Fur and Feathers [A Raven Saga Book 2]

by Crymsyn R. Hart

  At one counter, he saw Alena chopping something up. She appeared to have been working for a long while since tendrils of her red hair were plastered to her forehead, even though it was back in a ponytail. Her apron was covered in flour and bits of other things. The smells in the kitchen were enticing enough to make his mouth water. The burners had something simmering, keeping warm, or boiling. Whatever was in the pots, she was cooking for a crowd.

  She's cooking for an army. An army of werewolves. Damn does it smell good! I don't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. She might be trouble, but she seems like one hell of a cook. The Warrior watched the woman work. Alena was so engrossed she didn't notice he was in the kitchen. She hummed a haunting tune under her breath. The way she moved caught his attention. She was completely unaware of how gorgeous she was even all sweaty and with her hair up. He could see himself taking a romp or a tumble in the grass with her, but if he ever got close to her, he would start turning back into a raven since he was damned. He hardened his jaw and tried to think about another subject. This was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. Now was not the time to try to press his luck against the curse. All he wanted was a good fuck. That was what women were good for, he reminded himself.

  "Whatever you're cooking smells wonderful."

  Alena jumped and squeaked like a mouse.

  The small sound made Darius smile. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

  Alena gave him a wary smile and wiped her forehead. Watching her, he noticed her sleep-laden eyes. He wondered if she had slept much or if she had been working hard most of the day. Wait a minute. What do I care if she didn't sleep well? I'm losing it.

  "No, that's okay. I wasn't expecting anyone back this soon. The pack should be gone for a few more hours as they cremate Jamie's son. The ceremony won't be done for a while."

  "Why aren't you with them? You are family, aren't you?"

  Alena stopped chopping what appeared to be a carrot and met his gaze. He felt her power rise around her like a steel vault. She was not going to let anyone into her mind if she didn't want them to be there. “I'm ... well, I'm just not welcome at the funeral."

  She heard something boiling over and went to attend it. She seemed so frazzled by his question that she dipped her fingers into the water to fish out her wooden spoon, which had slipped in, and pulled her hand away quickly, cupping her palm to her chest. A nasty scald appeared on her flesh.

  "Here, let me see."

  "What? Shit."

  Darius walked over to her and slipped the bracelet into his pant's pocket. He held out his hand. “I said let me see your hand."

  Alena looked at him suspiciously but slowly extended her hurt hand. The flesh was lobster red. He wondered why she was not healing like the other wolves. Maybe she didn't possess that power. He held her by the wrist and held his other hand a few inches above the flesh of her open palm. He held tight, and she bit her lip to keep in a cry of pain from him crunching her bones together. “Sorry."

  The Warriors had the power to heal humans. Healing was not something they did on a regular basis. It was part of their magick in case they needed to heal one of their charges. Caleb had taught him how to heal, and Darius used the power very rarely. He quieted his thoughts and felt his energy gather in the center of his palm. He closed his eyes, and when he did, the energy he imagined flowing between him and the woman left him in a cool surge, like a subtle electric spark snapping between them. When he opened his eyes, Darius felt the energy moving between them. He took in Alena while she stared at her hand, watching the flesh go from red to pink and then back to its normal hue.

  After a moment, his power dissipated. He dragged his hand over her flesh to see if her skin was as soft as it appeared. Alena looked up and stared deep into his eyes. He felt the wall around her emotions and knew her mind was as closed to him as Vincent's was last night. Darius absently traced the lines in her hand. She stepped closer to him until they were only inches apart. She was shorter than he. Her head barely reached his chin. Then again, he was tall, almost six four. The aroma of hibiscus and roses caught him instead of the food. Her scent. He let go of her wrist, losing himself in her eyes, swirling eyes which darted back and forth trying to read his, but he kept his mind closed to her. She reached up and caressed the side of his face. His groin tightened. His heart nearly stopped and then shot forward. He had to fight just to hold onto his control from her gesture.

