Last of the Ravens

by Linda Winstead Jones

  The flock swooped down and circled the cabin, and Bren glimpsed the interior through the cabin windows. Some of the curtains were closed, but the large sliding glass door that looked over the mountain was uncovered, for who could possibly see into the cabin from that vantage point?

  The blonde sat on the couch with a book in her hand, legs drawn up beneath her, hair falling over half her face, a crocheted afghan across her lap. As he watched she lifted her head, alerted by the sound of wings that caught the air, or else by the same instinct that called him here. She looked into the night, into him, and Bren felt as if he’d been pierced by blue eyes.

  The woman dropped her book to the couch and stood, and wrapping the afghan around her shoulders, she walked to the sliding glass door. Bren did not make a hasty escape but remained where he was, circling the cabin, watching her through ravens’ eyes, unable to tear himself away. What was it about her that called to him so strongly? It was more than her beauty, more than his curiosity, more than the fact that he’d been too long without a woman in his bed.

  She was curious, too. Hearing him but surely unable to see much in the dark of night, she opened the sliding glass door and stepped outside. The deck was accessible only from the house so she felt safe enough, he imagined. She’d heard something, perhaps felt something, and had come outside to explore.

  She stepped to the railing and looked into the night sky, catching sight of the assemblage of birds, which moved in unison, which moved as one. Instead of being alarmed by their number and their closeness, she smiled.

  Miranda watched the big black birds fly before the brilliant orb that was the moon. The mountains, the moon, the birds. Before her was a heart-stopping picture unlike any she had ever seen before, beautiful and unexpected. She was a city girl, and sights like this one were unknown to her.

  She had no pets at home, and if she ever did decide to get one, she wouldn’t choose anything as exotic as a bird. But she did have a soft spot for ravens, always had. Maybe a story or poem she’d read long ago had stuck with her, maybe some past image had been planted in her brain, because she couldn’t resist the rare knickknack or book where ravens were concerned. Over the years her collection had grown. It was no wonder she was fascinated with the birds. They were dangerous and elegant, impressive and puzzling, intelligent and savage. And beautiful.

  Soon she’d make her way to bed, but for now she found herself enjoying the night air and the ravens, the peace and quiet and the absence of ghosts—the one who had appeared so briefly earlier in the evening had not shown herself again. She leaned casually against the deck railing. Why didn’t Roger and Cheryl come here more often? There was something special about these mountains. They touched her soul in a way she could not explain, and though she was not ready to admit it aloud, she was deeply grateful to her friends for all but forcing her to come here.

  The birds she’d been watching changed direction and swooped away from her, disappearing into the wooded land just beside and beneath the cabin, this sturdy structure that looked to be perilously built onto the side of the mountain but felt solid enough. Miranda walked to the side of the deck and looked down, but it was too dark to see much of anything below. She did hear the rustle of wings and the crackling movement of birds in the underbrush for a moment, and then all went still. She strained, listening closely, but the birds were completely silent.

  And then she heard another sound, one that was not at all birdlike. It might’ve been the movements of a large animal. Or a man. “Who’s there?” she called sharply, almost hoping to be answered by a growl or a bark. All went silent but she knew something, or someone, was down there. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” she said sharply, “and then I’m going to get my gun.” She did wish she’d thought to ask Roger for a pistol or a rifle! Not that she knew how to use a firearm. “Who’s there?”

  After a short pause and another rustle of underbrush, a voice answered. “I’m your neighbor from up the hill.”

  Korbinian, the psycho real estate agent. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “It’s my mountain,” he said, just a little bit testily.

  “Not all of it,” she responded, shaking a finger at the darkness. “Wait right there.”

  Miranda ran into the house, dropped her afghan and grabbed the flashlight that was sitting on the coffee table close at hand. Power outages must be common here, because the cabin was lousy with flashlights and candles. She could only imagine how complete the darkness would be here where no city light could reach.

  She ran onto the deck and turned on the powerful flashlight, shining it down to the place where she’d heard movement and that voice. At first she saw nothing, and then her light found him.

  Korbinian stood far below, partially sheltered by the thick growth on the slope that cut down the side of the mountain. What she could see was that longish, straight black hair, the solemn face and a bare chest. It wasn’t cold, but it was certainly much too cool for anyone to be out bare-chested—even if that chest was as nicely muscled as his was. The exposed arms were not too shabby, either.

  A barely dressed stranger who had no business being here was talking to her, and she was taking the time to admire his muscles? She’d lost what was left of her mind.

  “Come closer,” she commanded harshly, using the light to gesture into a clearing below her and just a few feet from where Korbinian stood.

  “I’d rather not,” he responded.

  “Why not?” She shone the light on his face and he shaded his eyes with one lifted hand.

  “I’m naked.”

  Miranda did not have an immediate vocal response for that, though her heart skipped a beat and her temperature rose slightly. Eventually she asked, “Why?”

  “I’m a naturalist,” he said.

  “A what?”

  “A nudist,” he clarified. “I like to hike naked.”

  Miranda studied the brambles below and wondered why on earth anyone would tramp through the brush bare-assed, without the protection of clothing. The night was chilly and she thought about making a joke about naked men, cold weather and shrinkage, but she didn’t know Korbinian nearly well enough to do so. Still, the thought crossed her mind.

