Raven's Revenge: Paranormal Prison Romance (Paranormal Prison Series Book 2)

by Naomi Martin

  Cook is chewing a mouthful of his salad, nodding as he absorbs my words. I don’t think I said anything he didn’t expect. In fact, I think he wanted me to say it simply to highlight my failure in that arena. It’s a common enough tactic. That’s Cook trying to take the high ground by reinforcing the idea that my record is not spotless and that I am prone to error. Not an unexpected move, but annoying as hell.

  “I have it on good authority this Raven girl is the one leading the attacks on our convoys,” Cook presses, trying to further rub my nose in it. “That she is responsible for the destruction of our materials and the killing of dozens of our troops.”

  “Your information is technically correct, Senator. But that is a simplistic explanation,” I say, trying to keep myself from bristling too badly. “There is an organized group known as the Breakers. It is this group, of which Raven McCabe is a member, which has been attacking our convoys and facilities. She is simply one of their weapons—not their only weapon.”

  Cook rubs his chin thoughtfully and looks at me for a long moment. He’s clearly trying to decide whether it’s an important enough distinction to continue arguing. A moment later, I see that it’s not and he drops it. His point as been made—I screwed up with Raven and it’s a mistake I’ve not yet been able to correct. He just wants me to know he’s aware. Yeah, great. Thanks, Boss.

  “Tell me more about the girl,” he says.

  Lucy drops off our lunch: Chilean sea bass, rice pilaf, and grilled asparagus. Lucy is irritating, but she’s a damn fine chef. We eat in silence for a couple of minutes as I consider my answer. How do you describe somebody with the kind of power Raven has? I imagine she can do things I haven’t even seen yet. I’ve been to war and have seen all of the horrors it contains, so I’m not the kind of guy who scares easily. But the kind of power that girl wields is terrifying.

  “I think the first thing is, we should be grateful she’s not unleashed the full force of her power on us,” I say. “Whether it’s because she’s holding back or just doesn’t know how to use it, I don’t know. But from what I know of these Elementals, she’s the sort of super who can do some serious damage. Like, Hiroshima kind of damage.”

  “Surely you’re being hyperbolic.”

  I shrug. “I’ve seen what these Elementals can do. And these are just the ones who can tap a single element,” I tell him. “They’re not Pures, like Raven is.”

  “Sorry, you know more about all of this than I do,” Cook says. “What is a Pure?”

  I explain the different types of Elementals, going through everything I’ve learned about them over the years I’ve been hunting the freaks. Condensed and put in layman’s terms, of course. It’s the same spiel I’ve given to others who’ve been privy to the knowledge that I—and my Cleansers—exist. Most of them look bored halfway through my speech and rarely make to the end, cutting me off and deferring to my expertise in the matter.

  Through it all, though, Cook listens attentively. And he doesn’t stop me at any point, letting me unload all the information I have to share. I can tell he’s actually listening and processing what I’m saying, rather than letting it go in one ear and out the other like most of the politicians I’ve had to deal with over the years. Cook seems like he actually wants to understand.

  He lets out a deep breath and runs a face over his hand. “If they actually have the sort of power you think they have—”

  “They do.”

  “Then things are even more dire than I thought.”

  “They are,” I say bluntly.

  Cook takes a drink and sets his glass down, staring at it quietly for a long moment. His expression hardens. He seems to have come to some decision in his mind and gives himself a nod.

  “Do you know why I used all of my political capital to get control of the Homeland Defense Committee?” he asks.

  “I can’t say I do, Senator.”

  He leans back in his chair and pushes his plate away. His frown curls his lips downward and his eyes take on a faraway glaze, as if he’s delving into his past.

  “When I was stationed in Afghanistan, we were on night patrol. A pack of shifters—pack of tigers, if you can believe it—came out of nowhere. They were on us before we even knew what was happening,” he tells us, his voice tight with anger. “This was in the early days, when they were still trying to hide themselves from the public. But they were savage. Brutal. They tore us up. There were sixteen of us; only four of us made it back to base.”

