Last of the Ravens

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “What if Korbinian comes back?” asked the redheaded guard Roxanna’s spirit disliked.

  “Oh, he’s long gone,” Quinn said with confidence. “I doubt we’ll ever see him again. Survival is a strong instinct within the primitive brain. He will yearn for and mourn his Kademair, perhaps, but his need for survival will keep him far away. He’ll start over elsewhere, I imagine, and live out his life in fear that he’ll be found out. If he does decide to take his revenge by going public with what he can do, we’ll know where he is and we’ll have another opportunity to dispose of him before he does too much damage. We can easily dismiss any public displays as trickery and in time he will be forgotten. Of course, if she remains alive he will find her and this debacle will begin again.” He gave a sigh. “Which means, yes, we must eliminate Ms. Lynch.”

  Like Bren couldn’t find another woman to have his children? There was still something going on here that Miranda didn’t understand. First Dee and now this…

  “My suggestion—” Roger began.

  “That we recruit her?” Quinn interrupted. “Perhaps if things had not progressed so far we might’ve done so. But she is more Kademair than woman, and we have taken her from her mate. She will never forgive us.”

  “No, I won’t!” Miranda snapped.

  Roger rolled his eyes at her.

  Miranda glared at the man she thought was her friend. “What, do you expect me to play along? Yes, please, let me help you find and eliminate those who have powers that you don’t approve of or understand. So what if a few innocent souls are destroyed along with the evil, is that not an acceptable price to pay?” Her voice rose higher and sharper with each word she spoke. Her eyes met Roger’s. “I’d rather be dead than turn into what you’ve become.”

  Archard smiled. “Let’s oblige her.”

  A wave of rage rushed through Miranda’s body. “Before you five strong, armed men take on the chore of murdering one small defenseless woman, would someone please tell me what the hell a Kademair is?” Kademair are the mother of Korbinians, Dee had said. “I’d like to die fully informed, if you don’t mind.”

  It was clear that the two bodyguards weren’t going to answer. In fact, they looked as if they had no idea themselves. Archard looked angry, as usual, and Roger appeared to be chastened. It was the old man who took a step forward. “The Kademair are—or were I should say, since you are the last of them—those rare females who are genetically capable of giving birth to Korbinians. One Kademair for each Korbinian born, that is the way of it. That is the way it has always been.”

  Miranda swallowed hard. “Are you saying that I was literally born for Bren?”

  “Mated, some would say. Destined to find one another. You are the only woman in existence who can catch his child.”

  “I don’t believe in that kind of nonsense,” Miranda said softly, drawing in her knees, curling up in a ball on the hard cot. No, she did not believe, but it made some sense. The dreams, the unnaturally strong attraction to Bren…even her fascination with ravens. All explained in one fell swoop.

  “Believe or not,” Archard said sharply. “It’s the truth.”

  “So you can see why we must deal with this situation with the most drastic of measures,” Quinn said almost logically. “The Korbinian breed is dying, and we can’t allow you to save it.”

  With that, Duncan Archard pulled a long, wicked-looking knife from a sheath at his waist. Miranda instinctively backed up until she was against the wall, realizing too late that her head was very near one of the disturbing stains on the gray wall. She had nowhere to run; no one would save her. Dee said Bren was coming, but she hoped that wasn’t true. He wouldn’t stand a chance against these horrible, violent men.

  “Wait!” Roger moved forward, placing himself between Miranda and the knife. “You can’t dispose of her the way you did the others. She’s well-known. Too many people will miss her and ask questions if she simply disappears. A professor from Arizona has been trying to set up a time to test her paranormal abilities. He calls at least once a month. There’s a local TV reporter who does the occasional piece on her. Miranda isn’t like the monsters that have hidden themselves from the public eye and can be taken out without causing a ripple. She’s a part of the world we claim to protect. She has friends and clients and neighbors who will raise a stink if she doesn’t come home. Hell, I was the last one to be seen with her. You think that won’t raise questions if she just vanishes?”