  “What are you doing here?” Korbinian asked.

  She kept the light trained on his face as she leaned into the deck railing. Maybe he was naked, but he was far below and thought she had a gun. “I’m a friend of the Talbots. They offered me the use of their cabin and I took them up on it.”

  “You’re on vacation,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “For the weekend?”

  “For the week,” she said. It really hadn’t taken much effort for her friends to convince her that a long weekend wasn’t long enough. His jaw hardened in obvious displeasure, so she added, “Maybe two. It’s so peaceful here I might call Roger and tell him I’m going to stay a while longer.”

  “You’ll get bored,” Korbinian argued.

  She should be annoyed with him, or frightened, or at the very least concerned. But she wasn’t. “I don’t think so. I understand there are kicking outlet malls not too far away.”

  “I didn’t see a car.”

  Why was Korbinian arguing with her? Why didn’t he just slink back into the woods, embarrassed at getting caught out and about without a stitch of clothing? She should be the one to end this strange conversation. All she had to do was turn off the flashlight and go inside, making sure all the doors and windows were locked.

  But she didn’t. “Roger gave me the name and number of a man who will drive me wherever I want to go.”

  “I’ll drive you,” he said quickly, almost as if he wanted to get the words out of his mouth before he changed his mind.

  This was just too odd. Miranda very briefly shone the light onto the man’s chest and shoulders and nice arms. Once again she noted that he had a fine physique, and she imagined he spent more time building houses than selling them. With a body like that, no wonder he wasn�
�t embarrassed!

  “No, thanks,” she said cautiously. “I’ll probably stay right here, after all.” Sleeping, reading, doing nothing at all.

  “Do you have a name?” he asked brusquely.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said. “It would just be nice to be able to call you something besides the blonde.”

  “Why are you calling me anything at all?”

  “You’re on my mountain.”

  “Our mountain,” she countered. “For this week, at least.” She leaned over the deck railing a little, secretly wishing for a better look. It wasn’t like her to be so bold and so curious, but there was something about Korbinian that appealed to her. Her instincts had been sharpened since the accident, and at this moment she was quite certain that there was no reason to be afraid of Brennus Korbinian. “My name’s Miranda. Miranda Lynch.”

  “Call me if you change your mind about that ride, Miranda Lynch. The name’s Korbinian. I’m in the book.” Korbinian stepped back into the darkness of the forest, moving into the shadows and away from the beam of her flashlight. Too bad. He must’ve startled the birds because suddenly she heard them again. They rustled and cawed, and soon burst from the trees and took flight.

  Miranda moved her flashlight slowly back and forth, the light cutting through trees and brush but only to a certain point before darkness took over. Unable to see any sign of Korbinian, she said in a soft voice, “You scared the birds.”

  Alone in the darkness, Miranda’s stomach clenched and flipped. She grasped the deck railing and took a deep, calming breath. Before her conversation with Korbinian she’d been perfectly content, but suddenly she was keenly aware of her solitude.

  Chapter 2

  It was Sunday and he didn’t have to be anywhere early, but years of habit had Bren up at dawn. While it was still early he headed down the mountain, driving slowly even though he knew the road. His eyes strayed toward the Talbot cabin as he approached, and he wondered what on earth had possessed him when he’d told Miranda Lynch to call him if she needed a ride. His days were more than full, and he wasn’t running a taxi service for the woman who’d intruded on his mountain.

  Still, he slowed as he passed the cabin, and when he caught sight of her on the deck, sitting there admiring the view with a cup cradled in her hands and a blanket across her lap, he stopped. He sat there for a moment, then he cursed and backed up so he could pull into the driveway. He turned off the engine and pushed open the door, angry with himself for stopping but unable to stifle the urge to get a good up-close look at the woman who had all but lured him to this cabin last night.

  He couldn’t get onto the deck from here, not without a few acrobatic tricks, so he stopped near the spot in the very small excuse for a front yard where the ground sloped sharply. The deck was solidly built onto pillars that were buried deep into the side of the mountain. He could transform and be on that deck in a matter of seconds, but since he’d spent a lifetime hiding what he could do that wouldn’t be a smart move, tempted though he was. So he called the woman’s name, perhaps a bit more sharply than was necessary.

  Miranda Lynch walked to the railing, much as she had last night. This time she had that afghan around her shoulders and she continued to hug the cup against a morning chill. Her fair hair was slightly mussed; she hadn’t bothered to comb it yet, he imagined. There was an interesting flush to her cheeks, one caused by the crisp morning air. He couldn’t discern her shape beneath that blanket, but he had seen it well enough last night. She was petite and finely formed. Her heart-shaped face was framed by a mop of pale hair, and her blue eyes were almost too large for her face. Standing so close, he could tell that there was a light sprinkling of freckles across her pert nose. Miranda Lynch had a girl-next-door look. She was cute, not gorgeous, and still he felt an incredible draw to her that was anything but natural.

  “Mr. Korbinian,” she said, smiling gently and then taking a sip from the blue mug. “This is a surprise.”