  Cook’s face is dark. Tight. His hands are clenched into fists on top of the table. He frowns and takes a couple of beats, gathering his wits about him as he unclenches his fists and tries to relax. I can see the effort it takes him, though. Even after all these years, the hate he carries for the supers is every bit as potent. That’s good. I can work with that.

  Unfortunately, his is a story I know well. I’ve heard about it from others more times than I can count. And it’s one I experienced myself.

  “I was stationed in Iraq. This was ten years ago now,” I tell him. “We had Elementals come down on us. Fire, mostly. They burned a lot of my platoon alive. There were three of us who made it back.”

  Cook nods, acknowledging the kinship between us. It’s a bond I don’t think either of us wants, and membership in a rather dubious club we’d rather not be in. But I need to find out how far Cook is willing to go, just how deep his hate for the supers is rooted. That’s how I’ll know whether Cook and I can be allies, or if he’s just going to pay lip service like the rest of them.

  This is where I have to roll the dice and hope I don’t crap out.

  “Anyway, that’s where I learned to hate the freaks. Where I learned what a threat they are to all of us,” I go on and pause for a moment. “That’s what made me realize these freaks need to be wiped off the face of the Earth.”

  Cook drains his glass and quickly pours another. He’s not a stupid man and he knows I hung that last line out there for a reason. He knows I’m testing him to see how he’ll react to it. To see if he’ll take the bait I threw out there, and to see if we’re on the same page.

  Finally, he nods and raises his eyes to mine. “I think we’re in agreement on that, Colonel,” he says. “And I think you’re going to find that you’ve got a powerful ally in the Senate.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, sir,” I reply. “I think we’re going to be able to do some tremendous things for the safety of this country.”

  “I think so, as well.”

  I refill my glass and raise it. “To new partnerships.”

  “To securing our country.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  We tap our glasses and take a sip. Lucy arrives and clears away the dishes, then disappears again. Cook is quiet for a long moment before he looks back at me.

  “I am concerned about this Raven McCabe, Colonel,” he says. “If she’s as powerful as you believe—”

  “I already have a plan to deal with her,” I assure him. “I’ve actually got a very special project in the works. Care to see it?”

  Cook’s eyes brighten and a smirk crosses his lips. “Very much so.”

  Chapter Eight

  Raven

  The night is dark and the sky is cluttered with ominous-looking clouds, making it seem kind of creepy, like something right out of a horror film. I woke up a little after midnight, feeling unsettled. And after tossing and turning in bed for another hour, I decided I needed to do something to get my mind off the thoughts that keep twisting around in my brain.

  The last few days have been amazing. I’ve felt more like myself than I have in months. I feel freer and happier. And I’ve been able to enjoy time with my boys again. Not that I didn’t enjoy time with them before, but I know I pulled back. They’ve been patient with me, though, and that has just made me love them all the more. Their kindness and compassion—not to mention the strength I draw from them—overwhelms me sometimes.

  I’ve given a lot of thought to why I’ve been feeling so uns
ettled for so long. Indeed, I haven’t been able to think of anything else really. It finally hit me, though, and when I figured out what’s been bothering me, it’s like everything else fell into place. It’s, like, the most obvious answer and I’m kicking myself for not realizing it sooner.

  I need to kill Colonel Anthony Villa.

  It’s that simple. I need to kill him and I’m going to kill him. And, having finally come to that realization, I’ve felt better than I have in months. It’s like the mental and emotional block has been removed. It’s kind of weird that realizing I need to commit murder has allowed me to feel happy again. That’s crazy, right?

  Which brings me back to what Dora asked me to do. Which is technically no different than what I plan to do to Villa. Killing is killing, right? How can I justify the fact that I’m going to kill Villa, but then try to take some moral high ground about killing this senator? That kind of makes me a hypocrite. And if there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s hypocrisy.