  A wave of relief washed through Miranda. Someone would fight for her. In spite of all her doubts about his motives, Roger would protect her. And then he said, “It would be best to make her death look like an accident.

  Miranda’s mouth went dry and she fought against a gagging sensation. This man who had claimed to be her friend to the end was no one’s friend.

  “How?” Quinn asked.

  Roger took a deep breath. “A fall, perhaps. I could take her back to the cabin and—”

  “No, we’ll do it here,” the old man said. “A fall from the hayloft should do the trick. I’ll rest easier tonight if I see her death with my own eyes. Not that I don’t trust you, Roger. You’ve always been a fine, dedicated warrior of the Order. You will do what’s best for all of us.” He cleared his throat. “Cheryl is doing fairly well, by the way. She’s followed our instructions and remained silent about Jackson’s detainment. Your son is quite the impatient one, however. I had great hopes that he might follow in your footsteps, but now I’m not so sure he’s suited to the calling. I’m not even sure that you’re entirely suited.”

  Roger’s jaw clenched. “Can we just get this over with?”

  “Certainly,” Quinn replied with glee in his voice and thunder in his eyes.

  It was Roger who grabbed Miranda’s bound arms and assisted her to her feet. When he started to untie her hands, Quinn stopped him with a sharp order.

  “Let’s not take any chances. We’ll remove those ties after she’s dead.”

  Roger all but growled. “Yeah, because a five-foot-two, 110-pound girl might reveal her hidden superpowers and take five men out between here and the hayloft.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Quinn said.

  In defiance, Roger finished untying Miranda’s hands. No one bothered to rush forward and bind her once more, because they all knew that Roger was right. There was nothing she could do against them, no way she could defend herself.

  It was Roger who accompanied her up the narrow metal stairs and into a large, hay-littered, oddly clean barn. A little bit of light shot through cracks in the wood and around the door, but for the most part the barn was shut tight. No animals lived here; no farm equipment was stored in the vast space. The barn was just for show.

  The man she had long considered her friend led her to a frighteningly tall wooden ladder that was propped against the hayloft, and he urged her up, one slow, easy step at a time. Quinn remained below with the two young guards, but Archard followed Roger and his prisoner up the ladder as if he did not trust either of them. As soon as they were all in the hayloft, Miranda glanced down. It was a long drop from the hayloft to the barn floor, and a fall from this height would likely do the trick. At the very least, she’d be severely injured, and faking the rest would be easy for men like these.

  Roger didn’t push her over, though. Instead, he took her arm and together they walked toward the large closed door at the front of the barn, where, if this were a real working farm, bales of hay might be dropped into the yard. Light broke in around the doors, falling onto and around them. A metal rail on a rusted track was built above the door, making Miranda think that perhaps this had once been a working farm, before Quinn and his sick army had taken it over.

  Roger threw the latch that held the double doors shut and pushed them open to reveal an oddly bright spring day. There was not a cloud to be seen in the bright blue sky above the thick forest to the west. Her old friend maintained a tight grip on her arm, as if he was afraid she’d try to escape. Where did he think
she would go if she did escape from his grip? Behind them stood an armed Archard. Before her…Miranda glanced out of the hayloft door to the ground below and her stomach twirled and dropped. It was a very long way down.

  Miranda looked at the ground, listening to the men below as they unlocked the barn doors and opened one side with a creak and a swoosh. Quinn and the two armed guards shuffled out of the barn doors below and into the yard.

  A stiff breeze caught Miranda’s hair, and she prepared herself to embark on that trip everyone had to make to the other side, to death and the spirit world. She’d always known she, like everyone else, would go there someday, but she hadn’t imagined it would be like this, betrayed by a man she called a friend. Would she haunt this earth or would she easily move on to peace? She closed her eyes and waited for a shove that would send her into the air and to the ground below.

  Roger whispered in her ear. “He’s out there. Call him.”