  “I’m going to the grocery store, and since you don’t have a car I thought I’d see if you needed anything.” His offer was voiced more sharply and abruptly than was necessary, he supposed, but since he wasn’t exactly sure why he was making it at all he didn’t feel guilty.

  Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I didn’t have you pegged as the neighborly type.”

  “You don’t know me, so why am I ‘pegged’ at all?” He could only imagine what Talbot had told her about him. They hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms in the past few years.

  She didn’t have an answer for that, so she took another sip, a slow one this time as if she was savoring the warmth and the taste rather than trying to come up with a response. He imagined the liquid—tea? coffee?—on her tongue, the way she would taste it, savor it, swallow it. A woman drinking coffee should not make him hard!

  “I don’t need a thing,” Miranda said, “but thanks for asking. It was very sweet of you, Mr. Korbinian.”

  He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called him sweet. Maybe never. “Call me Bren.”

  Miranda’s head snapped away from him and to the side, as if she’d been alarmed by a loud noise to her right. His hearing was quite good, and he hadn’t heard a sound. She whispered low, mouthing something he couldn’t hear, then a moment later she said in a slightly louder voice, “I will not!” Then she looked at him, and her eyes were bigger than before, her face paler. “It really was nice of you to stop by but I have everything I need and I’ve come here for peace and quiet so…”

  “So thanks but no thanks and get lost,” Bren said, taking a step back.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but yeah,” she said, and then again her head snapped around and she whispered so low that a man with ordinary senses would not have been able to hear, “Go away!”

  Bren got into his truck, happy to make his escape. Miranda Lynch was pretty and he was most definitely drawn to her in a way he could not explain, but she was also a nut who talked to herself. It had been a while since he’d been seriously involved with any woman. His perplexing attraction to the stranger proved that he was in bad need of female companionship, but the last thing he needed in his life was a blonde with a screw loose.

  “You’ve scared him away!” the ghost said. “Call him back, it’s not too late!” The ghost waved a slender hand as if Miranda should jump off the deck and chase Korbinian down the mountain.

  Miranda waited until she heard the truck moving away from the cabin before she turned to the spirit. She’d seen a lot in the past four years. Murder victims. Distraught mothers who’d left their living children too soon. Ghosts who didn’t realize they were dead. Those who came back one last time to tell a loved one goodbye. This was her first actual matchmaking ghost.

  “I’m on vacation,” Miranda said calmly. “Come back next week and we’ll talk.”

  “Not next week,” the woman said. “Good heavens, I’ve waited for you all this time and now you want me to wait another week?” She put hands on slender hips and struck a defiant and elegant pose. “You have to get close enough to touch Bren. Once you touch him he’ll know that you’re the one. Once you touch him…”

  “I have no intention of ever touching Brennus Korbinian,” Miranda said as she turned away from the ghost and headed back to her chair. The view from the deck was breathtaking, but it was difficult to enjoy with a ghost at her elbow. Still, she tried. She ignored the woman who chattered away, but she could not help but hear.

  “He’s really not so gruff once you get to know him. He is quite handsome, don’t you think?”

  Of course he was, but while Miranda couldn’t lie to the ghost she wasn’t about to agree aloud. She certainly didn’t want to encourage the specter in her blatant matchmaking attempt.

  “I do wish he would shave more often and get an occasional haircut,” the woman said, perching on the deck railing as if she needed the support, when in fact she could just as easil
y have hovered on air. “But all in all he’s quite a catch.” She ticked off Korbinian’s selling points. “He’s rich, he’s handsome and he’s very attentive and kind once you get to know him.”

  Miranda shooed the woman away with one hand, encouraging her to move out of the way. Her too-solid ghostly image was blocking the view.

  “He’s lonely, you know, that’s why he’s occasionally gruff.”

  “Move,” Miranda said simply.

  The ghost smiled at her, as real and solid as any living person could be. “Tell me that you think Bren is handsome and I’ll depart to let you enjoy the scenery for a while.”

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “And it must be the truth,” the ghost added. “I will know if you’re trying to pacify me.”

  “If I tell you with honesty that I find Brennus Korbinian handsome you’ll leave me alone?”

  “For a while.”

  Miranda pursed her lips. She really should not allow herself to be blackmailed by a ghost; it set a bad precedent. Still, she wanted her peace and quiet. She wanted an unobstructed view of the distant and magnificent mountains. “Fine. He’s attractive.”

  “Very attractive.”

  Miranda hesitated only a moment before responding. “Yes, he’s very attractive.”

  “What do you find most appealing?”

  “Go!” Miranda said, and at last, the ghost obeyed, leaving Miranda with an unobstructed view of a vast green paradise and a niggling sensation in her gut that robbed her of the peace that view should afford.

  Since he obviously needed to get laid, as his reaction Miranda Lynch proved, Bren pondered the possibilities as he walked through the familiar grocery store aisles, mindlessly tossing staples into his cart. He hadn’t exactly been a monk, but he’d always avoided keeping a woman too long or promising more than he could give. The downside to being the last Korbinian was accepting that he would never find the one woman he could bond with, the one who could give him children and share his life. She did not exist.