book Two
Copyright © April 2008, Crymsyn Hart
Cover art by Mariya Krusheva © April 2008
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
ISBN: 978-1-934475-67-6
Amira Press, LLC
Baltimore, MD 21216
www.amirapress.com
Prologue
Darius stared at the transparent full moon in the predawn sky. Shards of sunlight would soon break over the horizon. When they did, he would be forced back into his raven form for another twenty-eight days. It was his curse, the burden on his soul that he had carried for the last four hundred years. One simple mistake was all he made. However, he had pissed off the wrong woman. Marija, a gypsy he had met in his travels. She was a spitfire he had tried to tame, but there was no breaking her. To this day, he remembered every curve of her body and every tongue-lashing she had given him.
Darkness was giving away to full day, and once the morning light touched his flesh, he would sprout feathers. Marija had caught him acting out his desires with another woman. Not that screwing the other female had mattered since she was Marija's sister. Blasted witch hadn't even given him a chance to explain. He despised witches. He was not alone in his revulsion. Some of his brethren disliked them too. No matter how much he tried to let go of his hatred, the loathing had grown over the years, wrapping around his heart like barbed wire smothering him.
Can you blame me? Stupid bitch. Changed my life forever by calling down the curse before I could even get my sword.
Darius shook his head in frustration. He had perched on the top of a building to watch the sunrise. Already the weight of the transformation pressed down on top of him. His spine already bowed. His backbone wanted to crack. His flesh realigned, making room for wings and feathers the color of coal dust. The only thing he found solace in was the changing tides of the day and, of course, watching over his assigned charges. Guarding was one aspect of his damnation he didn't mind so much, protecting a helpless innocent who was important to the magickal community. Right now, he protected a teenage boy, Jonathan. He liked the boy. He had been assigned to Jonathan since he was a few months old. Darius had watched him grow and took pride in doing so. The boy was a clairvoyant and a telepath. The Raven Warrior did not understand why he was so important in the Fates’ fabric, but he did not question his leader's or his queen's orders. Going along with the natural order of things was better than causing disruption. None of the other twelve Warriors needed disorder in their long, drawn-out, eternal existence.
"Help! Someone please help me!"
Darius gazed down at the street below him. The warm breeze of morning raced over his skin. He ignored rather than enjoyed the sensation tickling his flesh. He had taken the miracle of feeling the wind on his skin for granted while mortal in ages past. Running in the alley was a woman. She seemed out of breath. She ran, half limping, searching for a place to hide. No one heeded her cries. Not even him. He didn't care.
Little bitch. Whatever she did, she deserves.
And yet, he could not take his eyes from the scene unfolding below. The woman's hair was streaked with dawn but disheveled, with strands sticking out of her ponytail. Her eyes were the blue of the early sky before the sun burned away the mist. The woman below him gazed up and saw him staring down at her like a waiting demon or angel. He assumed things were racing through her frantic mind like if he was going to step in and help her. He wasn't. The sun was about to break over the horizon like the sea on rocks. Violently. The transformation back to his raven form had already begun. His skin was a shade darker than a moment ago.
He heard growling below him coming from the alley. That snarl was not from an ordinary dog. The deep rumble was from something much harsher, more vicious. Standing on all fours, crouching in the mouth of the alley, blocking the entrance was the meanest, ugliest looking werewolf he had ever seen. Its fur bristled into small spikes along the ridge of its back. Pink and white foam frothed around its mouth, and saliva dripped in long strings like torn meat to the ground. Red eyes glowed under the heavy bridges of its forehead holding an intelligence no ordinary canine could possess. The creature might have looked like a pissed-off German shepherd on steroids to any normal human, but he knew the difference. He had come up against its kind only a handful of times in his Warrior tenure. Gazing at the tableau in the alleyway, he found himself unmoved.
The woman below whimpered and tried to hide behind the dumpster, but the wolf had a hold of her scent. Darius knew there was only one way she would be free. Daybreak was almost upon them. Once the sun surfaced, the wolf would revert to human form. Unless the monster was an old one. He had never met one more than a hundred, and they were lone wolves. He didn't see any gray in the fur. He should call on the queen's bodyguards to scare away the werewolf, but where would the fun be in that?
While he observed the scene below him, the woman looked up and met his eyes. The silent plea on her face did nothing more than bounce off his stony exterior. He broke her gaze and set his eyes back on the horizon. Morning was here. His body was ready to change, and he was set back under his curse once again. His shoulders fell in submission. Stretching out his arms, he dove off the building. The air ballooned around him. The substance of his body changed from dead weight to the light-boned physique of a raven. Flesh sprouted obsidian feathers. Everything about him shrank. Right before he hit the ground, his wings caught a low air current. With his transformation complete, he flew in front of the werewolf, who was now quaking on the ground. Darius let the sight roll from his mind. He had more important things to worry about. Jonathan would be expecting him when he woke up.
