Last of the Ravens

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Bren immediately recognized Jackson Talbot. His longish brown hair fell over his eyes, his skin was sallower than usual, and he was dressed as always, in jeans and a too-large T-shirt.

  And his hands were bound behind his back.

  The kid tried to present himself with attitude, but he was obviously and rightfully scared. He was too young and too honest to manufacture bravado. Shit. Miranda had been right.

  So, where was Talbot? Bren didn’t have to wait long to find out. The old man greeted Jackson with a smile and then, leading him toward the barn, said, “I’m sure you’d like to see your father. He’s waiting for you.”

  With Jackson in tow the three men entered the barn, and the driver, who was the last to go inside, closed the barn doors behind them.

  Miranda, after gathering up all that the ravens had dropped as they’d passed over and swooped down, took inventory: one pair of khaki pants that looked to be too large for Bren, a tattered blanket, a bag of chips and a bag of peanuts, cheese crackers, five juice boxes, a couple of handfuls of strawberries, a length of rope. She almost laughed. She’d heard that ravens were winged thieves, and now she knew it to be true.

  It heartened her somewhat to realize that even though Bren had sworn they would not go back to help Roger, he was at least surveying the situation. He must be a little concerned, otherwise he’d be here with her now, resting or talking or making love.

  She didn’t have long to wait. The sun was low in the sky when she saw and felt the ravens returning to her.

  Bren didn’t realize what the men at the farmhouse were, what lengths they would go to—why they wanted him. Why they wanted her. He didn’t know what had happened to Pete Quinn, what a monster the innocent-looking Ward Quinn was. If he knew, then he would agree with her that something had to be done.

  Though she had seen the transformation before, it still took her breath away. The change was so quick the actual shift was invisible to the eye. One moment the flock of birds circled into itself, and then in the blink of an eye a naked Bren appeared where they had once been.

  “Naturalist, eh?” she said as he began to walk toward her. She could see the exhaustion in his dark eyes, but his step was strong and steady.

  “It was the first excuse that came to mind,” he said solemnly, and then he took her in his arms and pulled her close, without words, without explanation.

  It would soon be dark. The sky was gray and the cover of trees made the forest dim. Nightfall would come quickly here. While Bren had been gone Miranda had made a bed of sorts inside the cave, with dead leaves for cushioning between the ground and the blanket, and the food he’d collected sitting nearby. She didn’t think he would’ve collected those things if he didn’t plan to spend the night here.

  “What did you see at the farmhouse?” she asked as she rested her head against his chest.

  He hesitated. “You were right. They have the kid.”

  Miranda sighed. “We have to do something.”

  “I won’t put you in danger, not even to save your friend and that child,” Bren said sharply.

  “Because I’m Kademair?”

  “You’re not a fighter, and even if you were I would not allow you to do battle with those men.”

  “But—”

  “We’ll rest here for a while,” Bren continued. “When I can fly again I’ll go back to the town and tell the police that a young man is being held prisoner at the farm. The law can handle the situation.”

  “So could we,” Miranda argued.

  Bren shook his head. “I refuse to risk your life, even for the boy. Talbot is the cause of the situation, and he can damn well save his own kid. I’ll send the police to help, but that’s it. It’s Talbot’s job to protect his family, just as it is my job now to protect you.”

  Her hands pressed to his bare skin. She couldn’t walk away and leave Jackson in the hands of those horrible men! Some Order—they were nothing but a bunch of thugs. What was she going to do? Bren seemed adamant in his refusal.

  She loved him. It was true that she didn’t know nearly enough about Bren, his ancestors, what would happen to her in years to come if they remained together—if they both survived. He didn’t understand how her ability called to her and drained her, how she lived with ghosts and the grief or horrors they left behind.

  When he touched her she could think of little else. She was drawn to him with an incredible power she could not deny. Kademair and Korbinian, according to the Order, and to Dee. They were drawn together without will, without choice, their attraction as powerful and unstoppable as a river rushing into the ocean.

  Was it love or was it obsession? What she felt was surely more than her body calling to his thanks to genetics or some weird folklore. At this moment Bren needed to know about Pete and what had happened to him so he’d realize how serious the situation at the farmhouse was, or could be. Maybe she could reason with him; maybe she could change his mind.

  She told Bren what the tortured spirit had shared with her, all the while holding on to him for strength and warmth and the love she felt but had not confessed. She told him what she’d learned in the bunker below the barn, how they were determined to make sure Bren was the last of his kind.

  He listened, nodding now and then. She felt the tension in his body, as well as sensed it within him the way she often sensed emotion in a ghost. In all her life, she’d never been this close to another human being. It was wonderful and frightening, both at once.

  But he didn’t suggest that his plans change. At the moment he cared only for protecting her. It was an urge as primal and undeniable as the sexual attraction that tugged at them. Would he regret his decision later if something horrible happened to Jackson? She would, she knew it, and she told him so.

  Bren’s hand settled over her stomach, low and arousing. “The next Korbinian might already be right here inside you. You will be the mother that saves an entire race.” His lips rested on her neck. “Even if I were willing to risk you, which I am not, it wouldn’t make sense to risk all that remains of us.”