  This woman should not be affecting me this way. But he seemed to have lost control. He was outside of himself, watching his movements and yelling to himself to stop before he began to change. Alena stood up on tiptoe, reaching up and pulling him closer to her lips. He studied her lips. They were light pink with fine lines etched into them, parted slightly. Her breath smelled like peppermint, and he wondered if she tasted the same way. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen or maybe from being close to him He didn't know and he didn't care. Everything in him wanted to take this woman right on the counter even if she didn't give her consent. He wanted her badly.

  Darius's hand nearly wrapped around her waist, but he stopped himself there, not letting himself touch her. To hold her could be too much, and then the change would start. Centimeters from her lips, he heard her breathing quicken to keep pace with the sputtering water plopping onto the stove because it was boiling over. The moment he was about to claim her luscious mouth, he snapped back to reality and pulled himself away from her. Darius turned around and gripped the counter hard enough he heard the wood crack. The Raven Warrior closed his eyes, getting a grasp on his emotions.

  I do not need this. Women are trouble. Even if I fuck them, they still fuck with me. She's trying to entice me to get something from me. I'm here to do a job, not to get some pussy.

  "Is everything all right?” Her voice was a mere whisper and her touch was light on his shoulder. He felt her confusion and heard the puzzlement in her tone.

  "Fine."

  "Is there anything—"

  "No. Just leave me alone."

  "Are you sure. I didn't—"

  He spun around, feeling the fury rising in him. Darius realized his hand was raised and his fingers curled into a fist. He watched her eyes go from his hand to his face. Slowly, he gathered his emotions and tried to remember the breathing exercises Jet had taught him to calm down.

  "Well, if you're going to hit me, just get it over with.” Her face had hardened bringing a solid wall between them.

  "No. Alena. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

  She stepped into his face teaming. “Oh really! And you think I would take it. Well, you don't know anything about me. You're a coward if you think hitting women will solve your problems."

  "I am no coward,” he snapped and stepped closer to her, towering over her. His fists ached to hit something.

  "Then why—Whatever. It doesn't matter. Now get the hell out of here!"

  Darius tried to think of something else to say and diffuse the situation, but he couldn't think of anything. He grumbled and stomped out of the kitchen through the back door. His blood boiled, more at himself than at Alena. He knew he had to learn to control his anger better. Caleb had been telling him that for ages, but he never listened. Once outside, the cool night air caressed the place where Alena had touched his cheek. The slight breeze burned away her warmth, and he found he craved the contact with her. He had almost kissed her. He had almost felt the silk of her mouth against his. He curled his fist and slammed it into one of the pine trees shaking the needles from their branches. The small sapling was young, and the whole tree shook. Inside, the young dryad started chirping at him. He needed to work out his frustration.

  With a small twinge of his power, he called his sword to him. A heavy broadsword similar to the one he had when human, it had been forged by whoever made their swords since he had never asked. The blade could cut through anything and, like his dagger, was lined with silver. Runes, which were similar to Elvin script but only his kind could read, wer
e etched into the blade. The pummel was wrapped in leather to give him a better grip. He had cut through marble with the sword and sliced a diamond in half. To him, the blade was light, and as he began his exercises to keep agile, the blade flashed silver in the moonlight.

  He didn't know how long he worked out, but after a while, he lost sense of time and became one with the blade, listening to the sword sing while it sliced through the air. He began by exaggerating each position, moving slowly until he moved so fast the broadsword was an extension of his arm. He and the weapon were one. He had been working with the sword for a long time and knew the blade was perfectly balanced. Resting with the tip on the ground, the broadsword came to rest a little above his waist. He carried it across his back, but he was used to its cumbersome weight. Jet had a katana to match him, and Caleb had a double-edged blade, which was of an unusual cut and was the oldest Darius had seen since the sword had come from Atlantis.