  I stand in the small derelict building out in the woods behind the hotel. I found this place a while back and often come out here, rather than go down into the subterranean training facilities. I value my privacy. And besides, there’s nobody who can train me. Nobody I’d trust to do it. I’ve been training myself since the night my parents died—rather, the night Villa murdered my parents. I see no reason to do things differently now.

  The roof of the building is broken in places, leaving some gaping holes, and other smaller ones. What moonlight there is outside is dappled on the cluttered dirt floor. I’m not sure what it was before it was abandoned. Maybe a warehouse or something, I don’t know.

  I look at the cage I set on the rusted barrel a few feet in front of me and try to avoid feeling like a total asshole. The rat scurries back and forth in the cage, sniffing at the bars, biting them, as if he’s testing it out to see if he can escape. He can’t. Poor little thing. I feel bad testing myself out like this, but I don’t have any other choice.

  “It’s just a rat,” I tell myself. “It’s just a rat, it’s just a rat.”

  I close my eyes and count to ten, then let out the breath I’m holding. Once I feel myself calming, I open my eyes and focus on the rat in the cage, channeling a thin thread of Spirit. I watch as the tendril approaches the rodent and put a bit more energy behind it to speed it up. The thin weave slips into the rat, and the creature seizes up.

  It’s terrible, I know, but I feel a small thrill of accomplishment as I watch the rat having what looks to me like a heart attack. I rarely ever work with Spirit exclusively. I’ve never needed to, so I don’t know exactly how all of its properties work. But watching the rat starting to contort, I feel… excited isn’t the right word, but something close to it that I was able to figure out how to do this—on my first try, mind you.

  Though I feel a wave of pity for the rodent as it twists and contorts, in obvious distress. I’m just about to send another weave in to put it out of its misery when all of a sudden, it… pops. My smug grin vanishes instantly, morphing into an expression of absolute horror as an explosion of blood, viscera, and gore blows outward and hits the ground with a wet, meaty thud.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  “I’m no doctor,” Zane says, as he steps from the shadows, “but I don’t think heart attacks usually include a subject popping like a balloon.”

  He laughs as he stares at me and I look back at him, totally aghast. His smile is wide and he looks genuinely amused by the bloody mess on the ground.

  “Not funny,” I say.

  “Very funny.”

  “You’re sick.”

  He shrugs. “But you love me anyway,” he notes. “So, what does that say about you?”

  “That I enjoy charity work.”

  “Ouch,” he says with a grin.

  We laugh as he takes my hand and leads me out of the decrepit old building toward a plastic picnic table that stands beneath the boughs of a tree on the edge of the forest. I push an ashtray that’s overflowing with butts out of the way and sit on the top of the table, staring at the back of the hotel. Most of the lights are out, but there are a few still on.

  All around us, the world seems hushed. Quiet. It’s peaceful and serene, though not quite as tranquil as where Elliott and I like to camp. I wouldn’t call Meridian a cosmopolitan hotspot, but it’s nice that even in a city like this, with more than a hundred thousand souls, there are green spots like this where it’s just… quiet and relatively private. Places where there are no buildings. No cars. Nothing except birds, animals, and the millions of points of light above us in the sky.

  Zane isn’t one for camping. He’s not the kind of guy who enjoys roughing it outdoors. He’s barely coping with being in a place like Meridian, which he’s jokingly referred to as a one-horse town. Though he’s not one of those vampires who goes to raves or clubs that have nothing but pulsing lights and EDM music loud enough to rattle your very bones—he says those kinds of trite clichés are beneath him—he does prefer to have modern conveniences at his fingertips.

  He takes a seat on the bench that’s attached to the table and looks up at me, his crystalline blue eyes making me feel as if he’s seeing all the way into me. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips and I reach out, running a hand through his long, silky white hair. As I look at him, my heart flutters in my chest. With high cheekbones, strong jaw, and smooth, perfect skin the color of marble, he’s a beautiful man. And he’s mine.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asks.

