Ravening Hood

by Kendrai Meeks

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Title Page

  THE THREE LITTLE PIGS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  ABOUT KENDRAI MEEKS

  Acknowledgments

  Catch a typo?

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  THE THREE LITTLE PIGS

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  ABOUT KENDRAI MEEKS

  Acknowledgments

  Catch a typo?

  THE THREE LITTLE PIGS

  Once upon a time, a mother pig decided to send her three little piglets into the world, to find and fulfill their own fortunes.

  The first little pig didn’t understand why he should have to work to win that which all his life had been given him freely. He journeyed south, to a land covered in tall grasses and short trees. Using that which he could reap about him without much work, he built a home of reeds and straw.

  The second little pig knew that some measure of prosperity came to those who made effort, as all his life he had had to beg for his due share from his bigger brother, while careful not to raise his ire. He moved deep into a forest, where the trees gave plenty without taking much in return, and, in the shade of the canopy, grew comfortable in his arboreal abode.

  The third little pig, however, the youngest of them all, had lived his life watching his brothers grow healthy but docile from their mother’s preference. As the littlest and smallest, he was often left to fend for himself. He understood that his best chance lay in industrious effort and making use of the resources he could gather. He worked the ground, crafting firm a foundation, and from the earth he heaved made bricks, and of bricks, a home. Though the sun shone above, he knew the storms would come. When they did, his house would stand strong.

  One day, a wolf found Mother Pig and made to eat her. With her dying breath, she taunted him, “O, Wolf! You have come here looking for fat and tasty piglets to feed upon, and you’ve found only me. Feast upon me, if that is your will, but my piglets have gone forth from this place and beyond your reach!”

  When he licked clean the last taste of Mother Pig from his teeth, the wolf turned his nose to the door, and followed the first scent he found. It led to a land of grass and trees. As he came upon the abode of the first little pig, he threw his head back and howled, “Little piglet, one in number. Sent from home, and cast asunder. Think you may hide in a house of straw? I will rend thee with my mighty maw.”

  The little pig thought the wolf full of himself, not knowing he was, in fact, full of his mother. He looked up from his abode and answered, “Silly wolf, you shall not eat me. Go from here, I entreat thee.”

  “I am the wolf, of whom Fortune spoke. I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and on your bones I’ll choke.”

  The wolf opened his mouth and let out a mighty growl, and barely did the little piglet get away. But get away he did, squealing his way to the home of his brother in the bower of trees. Both piglets trusted the forest to hide them. The wolf, however, followed not his eyes, but his nose, and soon came to where the second piglet dwelled. Walking among the trees, he lifted up his voice and said, “Little piglets, two in number. Sent from home, and cast asunder. Think you may hide in a valley of trees? I will rend thee and eat as I please.”

  The little piglets trusted the mighty trunks around them, and said, “Silly wolf, you shall not eat two or one. Go from here, your plot’s undone.”

  The wolf answered, “I am the wolf, of whom Fortune spoke. I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and on your bones I’ll choke.”

  The wolf opened his mouth and let out a mighty growl, and barely did the little piglets get away. But get away they did, squealing all the way to the home of their littlest brother. No simple home was his abode, however. The littlest pig needed the mightiest defense, and so he built a fortress of brick and mortar. Even still, the older piglets had grown frightened, knowing how close they had come to death. Their youngest sibling assured them that they should not fear; the abode in which he dwelled was far beyond what a single wolf could penetrate. But if they wished to stay safe, they may take shelter within while he sent the wolf away.

  When the wolf came, he called out, “Little piglets, three in number. Sent from home, and cast asunder. Think a wall of stone will stop me? I will rend thee, and eat all my trophies!”

  But the youngest piglet did not quake. He crawled atop the brick wall and called down, “Oh, brave wolf, far have you come. And I, for one, can do the sum, that three piglets in these walls do dwell, and if huffed, these walls you may fell. But there is no need for prattle, nor for us to battle. For I wish only to survive, and you wish only for to thrive. Two piglets I offer you as tribute, to send thee away without dispute. Give word to me that you shall not eat me, and I will give thee my brothers freely.”

  The deal being done, the wolf entered, whereupon he found the two piglets who had escaped their fates before. Though they tried to flee, the brick walls of their brother’s home kept them in. When the wolf stood before them, he let out a mighty growl, whereupon both brothers found terror took them before even a single tooth pierced their hides. After he had devoured both, the wolf thought, “Indeed, I am sated. But hunger will find me again. Surely, I am not bound to keep a promise I made to a piglet. But now, I am tired, and I need to rest. I shall sleep here in the hall of the littlest piglet, and when I arise, he shall be my meal.”