  “I don’t care about the future,” she said. “I can’t. Not when the three men I love most in the world are in danger.”

  He pulled away and looked her in the eye. There was such dark power there she trembled. “You love Talbot?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’m angry with Roger. I hate what’s he’s done. But he’s like an older brother to me, and Jackson…I’ve watched Jackson grow from an annoying kid to a fine young man. They are my family, the only family I had for years before I met you.”

  The sky was growing darker, and in the distance critters scurried. Bren stepped toward the shelter of the cave, leading her as if they were dancing, as if he was afraid to let her go. “I’m your family now.”

  “Fine,” she said, unhappy with his decision but knowing by his stern expression and fathomless black eyes that there was no use in arguing. “Get your rest, and then when you’re able, fly to town to alert the police.”

  “And then you and I will disappear,” Bren said. “We’ll find a place where no one will ever again bother us. No one will threaten you or our sons, I’ll see to it. I promise you that.”

  The cave was low and tight, and as they settled onto the blanket their bodies were entangled, closer than close. Even though they did not agree on how to handle the situation, she couldn’t be this near to Bren and not want him. She couldn’t lie with him and not think of taking all of him. His response was the same apparently, since, exhausted or not, he began to undress her, dragging her jeans over her hips and down, pulling her blouse over her head, arousing her with long, talented fingers that already knew her body well and warm lips that tasted her throat and breasts as if he was hungry only for her.

  Her hands skimmed his long, hard body, and she kissed his throat, which tasted of salty, warm maleness, and when his mouth settled over hers she felt as if he was drawing her very soul out of her, as she was drawing his.

  And then he was on top of her
and her legs wrapped around his hips. She urged him to push inside her, she drew him deeper, more completely into her aching, needful body, and he filled her. Long and hard, he plunged deep, buried himself inside her, and ribbons of pleasure began to grow.

  They moved in a slow rhythm that wiped out memories of danger and uncertainty, memories of a time when they had not known the other existed. Their dance pushed away all past loneliness, all fears. This coming together began without the pulsing demand of their past encounters, without so many plaguing questions.

  Soon there were no thoughts at all, no awareness beyond the physical as their dance grew faster and more demanding, as they reached for the intense pleasure that began and grew and burst upon them as their bodies shuddered together, and once again their movements slowed and the world returned.

  Bren’s body remained above hers, warm and sheltering. A part of her wanted to take him and what they’d found and run, just as he planned. She didn’t want the man she loved to put himself in danger, not even for Roger and Jackson. Yet deep down she knew neither of them could walk away and live happily knowing what they’d left behind.

  She also knew she couldn’t change Bren’s mind. She was discovering that he was stubborn to a fault.

  “Quinn told me what Kademair means,” she said gently, running her fingers through Bren’s hair because she couldn’t bear not to touch him. “Not just that I have the ability to carry your child, but…” In this day and age it sounded so outrageous she had a hard time saying the words aloud. But she managed. “He said I was born for you.”

  Bren hesitated a moment and then said, “Perhaps you were.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  He gave a low, gruff laugh. “At the moment I’m sure of nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “If it’s true, if I was literally born to be yours, how amazing is it that in a world so large we found one another?”

  “I can’t explain it, but here we are. I’ve been hiding all my life, and still you found me.”

  “With help from Roger.”

  At that, Bren snorted. “I refuse to give him any credit. He brought you to me and then he damn near killed you.”

  “I told you, Roger said you would save me.”

  Bren’s voice was dark and angry as he responded. “He took a risk with your life, and that’s unforgivable.”

  No, she could not possibly change his mind.

  Bren sighed, and she could hear the exhaustion within him. He rolled to the side, keeping her in his arms, where she wanted to be always.

  “I love you,” she said easily. “I love you so much that it’s insanely easy to accept the preposterous idea that I was literally born to be yours.”

  She longed to hear Bren say the same words to her; she wanted him to accept that their strong physical attraction could come laced with love. But he didn’t repeat her words, not tonight. His eyes closed and he slipped into a deep sleep. The day’s events had exhausted him. How long before he was able to fly again? He said it would be a few hours, but how many hours would pass before he could alert the authorities so Talbot and Jackson could be saved? Did they have hours?

  Miranda kissed Bren’s shoulder as he slept. She rested her hand on his chest, feeling the comforting beat of his heart and the steady rise and fall of his chest. When she was certain he was sound asleep she whispered, “Don’t be angry. I can’t sit here and wait, and I can’t run away when the people I love need me. I wish we could do this together, but if I have to I’ll do it alone.” She only hoped he was not too horribly late getting to the police.

  Miranda quietly grabbed her clothes, a juice box, a bag of crackers and Bren’s newly stolen pants, then slipped soundlessly from the cave into darkness.

  The woods were ominous without the sunlight or Bren to show her the way. She faced the direction she thought led to the farmhouse as she stood outside the cave and put on her snagged and wrinkled clothes, second-guessing her decision a hundred times in a matter of minutes. Dressed, her few provisions stored in the legs of the stolen pants, which she’d tied so they resembled a large tote bag she could sling over one shoulder, she took a few uncertain steps. Her right foot almost immediately landed in a small hole in the ground. She stumbled and caught herself, thankful she hadn’t twisted her ankle or fallen.

