Ravensong

by TJ Klune

  I pulled myself up by the doorway, arms straining, and peered down inside the SUV.

  It was empty.

  I dropped back down, the heat from the undercarriage hot against my face. I looked down at the dirt and saw more tracks. I turned toward the trees and—

  One of the Betas was in the ditch at the side of the road, breathing shallowly. His clothes had been shredded. His body was covered with deep slashes that weren’t healing. The amount of blood was immense. He stared up at the sky, mouth opening and closing, opening and closing. His eyes were faintly orange.

  He was beyond my help.

  His gaze was unfocused as I crouched next to him. Blood leaked from his mouth and ears.

  I said, “Who did this?”

  He turned his head slightly toward the sound of my voice.

  A tear slipped down his cheek.

  His mouth closed again.

  His jaw tensed.

  His teeth were bloody when he said, “Philip. He… lost. Control.”

  He laughed. It sounded like he was choking.

  And then he died, the light fading from his eyes.

  An angry snarl came from the woods.

  I pushed myself up.

  A flicker of bright orange in the trees, the crunch of autumn leaves.

  I was being hunted.

  It moved carefully, this half-shifted wolf. It was still upright on two legs, taking one step after another, keeping to the shadows. I couldn’t tell if it was Pappas or his other Beta.

  I said, “I know you’re there.”

  It snarled in response.

  There was a bright burst in my head, an angry no gordo no run please run don’t fight don’t almost there i’m coming we’re coming please please please. It caused my skin to thrum electric-hot, crawling with pack brother friend witch home home home. I was caught in a web, the threads hooked into my flesh and pulling.

  Others were there, faint but sure, the humans who by now had to know something was wrong. Stronger were Elizabeth and Kelly and Robbie, still at the Bennett house.

  But it was the threads of the approaching wolves that I latched on to. The red of the Alphas, the orange of the Betas, fibrous and thick. And then there was white, a pure clean white that shot through all of them like arcing lightning. My magic, connecting to each of them.

  It was a tangle of wolf and witch and pack and mine that made me grind my teeth. My head pounded, and I was hyperaware of every step the wolf hunting me took. It was growling low in its throat now, fangs gnashing together.

  But it had already made a fatal mistake. It was in the Bennett territory.

  And I was the Bennett witch.

  My pack was still too far away, and as the wolf stalked toward me, my heart had the slightest of upticks, a natural fear response at the sight of Philip Pappas stepping out of the shadows, looking lost to his wolf.

  One of the threads in my chest tightened swiftly, sending back no gordo no run run run, and I recognized that voice, knew that voice ever since it’d told me I smelled like dirt and leaves and rain. Mark was terrified. He was running as fast as his paws could carry him, and he was terrified.

  Philip began to tense.

  I said, “You don’t want to do that.”

  He shot toward me, claws stretched wide.

  His mouth was filled with pointed teeth.

  GORDO RUN PLEASE RUN I’M COMING RUN RUN RUN

  I said, “No,” and ran toward him.

  The raven took flight.

  Pappas leapt at me, claws glittering in the moonlight.

  I dropped to my knees at the last second, leaning back on my legs as I slid through the dirt.

  My father had told me magic was an ancient thing. That it lived in the blood, constantly moving. It could be controlled through sheer force of will with the proper marks carved into the skin. But it could grow beyond one’s control, he’d said. If there was no trust in it. No faith. I had to believe in what I could do. What I was capable of. The earth of the Bennett territory was unlike anywhere else in the world. The Livingstones were tied to it just as much as the wolves.

  My father said his magic felt like a great and lumbering beast.

  Mine always felt like a symphony, all these parts moving in concert. It called out my name, and at times I thought it alive and sentient, with its own free will, and it begged me for release. It would arc along my skin, jumping from tattoo to tattoo, zipping along the lines and shapes on my arms, spelling out ancient secrets for earth and healing and destruction and fire.

  It hit hard. I felt it in the trees and the birds that sat in them, the autumn wildflowers that bloomed throughout the old growth, the leaves that broke from the limbs and fell toward the ground. It was in the blades of grass, the gnarled roots that grew beneath the surface, stretching on and on and on.

  This place was mine, and this fucking wolf had made a goddamn mistake.

  Pappas flew over me and crashed onto the ground behind me, rolling once, twice, before coming to a stop in a crouch. He was moving even as I pushed myself up, but before he could reach me, I held my hand up, palm toward Pappas, and I called upon the territory. The trees groaned as the air rippled around my hand. I closed my eyes and found the web of threads that bound my pack together and wrapped them around my arm, digging them into the earth. I felt the Alphas along those threads, sending pulses of packwolf magic. Carter joined in behind his Alphas. Mark didn’t. His focus was singular, and he was singing gordo gordo gordo.

  The tattoos were bright as they’d ever been as I opened my eyes.

  I pushed, and earth cracked and rolled beneath Pappas’s feet, causing him to stumble onto his hands and knees, and he roared angrily. But before he could pull himself back up, I took three steps and kicked him upside the head. He fell back, an arc of blood spilling from his gaping mouth. He landed hard on his side, blinking up toward the night sky.

  “Stay down,” I warned him.