  “I was just thinking that you’re all mine,” I say. “And how happy that makes me.”

  He takes my hand and brushes his lips against the back of my knuckles. It’s embarrassingly enough to send a white-hot flash of heat surging from the top of my head to the tip of my toe, with stops everywhere in between.

  “You seem different,” he says. “More settled than the other night.”

  “I am.”

  “Care to share?”

  I give him a smile. “Maybe later.”

  He nods, then jerks his thumb back toward the building. “So, what did Mickey in there do to you?”

  I laugh softly. “Mickey’s a mouse,” I correct him. “That was a rat.”

  “Well, he’s mincemeat now.”

  I sigh and nod. “I’m trying to figure out how to use Spirit,” I explain. “Trying to figure out how to induce a heart attack with it.”

  “Seems like you still have some work to do,” he teases with a chuckle.

  I laugh and slap him playfully on the shoulder. A silence falls over us and I find myself staring into those clear blue eyes, feeling myself drawn down into their depths. I feel like sinking into them and never coming back out. It’s a nice fantasy, but reality won’t let me luxuriate in it too long.

  “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” he asks softly. “You’re going to do what Dora asked.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I feel like I don’t have a choice.”

  “We always have choices.”

  “Not always.” I shrug.

  I don’t necessarily agree, but I don’t want to waste the night arguing about it, either. As if sensing my mood, Zane backs off the questioning. I’m going to talk to all three of them about it and let them know what my plans are, and why I’m doing it. I owe them that much, at least.

  I know they won’t like it and will object—or at least Elliot and Gray will. Zane makes his thoughts known, but he is more willing to let me do what I feel I need to do than the other two. He believes in me. Not that Elliot and Gray don’t, but they can be a bit hyper-protective of me at times. It’s sweet, but it can be really frustrating. I’m a grown woman and I know how to take care of myself.

  I know their hyper-protectiveness comes from a good place. It’s not that they don’t believe in me or don’t respect me. And it’s not that they think I’m some wilting flower who needs to be protected by a man at all times. It’s simply because they love me and would rather endure pain themselves than see me en
dure it. Like I said, it comes from a good place, so I can’t be too upset by it.

  “I don’t know that I like the idea of you going on this mission alone,” he says. “There are many variables that can’t be accounted for. I know you can take care of yourself, but this is a different sort of mission.”

  I nod. “Tell me about it,” I reply. “Honestly, I’m scared.”

  Zane gives me a gentle smile. “That’s natural. I would be more worried about you if you weren’t. But if you have any hesitation about doing this, I would suggest you decline,” he goes on. “What I will say is, if there is one person I know can get this done, it’s you. You are resourceful. Clever. Capable. Smart as hell. And when you get something in your head, you’re more determined to see it through than anybody I have ever known.”

  “You’re sweet,” I say.

  I lay a hand gently upon his cheek and give him a smile I hope doesn’t look as false as it feels. Zane’s words mean more to me than I can even say. Most days, though, I feel like I’m anything but those things. I don’t feel like I know what I’m doing, that I’m just going through the motions of competence.

  “And you’re beautiful,” he replies.

  His words slide across my skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. His voice isn’t low and deep like Gray’s, nor is it higher-pitched and almost musical like Elliot’s. It’s somewhere right in the middle, and it’s smooth. Like, radio-DJ smooth. And it never fails to do wholly indecent things to me.

  Part of me has always wondered if that’s part of the vampire’s power. Even after all these months, I still don’t know everything he can do.

  “I love you,” I tell him.

  “And I love you.”

  I slide off the table and into his lap, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck. I lean into him and press my lips to his. He pushes his tongue past my lips, sensually swirling it around my own. His kiss is intoxicating and makes me lightheaded. Pulling back, I find him smiling at me.