  After a while, his thoughts slid to Alena. She was a beautiful woman, and he couldn't believe he wanted to hit her. She had done nothing to him except see if he was okay. If she only knew the truth, she wouldn't want to be with him. Alena would be disgusted. Wiping sweat from his eyes, he stopped realizing where his thoughts were leading him. He actually contemplated having a relationship with her. Was that even possible? He shook his head. Of course it wasn't possible. There was no hope for him. He was cursed like the rest of his brethren. But something tugged on the edge of his consciousness. Tremain had proved there was a way out of this curse. Find your heartmate and they could give you a way back to sanity. Darius dismissed the thoughts and focused back on his movements. He began swinging the sword over his head striking at an invisible enemy.

  "My, my. I haven't seen you do that in ages."

  Darius spun around. The edge of his sword wobbled but stopped a hair's breadth from Marija's neck. If he had moved one more centimeter, he would have taken her head. “Damn it, Marija. Don't do that. I could have taken your head.” He dropped the sword point into the ground and leaned on the pummel.

  The werewolf's smile brightened his mood a little bit. Catching his breath, he realized he wasn't as angry as he had been. He really needed to apologize to Alena.

  "Yes, but you didn't. Something got you riled up? Was it because you found something?"

  Darius closed his eyes and nodded. His body ached for a shower, but he knew he had to tell Vincent and the rest of the pack about what he had found. The Warrior opened his eyes and inhaled the scent of the feast only a few feet away. Shame washed over him. He would have to deal with the guilt later. “What has me riled up is none of your business, woman. Here.” He handed her the bracelet he had found. “This was in a well-hidden cave about thirty or so miles from here."

  Marija examined the bracelet. “I don't recognize this one in particular. It's a woman's bracelet. Given to the mate of a wolf when they declare their love for one another. The man's is heavier. Was there anything else in the cave?"

  "No. It seemed to be, or had been, inhabited. I could only see so far, and then it was too dark to see inside. I don't have night vision."

  "You can take Vincent to the site and the rest of the pack?"

  Darius nodded.

  "Good. Now stop moping and come get something to eat before it's gone. The men around here can eat like wolves.” Marjia grinned a little too wide, showing him four pointed canine teeth. He chuckled but decided she was right and he was hungry. Besides, he had to face the fiddler sometime. Why not now?

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  Chapter Eight

  Alena watched the pack gulp down everything she had cooked. The funeral for Jamie's son was today, and she hadn't been invited, but she didn't expect to be. She couldn't run with the pack so there was no point in even attending because they went to the burial place of the wolves. She knew the site was a sacred spot and had only been there once when she was a child for the cremation of her father. They had never located her mother's body and assumed she had died in the crash. Their brake lines had been cut, by who they never found out, but she had always believed her parents had been murdered. So did the rest of the pack. They had been riding through the mountains and went to brake when they failed and went over the embankment down to an inaccessible cliff. Only a week later they discovered her father's body and burned him. Her mother was nowhere to be found. She had mourned the loss for a long time until Alena realized she was not coming back.

  Watching her food be devoured, she was glad she could at least contribute. The look on Vincent's face had made the feast worthwhile because he hadn't expected she could cook such a huge meal. The pack had left around nine, and she had gone into the lodge to start cooking. Two turkeys later, all the fixings, a ham, two Crock-Pots full of chili, and a vat of soup, she was able to feed the one hundred hungry wolves who came back.

  The only interruption to her day was the stranger, drawn by his hunger, coming into the kitchen. When he had surprised her, her heart had jumped into her throat, and she nearly dropped her carrots. She hadn't expected anyone to disrupt her. Cooking was her way of dealing with stress. Her Zen mode, as Deborah would say. At least twice a week, she got so flabbergasted with patrons that she would kick out the chef and start making the tickets. Good thing he didn't mind. He thought her storming the kitchen was funny and just laughed until she worked out her issues. Besides, he got to take a break and do whatever he wanted. Normally that meant going out back to have a smoke.