  He said, “Gordo” and “Witch” and “Help me” through a mouthful of sharp teeth. “It’s wrong. Everything about this is wrong. I can feel it breaking. It’s in my head, oh god, it’s in my head.” Even before he finished talking, he was already pushing himself up, his claws digging into the dirt.

  “Don’t,” I snapped as I took a step back. “I will put you down. I don’t know what happened, but I will fucking end you if you can’t find your control.”

  “Control,” he growled, eyes bright again. “It’s frayed. It’s breaking. Can’t you see? I didn’t think—it wasn’t supposed to be me. It’s happening.” He tilted his head back toward the sky, shoulders stiff as his jaws opened wide. “She knows. Infection. She knows about the infection.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He jerked his head forward, orange eyes on me. He was tensing again like he was about to attack. “Omegas. All of us will become—”

  A large brown wolf crashed into him, knocking him off his feet. He landed on his back, the wolf atop him, snarling down into his face. Pappas growled back up at him and, before I could move, turned his head and bit into Mark’s right leg.

  Mark yelped angrily, trying to jerk his leg out of Pappas’s mouth. His skin tore, blood splashing down onto Pappas’s face as he shook it side to side.

  I didn’t hesitate.

  I ran toward them, the raven’s wings flapping furiously. The roses in its talons were burning, the fire pulsing from the Cen rune on my arm. It was short for Kenaz, the torch. My father had whispered an old poem in my ear as he pressed it into my skin, saying this is live fire, bright and shining/more often, it ablaze, where noble men rest in peace.

  The fire spread, and it caught the rest of the runes, burning up through my arm to my hand. Fire could be a light in the darkness, a healing that seared away scars that littered the surface. It could be warmth from the cold, a means of survival in an unforgiving world.

  Or it could be a weapon.

  I pressed my hand against Pappas’s leg, and he screamed, Mark’s calf coming free
from his mouth. Mark moved off him, leg bloodied as he held it lamely folded up against his body. It didn’t stop him from bending his head toward Pappas’s throat, lips curled over long fangs, growling down at him.

  But Pappas probably didn’t even know he was there. He jerked on the ground, shrieking as he tried to get away from me. I knew he felt like he was burning from the inside out, and I hoped it would be enough to shock him out of whatever the hell had come over him. I held on for another beat, then two and three, and finally let him go when my Alphas came out of the trees, followed quickly by Carter.

  All three of them were shifted, large and imposing and pissed off. The Alphas moved in synchronicity, one black, the other white, yin and yang. I felt Ox’s anger, Joe’s fury. Carter was confused, but the sight of his injured uncle caused him to whine. He went to Mark, nosed at the wound, lapped at it as it slowly healed, his tongue streaked with blood.

  Pappas writhed on the ground. There was a handprint burned into his leg, charred black and smoking. He looked as if he was caught in his shift, hair sprouting along his face and neck, eyes flickering, claws lengthening, then shortening again. I knew he was trying to turn wolf because it’d make the pain more manageable, but something was stopping him.

  Joe came to me, pressing his snout against my shoulder, whuffing out short, hot breaths along my skin. Questions were pushed through the bond between us, more ???? than actual words. I let it go on for a minute or two before I pushed his head away. “I’m fine.”

  Joe grumbled wolfishly, eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. His nostrils flared, and I knew the moment he caught the scent of another wolf’s blood as his head jerked toward the overturned SUV.

  “Beta,” I told him. “Dead in the ditch. Said Pappas did this to him. I don’t know where the other one is.”

  Joe wasn’t happy about that.

  Carter backed away from his uncle. Mark’s leg looked as if it was healing, skin and muscle stitching itself back together slowly but surely. He was starting to put weight on it again as he gimped toward me, brushing against my side. I thought about shoving him away, but the heat of him next to me was calming. I told myself it was just for this moment.

  Ox shifted, the groan of muscle and bone loud in the dark. He crouched nude next to Pappas, who continued to whimper. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked quietly.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. He called me. He sounded out of his mind. Talking about fraying and breaking. He said she knows. Something about infection.”

  “Infection,” Ox repeated. “Who was he talking—Michelle.”

  “Seems likely.”

  He looked up at me. “I don’t understand. What kind of infection? Wolves can’t get infections.”

  “It’s not—” I stopped. Because what had he said? About—

  Omegas. All of us will become—

  “Ox,” I said slowly. “You need to back away. Now.”

  He didn’t hesitate. He trusted me. It was close. One moment Pappas was lying on the ground, whimpering in pain, eyes closed. The next he jerked his head forward, shifting more toward wolf than man, jaws stretching toward Ox and—

  Snapped into empty air where Ox had once stood.

  His eyes were orange.

  Human.

  Orange again.

  And then, for the briefest of moments, they flashed violet.

  Carter moved before I could, grabbing one of Pappas’s arms in his jaws and twisting it cruelly. It broke, the pop loud and wet. Pappas shrieked.

  Mark looked as if he were about to rip Pappas’s throat out, but before he could, I brought my boot back and kicked Pappas in the head again. He grunted as his head snapped to the side, out cold.

  “What the hell is going on?” Ox asked.