Pumping his wings, the Raven Warrior flew toward the rising sun, letting his forlorn cry fill the air at the loss of his cast-off skin.
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Chapter One
Six months later...
One more step. One more step. Alena repeated the familiar mantra. All I need to do is make it to the car. Then I can get home. I'll be safe there. Alena fumbled, trying to find her keys in her bag. Her hands shook. Her fingers brushed her can of mace, the silver knuckle
s she had special ordered, and the silver switch blade. If she pressed the release hard enough, the thin knife would tear the leather. Her breathing was labored. Darkness clung to everything even though the moon lit the sky enough for her to see. The restaurants around her were closed. She had taken the late shift, filling in for one of the girls because she had called in sick at the last minute. It wasn't the first time Alena had to work over. She hated working at night, especially around the full moon, which was still three nights away. Alena was always at risk for them to come around. In the distant night, over the din of the cars racing along the highway, she thought she heard a howl.
I'm hearing things. That's it. It's just my imagination. Alena quaked. Her keys jingled in her hand while she tried to put them in the lock of her two-door, black Nissan coup. She'd had the car for seven years and really needed a new one, but she loved the old thing. A 1992, she had picked it up for three grand. A little sporty but what she needed, and she could break a few speed limits if she wanted to without pushing the engine too hard. A few rust spots had started to grow on the body like raw sores, but she wasn't ready to part with the car yet. It was the first thing she could truly call her own after she had run away. Sliding into the worn gray interior, the tired waitress checked her reflection in the rearview mirror.
There was another noise next to the car. A can skittered across the gravel parking lot. The nearest street light flickered in and out. A gust of wind blew up swift enough to sway the small car like a rocking chair. Her muscles tensed. Her eyes darted to the reflection in her backseat. Instead of seeing her own eyes, she was greeted with the wasp-yellow pupils of one of the pack. A hairy snout filled with dagger teeth curled into a murderous smile. Brown fur covered the werewolf's muzzle. Short, black claws gripped the seat puncturing the cloth. Fear caught her voice in her throat. Before she could scream, the creature lunged at her. Alena's palms clenched the steering wheel while she waited for the strike. But the blow never came. Still in her seat, panting and with her heart racing a marathon, she opened one eye first. There was nothing in the backseat.
She shook her head, chuckling. I'm really losing it. It's been six months, and I haven't seen another member of the pack. I guess Vincent has given up. Alena turned, peering in her backseat just to be sure nothing was hiding in the hatchback trunk. Her stomach was still butterfly filled from the scare she had given herself. It was late. She was sleep deprived from the nightmares stressing her mind and body. Thank God she had tomorrow off. Alena wanted nothing more than to relax in a bubble bath and then watch reruns of her favorite television shows.
Alena was never up on the recent shows and had more seasons on DVD than she had movies. Watching television shows like Bewitched, The Andy Griffith Show, and Happy Days satisfied her deep-seated need for a sense of family. Everyone she had ever known and loved was dead. She had been raised with the pack since she was seven. Old enough to remember what having a mother and a father was like, yet young enough not to understand exactly what was going on. The former pack leader did not want to raise her, but since her father had been his brother, he took her under his wing. No matter what, she was always treated like an outcast. If she had been born a full wolf, her upbringing would not have been so harsh, but she was only half.
Her father had married a woman, a psychic. Few werewolves were born even to full werewolf couples and her father was overjoyed when she was born. Her family would not be able to tell if she could slip her skin like the other pups until she hit puberty. So Alena was treated like one of the pack, but the other children shunned her early on once they had discovered she had inherited some of her mother's gifts. When she was a toddler, she always cried when her parents argued. Her mother didn't understand her father had to change with the full moon and the pack was an integral part of his life. The pull of the moon was in his blood. The moon sang a song to him his wife would never hear. And her father could never completely comprehend the gifts his wife and child had.
Whenever Alena had a temper tantrum or the other kids had taunted her too much, they suddenly got nosebleeds or somehow hurt themselves while around her. She didn't know she was causing the disruptions, and the pups’ mothers refused to let them play with her. Not understanding what she had done wrong, her mother had to explain to Alena that she felt other's emotions and was able to project hers onto others also. That had scared her. She tried to be good or to not let herself feel, but that was always bad too. By bottling up her rage, love, hurt, and shame, whatever the strong emotion was, it always came out at the wrong time and injured someone around her. One time, she had gotten so upset with her father that when she screamed, she felt a white-hot blast leave her. The next thing she knew her father was on the floor with a broken arm. Breaking any werewolf's bone was difficult. From that day on, he had looked at his daughter differently. He didn't show his uneasiness, but Alena had felt his discomfort whenever she touched him. She always asked him if he loved her and didn't think she was a freak, but deep down, she knew he wished she were a normal child, an ordinary pup who would be able to change with the moon and be a good addition to the pack when her time came. His answer was always so blanketed with love she forget the darkness she sensed. The fear of his own flesh and blood.