  Miranda’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

  Behind them, Archard grew impatient. “What are you two talking about?”

  “I’m saying goodbye to a friend,” Roger said. “Do you mind?”

  “Yeah, I do. Make it snappy!”

  “Call him,” Roger whispered. “Speak to Korbinian, do whatever it is you can to call him here.”

  “Why?”

  “Just this once, Miranda, listen to me. Trust me.”

  While she didn’t trust Roger, not anymore, she saw no harm in closing her eyes and thinking of Bren. She saw no harm in whispering his name, in telling him in a silent voice she hoped he could hear that she loved him. She wanted him to know. What she felt for him was more than physical. More than a need for what pleasures he could offer her. Their bond went to the soul, she knew that now. If that was not love, then what was?

  Fantastic as it was, yes, she believed to the pit of her soul that she’d been born for one man, for Bren.

  “Tell Cheryl I…” she began, but Archard lost his patience and ran toward the hayloft door, pushing Miranda forward so that the tips of her toes, her face, her arms, were on air. A cool breeze wafted over her, almost as if the air could catch her as she swayed there. Her toes were barely perched on the hayloft floor. Far below watchers had gathered to witness her death, but they stood well back so as not to be sullied by her blood. They wanted to see her death, just not too closely.

  Roger continued to hold on to Miranda’s arm, but Archard was working against him, trying forcefully to peel those strong fingers from her arm. The two men struggled and even though they were upon her and fought about her, Miranda could almost manage to dismiss them from her mind. In the middle of the fight Roger managed to give the rail above a push, and with a creak the rusty metal pole swung out of the doors.

  And in the near distance Miranda heard a sound that she now realized was for her ears alone. Black wings fought and floated against the air, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the dark wave of seventy-seven ravens shooting over the farmhouse.

  Roger’s hand was yanked away, Archard pushed once more, and Miranda fell.

  Chapter 10

  Miranda reached up and snagged the rail. She didn’t have a good grip, but she held on as best she could. Her fingers began to slip from the metal, and no matter how desperately she tried to hold on, she couldn’t. The ravens swarmed around and under her as she dropped, and for a split second—and a split second was all she had—Miranda panicked. Claws and sharp beaks caught her clothing as she was instantly surrounded by the flock of birds in a tight formation that banded and wrapped around her, almost becoming a part of her, they were so close. The ravens descended upon her so quickly and completely that she could see nothing but midnight-black feathers as they joined together to hold her—to catch her.

  Miranda didn’t hit the ground as she’d expected to. The ravens surrounding her slowed her descent, and then, amazingly, they lifted her. She had no control of her body, none at all, but floated on a cushion of feathers. It was the oddest sensation, to hover in air amidst the ravens. Below her men shouted; Roger’s voice remained silent. Miranda tried to twist her head to get a look at the man who had all but thrown her out of a barn, insisting that Bren would be there to catch her. He’d been right, but how could he have known? She could see nothing for the ravens that held her, and the sensation of flight was so disorienting Miranda found herself instinctively fighting to regain some semblance of control over her own body. For a moment she wasn’t sure which direction was up and what was down. There was no ground to orient her, nothing solid to hold on to.

  Relax. The word came to her mind as a whisper.

  “Easy for you to say,” Miranda muttered.

  A few of the ravens cawed as if in response, and she did her best to relax, to let the big birds—to let Bren—carry her away. Though she could not see anything but black feathers, a few beaks and a couple of ravens’ eyes, she felt a change of direction. Between the swaying movement and the lack of control and the way her head and arms floated up and down as the ravens carried her, Miranda began to feel ill. Seasick, almost. Her stomach roiled and her head swam. Not one claw or beak touched her skin, and her hair flowed freely around her, but almost every inch of her clothing was caught in a bird’s grasp, and beneath her they offered the support of their backs and their wings. She was oddly secure as she floated across the sky, away from the men who would kill her without a second thought or a hint of remorse.