  But the piglet knew that he could not trust the word of a wolf. Lithely, he made his way downstairs, cloaked in the darkness of a new autumn moon, and found the wolf sleeping off his filling meal. He went to the nearby fireplace and took the logs one by one, building an enclosure around the wolf. When at last the wolf lay slumbering in a wooden tomb, the little piglet lit the pyre, and danced with glee as both the wolf and his brothers baked within.

  PROLOGUE

  With growing scorn, she observed the revelers in the street below. Brünhild Kline detested revels. She abhorred festivity. She disparaged all those who celebrated Mardi Gras without a care for this world or the
next.

  And yet, she so wanted to be one of them. It could never be, of course. Duty. Duty to herself, to her kind, and to her birthright had kept her grounded and alienated since she was a little girl. The only time she’d forgone the burden laid upon her as a red matron, indulging her heart instead of obeying her head, had laid the foundation for the battle taking shape just over the horizon. The cynical voice deep within her said this was one war her stoicism and command could not win. Brünhild persisted. She would win, must win. It was her duty.

  A string of plastic beads landed by her feet where she perched on the balcony just as this thought crossed her mind, just as her indulgence opened the door to the suite in the background.

  A metallic clack echoed off the thin, pasteboard walls covered in faded yellow wallpaper. Brünhild kept her eyes on the street below; she did not require the benefit of vision to sense his movements. His presence had always registered on a visceral level; the first time they’d met, it had been what drew her to him. Over the years they’d spent together, she’d become numb to the sensation. But now, after eight months of separation, it pricked at her, like a tantalizing form of foreplay.

  Her knuckles became pearls on the railing of the balcony.

  “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

  Pietro’s hands ran over her hips, his grip firm as he pulled her back into his frame and lowered his mouth to the junction of her neck and shoulder. Heat crawled under her skin, electrifying her senses.

  “Could I deny you?” he mumbled against her skin.

  No, he couldn’t. The fact both thrilled and saddened her.

  Brünhild closed her eyes against traitorous thoughts. “After what I did to you, I’m not sure how you can even bring yourself to speak to me.”

  He nipped his way up to her earlobe. “I understand why you banished me.”

  “I didn’t banish you.”

  She yielded to Pietro’s attempts to pull her away from the line of sight of the drunken masses below. An amorous couple on a balcony in the midst of this celebration wouldn’t get a second look, but if their eyes glowed silver in the haze of night, avoiding attention might prove difficult. She only wanted his attention.

  Her breath caught as his hands worked at the belt buckle. “The red matron banished a member of her clan who had openly defied her.”

  “I know.”

  “And yet, you still desire me.”

  It couldn’t be a question. There was no doubt of it. Brünhild merely stated an intellectual observation.

  “Blame it on my Latin blood if you must. You knew that when I chose you, you would be the only for me. It is an eternal fact.” Hot breath over her eyes whispered the words that had always made her knees go weak.

  And Brünhild Kline did not have weak knees.

  “I am your sacrifice.”

  For the first time since Pietro had entered, a pang of guilt licked at Brünhild’s resolve. She loved her husband; she had always loved her husband. But when they had decided to be together, the red matron made it clear that her first priority would always be to her clan. Pietro was already so gone on her by then, he’d have agreed to anything to be with her. Little had she known the depth to which his self-sacrifice would be forced to plunge.

  “It must be torturous to you, to be...” Brünhild bit her bottom lip as her husband managed to pull her shirt off over her head. “...separated.”

  Bare from the waist up, she turned in his arms, ran her hands over his shoulders, and laced her fingers behind his neck. She’d never known of eyes so black, and when the silver hue overcast them, Brünhild felt no full moon could ever be more beautiful than her husband’s hungry gaze.

  “Each breath is death.” The kiss was light, foreshadowing the rapture to come. “Reanimate me, mi amor. Salve me.”

  Later, as they lay in the bed, spent and euphoric, the hum and squeal of the streets unfettered by the late hour, Brünhild sensed that Pietro wouldn’t remain mute on the elephant in the room much longer. At last, he invited it into the open.

  “It would have been fine, if she’d been a yellow.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Pietro hitched himself up on one elbow, running the finger of his free hand over her flushed cheek. “Then why did you stop it? Do you doubt Consuela’s valor?”

  “Not in the least. Your cousin is a righteous hood, and she honors the yellow bloodline with her leadership. But our daughter... I cannot risk putting her under anyone else’s command. Gerwalta’s power will be too great, and her blood, too much of a temptation.”

  “Then why leave her defenseless?” Pietro queried, the smile chased from his face. “Why relinquish her powers? Is she in any less danger because she’s a huey?”

  Brünhild shook her head. “I didn’t relinquish her.”

  From elbow to palms, Pietro jolted up, his unkempt, gray-streaked black locks flipping. “But I saw you do it. I heard you speak the words.”