  “A little help would be nice,” she muttered.

  And then the help arrived, in the form of a solemn Dee and a deformed Pete, who together led the way with ghostly steps that illuminated the path like a smattering of fireflies.

  It would be a long trip; exactly how long she wasn’t certain. With Bren carrying her, she’d flown over the landscape at a frightening speed. On foot, the pace would be much different. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, on watching her step on the uneven ground, on telling herself again and again that Roger and Jackson were still alive, very likely in that horrible room where so many had died. All was silent for a long while, and then Dee said, “Bren will be so angry with you for taking off like this.”

  “I know,” Miranda said, and then she smiled. “But I think he loves me enough to understand. When this is all over he’ll forgive me.”

  Dee cast a glance over her shoulder, and her expression made it quite clear that she was not so sure.

  For a change Bren slept hard. He dreamed not of Miranda but of Talbot’s kid, and before he began to come awake he knew what he had to do. Like it or not, he couldn’t fly away with his Kademair until he knew Jackson—and yes, even that bastard Talbot—was all right.

  He rolled over, expecting his body to meet Miranda’s. The leaves beneath the rough blanket crinkled beneath his weight as he found nothing where she should be. He was instantly awake, and it didn’t take him even ten seconds to realize where Miranda had gone.

  Had she not listened to a word he’d said? Didn’t she realize how important she was?

  Bren cursed as he left the cave, stepping into the deep darkness of night in this thick forest. These woods were not so very different than those he called his own, and since his night vision was quite good, as was his hearing, he had no problem surveying the deserted landscape. Miranda was long gone—she’d left here hours ago.

  Anger, fear and worry boiled up in him. Until meeting Miranda he’d rarely felt any of those emotions, and now they seemed to be daily experiences. He’d told her she was to keep herself safe. He’d decided to help her friends, even though all he wanted was to take Miranda and escape to a part of the world where they could start over fresh and together.

  This war of deep emotions was new to him, and he didn’t like it at all. Was she worth it? The sex was incredible, but the intense connection and the needs it awakened weakened him. Survival instincts insisted that he take flight and escape from those who would gladly kill him and those like him who were unfortunate enough, or blessed enough, to be different. Everything else within him commanded that he follow Miranda, even to the ends of the earth, even to death and beyond.

  Kademair and Korbinian were said to be connected in ways that were impossible for others. The shared dreams, the call for help, the way he’d been drawn to her from first sight…all went beyond the physical.

  Bren reached out for Miranda now, not certain that his call would reach her, not sure that she would hear. He thought of her. He pictured her blue eyes, her soft lips, the curve of her cheek. He remembered the wonder of her body and his together until he could almost feel her tight and hot around him, until her scent filled his nostrils, and then he whispered to the night.

  “Don’t take another step. Wait for me.”

  Chapter 12

  Miranda stumbled when Bren’s voice echoed in her head so loudly and clearly it was as if he was physically there, standing beside her and speaking into her ear. Wait for me.

  “Don’t be mad,” she whispered, sensing his displeasure, as well as hearing the words he spoke.

  Either he didn’t hear her or else he simply didn’t bother to respond.

  She’
d been walking for hours, trudging forward because she had no other choice. In so many ways it would’ve been easier to do things Bren’s way and let armed lawmen handle the problem, but she couldn’t let that happen. This was her responsibility. No matter how angry she was at Roger, he and Jackson were her family—a family by choice. She didn’t see how that could continue once they got out of this situation—if they did—but she wouldn’t abandon them to Ward Quinn and Duncan Archard, not without a fight.

  Bren said she was important and could not risk her life; Miranda knew she couldn’t ever feel right again if she didn’t do all she could to see that an innocent boy was safe.

  She returned her attention to the uneven ground, to the faint unnatural light Dee and Pete created for her, to the sparkling trail that would lead her to Roger and Jackson. She had to be close to her destination, if her calculations were correct. Her feet had gotten wet a while back when she’d crossed the shallowest part of a narrow stream, but she didn’t stop to lament the cold that had seeped into her shoes. Her toes were icy cold; her steps sometimes squished.

  The spirits who were with her could lead, but they couldn’t help her with the physical challenges. When it came time to climb a jagged stone wall or fight past an overgrown section of the forest in the dark of night, she was on her own. Her arms ached, she was cold and wet and miserably alone, and when she had to climb she wondered if Dee would be able to help her if she fell. Bren was nowhere nearby to catch her, she knew that without question.

  Dee’s voice was soft in the night. “You didn’t tell Bren about seeing me, talking to me.” She didn’t sound censuring, just…curious.

  “Everything has happened so fast. The time just hasn’t been right.”

  “You’re worried about what he’ll think.”

  Of course she was worried! “I love you, I’m hot for your body, and oh, by the way, your mother is around here somewhere.”

  Dee laughed gently. “I can see where that might be an awkward conversation.”