At the age of seven, her parents had dropped her off with the pack leader, her uncle, and his family, her aunt and two cousins, Vincent and Jamie, so they could go off to a cabin they had deep in the mountains. Her parents were happy together. She had felt their affection and love for one another like a warm sun in her mother's heart, but something was different. Alena didn't understand the new darkness surrounding her mother's heart. She had heard them talking about trying to have another child. Alena had always wanted a little brother or sister. But her parents never returned. They had been brutally killed, and she felt every minute of the attack. At the first explosion of pain, she had gone into a cationic state, which had lasted for a week. Alena's mind shut itself off from her body so she could survive the trauma. When she woke, there were discussions about her in the pack. A group decision was made to keep her and not give her up to her human relatives, but she was still treated like an outsider. Everyone but Jamie. She was Vincent's twin sister. Jamie was the only one who was nice to Alena, who accepted her for who she was. Her aunt and uncle tolerated her, saying that when she came of age, the final decision about what to do with her would be made.
And when she came of age, her uncle did exactly that and made his decision. Alena had grabbed her clothes, not sticking around to witness the pack exile her. She had run and happened to be picked up by a state trooper on patrol near the edge of the state park her uncle's land bordered. She denied she lived with anyone and was lost in the woods. The cop bought her story due to the blood, dirt, and wild-eyed expression she had on her face. She gave them a fake name and address. No one claimed her, and she disappeared into the foster care system until she turned eighteen. Through the years, she repressed her gift and never tried turning into a wolf again. Every three days of the full moon, she heard the moon song and felt the burn in her gut, but the pain was never as bad as it had been the first night. Over time, the urge faded to nothing, and something died inside her soul.
To this day, she considered herself a helpless mortal. Her life had been great. She attended culinary school and she saved up enough money to buy her own little restaurant. It provided her with a good life and a goofy cat to share her apartment. Then, nine months ago, she received her first letter from her cousin Jamie. Jamie had been searching for Alena and had haphazardly come across her picture in a local cooking magazine. Her cousin wanted to see her. Memories of the past came swirling back to Alena, and against her better judgment, Alena decided to meet with Jaime because she desired a sense of family after being alone for so long.
Alena drove home from the restaurant, wondering why she was seeing things in the rearview mirror of her car. Something felt off. The air in her apartment was stale, stagnant as if her place had been closed up for a long while. Once
she opened the door, she didn't hear the familiar jingle of Cinnamon, her cat. She had found him on the side of her restaurant in the alley. His markings reminded her of a cinnamon roll with his light brown fur, swirls of dark brown and a white patch on his chest which could have been frosting. Unlike most cats who hated her, he came right over to her and rubbed against her leg. She fell in love with him immediately. He got into so much mischief; she had to put a belled collar on him so she knew where he was.
"Cin?” she called the cat putting her purse and keys down. “Here, Cin."
After a moment of snapping her fingers, she saw a pink nose and long tail poking out from underneath her kitchen table. She smiled and picked up the feline, cradling it in her arms while she absently scratched the top of his head. Her eyes glanced over the pile of mail on the counter stacked up from the past few days. The blinking light on her answering machine caught her attention. Pressing play, she listened to a telemarketer drone on, another announced she won a sweepstakes, but the voice on the third message stunned her. It was Jamie, her cousin.
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Chapter Two
Darius ruffled his feathers. He watched the sun sink below the horizon. Ribbons of purple, orange, and dark blue were woven in the hair of Nyx, the goddess of night, sister to Morrigain, the battle-tempered goddess who ruled over him and his brethren. He stood perched on the branch of an old oak tree. Deep inside the tree lived a dryad who was as old and gnarled as the bark getting ready to go into winter hibernation along with the tree. Leaves of bright red and polished green still clung to the branches while around the bottom a mountain had accumulated. This was where Jonathan and his friend were playing, dive-bombing into the large pile sending the crunching leaves into the air at the explosive force of their bodies hitting the leaves. Each time they did, the smell of the foliage reached his nose and he inhaled the scent of fall. The seasons had just changed, but the bite of the coming winter trailed along the air. His charge's breath was white vapor in the twilight air. Soon he would have to run along home and eat dinner.
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