  She rolled over, her gaze falling softly over memory. “There is no such thing as being relinquished. It’s an old hood’s tale, one we mothers tell our children to scare them into submission. I did nothing more than hit her with silver flame. It would have shocked her, temporarily damaged her, but no matron can take her power away. She believed it, and the silver flame added to the perception. The mind is a powerful thing, Pietro. Gerwalta’s, more powerful than most.”

  No need to look at Pietro to sense his confusion. She could feel a vague sense of it tingling in the air around her. “You used silver flame on our daughter, when we both know that—”

  “We know nothing,” Brünhild interrupted as she slipped from the bed and grabbed her clothes from the floor. “We can’t. Gerwalta isn’t you, and she isn’t me. There hasn’t been a child like her born for centuries. Neither you nor I have any idea what the effect will be.”

  “There was an effect,” Pietro countered. “Cody says she is relinquished. The wolves can’t sense her anymore, nor she them.”

  Brünhild frowned; whether it was because her banished husband had just admitted to staying in contact with her custodial pack, or because he knew more about the state of their daughter than she did, she couldn’t say. “The longer it takes her mind and her body to realize she’s not, the better. Perhaps the Ravens will not be so eager to get their fangs on her if they believe her a huey.”

  “We should have told her about them long ago. Ignorance is never an excuse, but we’ve made it her only choice.” The matron’s groom shook his head. “It’s already been months. How much longer can we hope for the effects of the silver flame to last?”

  Through a squinted gaze, she scrutinized his expression. “Not too much longer. Besides, it could be a benefit to her for the time being, being perceived as weak. A dull blade inspires less terror, though its potential to kill is no less.”

  “Then we must hope her edges sharpen soon.”

  The red matron spun, her dulled pupils growing silver. “Why?”

  Pietro stood, ambivalent to his nudity. Unlike her, he felt just as strong in his own skin as when he donned his hood. “They are planning on going after the Ravens.”

  “When?”

  “After graduation. And that boludo wolf is going with them.”

  Brünhild wondered if her husband’s dislike of Tobias Somfield was simply because the latter was a werewolf, or because Tobias was English. Argentines could hold a grudge.

  “Good.”

  Any heat remaining between them dissipated with the spike in Pietro’s anger. “Good? How can you possibly think our daughter spending time with that mutt is good?”

  She crossed to him and planted a kiss on his pursed lips. “Because then they must come back within three months, mustn’t they? Otherwise, the wolf will go moon mad. And in the meantime, Markus will shadow them.”

  “Markus?” Pietro repeated, as though it were a word in a foreign tongue whose pronunciation was uncertain. “You want to send Markus to Istanbul?”

  One perfectly drawn eyebrow arch
ed. “Is there something wrong with that? You know he’s had some fascination with the Dracule since he was a child. He is young, but he is a fine and righteous hood.”

  “Yes, but he is...” Pietro smirked as his hands pantomimed whatever words could or would not come from his mouth.

  “I am aware of my nephew’s proclivities. It is irrelevant. He is the right man for this situation. Besides, he is more vested in her safety than any other under my command.”

  Her husband flinched at the implication. Banished, Pietro could offer no official duty as a member of the House of Red, even if only by marriage. Taken in by his cousin, a yellow matron, he also could not elect to make the journey himself. After the standoff with Brünhild, Consuela’s readiness to upset the indomitable red matron so soon was small.

  “You still hold hope that Markus and Geri will someday be joined.” He side-eyed his wife. “I fear that’s a stock which holds no cattle. It’s against both their natures.”

  “What do their natures matter?” Brünhild pulled on her second boot, making the leather creak. “It was against my nature to marry you, but I did.”

  “And you regret every day of it,” Pietro said flatly.

  This was one thing of which she wanted Pietro to be certain. “I have never regretted who we are, Pietro. I’ve only regretted who life forced me to be, and what it cost us all.”

  ONE

  “GODDAMN IT, GERI! DO WE LIVE WITH A YETI?”

  A hot iron pressed to my feet would not have woken me faster. I found my silver blade in hand and held ready for attack. Luckily, reality caught up just in time.

  Any other person might flinch at having their roommate brandish a knife. At the very least, they might give said roommate TEN FREAKING MORE MINUTES TO SLEEP IN ON THE ONLY DAY OF THE WEEK THEY COULD. Amy, however, had danced this dance before.

  “Put your butter knife away. Like I said, I’m a New Yorker. It ain’t a gun, I ain’t gonna run.”

  The silver blade found its way back into the sheath hidden under the pillow. “And this is why werewolves make better roommates.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Nothing.” The pillow’s warmth had already started to leach away. “It’s Sunday, Amy. Why, in the name of Godric’s Hollow, are you waking me up before nine?”