  OX CARRIED Pappas back to the Bennett house over his bare shoulder. Carter and Joe had the Betas, the second of which had been dead in the woods, his throat torn out. Mark and I stayed behind, covering up as much of the blood as we could, his paws doing a better job than my boots. We went for the SUV next, both of us grunting as we pushed it over onto its wheels. My head was pounding, as it often did when I exerted myself heavily. Getting older didn’t make things easier. I hadn’t used the fire rune in a long time. There’d been no need for it.

  Mark stood at my side as I called Tanner, telling him to get Chris and the tow truck to pull the SUV out of here before it was found. Rico would meet them at the garage to see what—if anything—could be done with it, or if we’d need to junk it. They knew to get rid of the plates and the VIN so no questions would be asked, just to be safe.

  I hung up the phone in time to see Mark shifting.

  Which, after the night I’d had, wasn’t something I was ready to face.

  But of course, given the way my life went, a naked Mark Bennett didn’t give two shits about that.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped even before the shift had faded, voice deep. “I told you to wait.”

  I felt prickly. Snappish. “You’re not my Alpha.”

  He took a step toward me, chest heaving. “I’m not trying to be. I’m your—” He shook his head angrily. “All I want is to keep you safe. You were out here by yourself, not knowing what the fuck was going on. That’s not what we do. That’s not how a pack works.”

  I laughed in his face. “I can handle myself.”

  “That’s not the point, Gordo. You shouldn’t need to. Not when you have me to—”

  “I don’t have you. For anything.”

  His eyes narrowed. “We’re pack. That counts for something. You don’t have to take on this shit alone.”

  “Really?” I stepped forward, my chest bumping his. He didn’t move. He wasn’t intimidated. The air around us felt hot. “Because I had to take on this shit alone for years, and I still made it through. Where were you then, Mark?”

  I saw the moment the words hit just as hard as I’d hoped they would. It was brief, but it looked like it hurt. It didn’t make me feel as good as I thought it would. “I did what I could,” he said quietly, face schooled to a blank mask. “When I could. You don’t know everything. What I did to keep you—” He shook his head. “You have a pack now. You’re not alone anymore. If you can’t trust me, at least trust them. You could have been hurt.”

  “It’s not about trust.”

  “It’s about something.”

  I didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Not out here. Maybe not at all. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Mark sighed. “Of course it doesn’t.”

  We stood there in the dark, staring at each other, for far longer than we should have. There were things I wanted to say to him, furious things filled with rage. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his neck snapped. I wanted him to put his teeth against my throat and suck so hard, the mark would never fade. I wanted to walk away and leave him behind. I wanted to breathe in the scent of him, warm and alive and—

  He was wincing, holding his arm across his chest. It was still healing, the skin still partially shredded and irritated, an awkward lump of bone jutting up.

  “Idiot,” I muttered, reaching out and touching him gently. He growled at me, flinching as he tried to pull his arm back. “Knock it off, you dick. I’m helping you.”

  I pulled some of the pain away.

  It burned.

  My head pounded harder.

  There was no way I was going to escape this headache.

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly. “It’ll heal on its own.”

  “You looked pathetic. And I don’t like hearing you bitch when you get hurt. You never shut up about it.”

  “I don’t bitch.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re almost as bad as Carter.”

  “That’s cold, Gordo. Carter’s terrible when it comes to pain.”

  “Exactly.”

  He laughed. It was such an odd sound to hear. After what we’d just been through. After everything we’d done. Here, in t
he dark, hearing him laugh reminded me of the way things once had been. And the way things could be if I just—

  It took a moment for it to hit me. How close I was standing to him. How hot his skin felt under my fingers. How incredibly naked he was. I was used to the nudity of wolves, having been around it for most of my life. You couldn’t be in a pack and not be.

  We weren’t with the pack now.

  I remembered the way his nose had felt pressed against my throat in the alley. How heavy the weight of him had felt. How my magic felt like it was howling at the very thought of having him near. I’d hated him then, and I hated him now.

  But the funny thing about hate is the razor-thin line that separates it from something else entirely.

  Because I loved him too, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself I didn’t. I always had. Even when I’d wanted to kill him, even when I felt the most betrayed, I couldn’t stop. It was a twisted thing, the roots buried deep in my chest, tangled and thick. I had thought it would rot and fester, become something dark that I couldn’t control, but it just stayed as it was, and I hated him for it. For making me feel this way after all he’d done to me and I’d done to him. I wanted him gone. I never wanted to see him again. I wanted him to hurt like I’d hurt. To burn. To bleed. I wanted to keep my hands on him, to feel the animal underneath. I wanted to lean forward and bite him, leaving my mark against his skin, tattooed so that he would never be without me on him, so that everyone would know I’d been there, and I’d been there first.

  I wanted to kill him.

  I wanted to fuck him.

  I wanted him to tear me apart.

  “Gordo,” he said, ever the wolf.

  “No,” I said, the perfect prey.

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

  I tried to step back. I didn’t move. “I’ve got a damn good idea.”

  He turned his arm over. He gripped my wrist, thumb brushing against my pulse point. “I wasn’t your first.”