  Gunshots fired, the report loud and alarming, but the sounds seemed far away. A handful of ravens shrieked in response, and Miranda gasped in horror. Were those weapons aiming for the ravens? Had Bren been hurt?

  Or had Roger just paid a high price for helping her escape?

  She closed her eyes against the motion sickness; she relaxed and allowed the ravens to carry her. The sensation of moving very quickly was dreamlike and at the same time very real. She had to tell herself to breathe, to relax, to trust Bren as she had never trusted anyone else.

  When they began to descend she felt the change in altitude in the waves that undulated through her stomach. Birds working as one realigned, and she was shifted from horizontal to standing on air. The queasiness was lessened in this position, and the ravens had repositioned themselves so she could see the forest around them. Having her sight back helped her to reorient herself. Ancient trees grew close together, which made the birds’ movements crucial and precise, as they lowered Miranda to her feet in a clearing. When she was standing on her own they freed her, releasing their hold on her clothing, breaking away in a burst of black feathers as if she were at the center of an explosion of ravens.

  After the excitement and the flight and the motion sickness, her knees would not hold her. She sank to the ground, landing on those traitorous knees and instinctively digging her hands into the earth. The solid ground beneath her seemed to spin for a moment, and then it was finally and wondrously still.

  The ravens swarmed in concert, coming together, swooping up and then down again, and finally, in the blink of an eye, drawing into one another and transforming, taking the form of the man she had known them—him—to be.

  “Are you hurt?” Bren asked as he stalked toward her, ignoring the uneven and less-than-kind ground beneath his bare feet, and Miranda wondered why she’d never seen it before. The dark eyes, the grace, the power…She should’ve known all along that he and the ravens were the same.

  She shook her head and he gently helped her to her feet. When she was standing he gathered her into his arms, holding her as if he would never let her go.

  Duncan swore as his shot, fired from the same hayloft door from which Miranda Lynch had fallen, went wide. The ravens flew quickly and soared high, even though they carried the weight of a woman within them.

  Below, the old man and his newest recruits watched in awe, not moving or speaking or reacting at all. You’d think they’d never seen anything unexpected and unnatural before this moment.

  Talbot remained still, too, watching the cloud of black birds a
nd the woman within it.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” Duncan asked as he turned his weapon on Talbot. “When you suggested this method of disposal, you knew if Lynch fell, Korbinian would swoop in and save her.”

  “How could I have known?” Talbot asked, but there was little conviction in his voice. He ignored the muzzle that was pressed into his side. If Talbot was smart he was already expecting his own death. Yet apparently it wasn’t enough to frighten him into submission.

  “Quinn still has your son, you know,” Duncan reminded the traitor. “He’ll be here soon, I imagine. For his sake you’d better hope the old man believes you.” He leaned in closer, taking an even more threatening stance as he whispered, “I don’t.”

  Bren couldn’t hold Miranda tightly enough. She was a part of him and always had been. Before they’d met, when he’d foolishly tried to let her go, when he’d convinced himself that to take her or not was a choice…she had forever been a part of him.

  She held him just as tightly as she assured him again that she was unharmed, and then they stood there in the middle of the thick forest, holding on, breathing deeply. The sounds of the forest were muted and natural. No one was upon them; no one was near. Even if the men they’d left behind at the farmhouse had run after them without hesitation, they’d be far away, still. He’d flown far and fast with Miranda in his grip, over a rushing stream, beyond a sheer rock cliff, into the heart of the forest. They were safe, for now.

  The strong sense of relief soon gave way to the primitive desire he always experienced when he touched Miranda. Naked as he was, Bren could not hide his physical reaction to having her in his arms—not that he wanted to hide anything from his Kademair. Her response was much the same. He felt it in the way her heart beat, in the way her fingers caressed him, in the way she melted into him. Soon her soft lips pressed a kiss to his chest, one and then another, and her hands settled possessively on his hips. He cupped her head in his hand and tilted it back so he could kiss her fully and rightly, taking her mouth without reservation or caution.