  Alena hadn't thought much about the stranger since he was there to find the killer, but when he startled her, she had lost her concentration and dipped her hand in the boiling water to grab her wooden spoon. He had taken her hand and healed her. While he held her hand, something unspoken passed between them. She didn't know what because she was trying to keep her mind as closed as she could with her swirling emotions. Something about the guest had made her stomach do back flips and she couldn't think about anything else except the way his mouth looked, and the feel of his slightly calloused fingers tracing the lines in her hand. Something about him was mysterious, yet she felt kin to him. She had forgotten about the boiling water and food which called to her to be turned down. Everything in her world became about him. Then she had pulled him into her. Her heartbeat had picked up and evened with her breathing. The wall in her mind seemed as fragile as paper, but she couldn't read his emotions. She had tried to keep herself steady. Even being so close to him awakened something inside her. There was a burning inside her gut. Something she hadn't felt in years and wasn't sure feeling it again was possible. The burn took her breath away, but she was more enamored from being so close to him that she pushed the burn away. Even in those few seconds his lips had been moments away from kissing her, she could tell he wanted to. He wanted to do a lot of things to her. His lust slammed into her, making her soul quiver and smolder as hot as her ovens.

  The stranger wanted to crush her to him, take her roughly on the countertop and have his way with her. His eyes held her captive with the same power he had used to heal her hand. The tension grew between them with the moments ticking by like seconds. God, she wanted him as bad as he desired her. Alena yearned for his lips on hers, claiming her mouth in a fierce enough kiss her soul would be seared, but he had pulled away from her at the last possible second while they were only millimeters away from one another.

  A wall formed between them, and in her confusion, she had touched him to see what she had done in that last precious second. But his demeanor had changed. He grew distant and angry, like he was another man, and had raised a fist at her like he was going to hit her. She did not back down, but Alena watched while he fought with himself to curb his anger even though the restraint had taken everything in him. Whatever internal struggle he fought had him confused and tied in knots, enough for her to call him a coward. That had been a mistake. She regretted the words the moment they slipped from her lips. He had barreled out of the kitchen and hadn't come back except to get a plate of food, which he took elsewh
ere. Gathering what he wanted to eat, he didn't say anything to her or meet her eyes, like she didn't exist to him anymore, and that broke her heart.

  Alena was confused at the sudden turn of events between how she felt about the stranger. She had not opened herself to anyone in so long. Even fathoming dating was something she hadn't done. Deborah made fun of her and called her a nun because she didn't go out on many dates. And the ones she did go out on turned out very badly. Alena didn't know what it was with men, but when she did date them, she never connected to any of them. She knew they were all about sex and she wanted more than that. Maybe it was because of her gift. Her ability gave her an insight into others’ emotions and she wanted to be more than just a piece of ass to any guy she dated. She wanted to be able to share her emotional experiences with others. Maybe she was doomed to live her life as a spinster. No matter. She didn't understand why she was attracted to the stranger especially when he was proving himself to be such a brute.

  "Do you need some help cleaning up?"

  Alena looked up from her plate of food. She hadn't even realized she had eaten or that most of the pack had gone. She stared at the disaster the kitchen had become and knew she would be here for hours. Thankfully, there were some leftovers.

  "That would be great. Thanks.” Alena forced a smile for Marija, who had come over with a stack of plates and put them on the counter.

  Alena began running hot water in the sink to rinse off the dishes and thanked God for the industrial dishwasher she could use to get the job done. After going through two huge stacks, her mind wandered to the stranger again. She had watched him working out with his sword for almost three hours while waiting for the pack to come back from the funeral. She found herself enamored like a schoolgirl at how his muscles rippled and with his proficiency with the weapon. He seemed to be doing an exotic dance only he knew the steps to. At first, he was slow, testing his movements, and then he got into the rhythm of the dance, and he became faster and faster until the moon flashed off the blade like a beacon in the night. His movements were so beautiful she had cried. The sword was singing its praises to the moon.