The Raven Trilogy- Complete Series

by Elle Lincoln

  I smile, knowing retribution is mine. Oh, he owes me, and I do everything I can to convey that in the look I give him. But with the way I’m feeling it probably just looks like I have gas.

  “I’ll meet you guys at the cabin.” With a look around the empty parking lot, Casseus takes flight, his body effortlessly merging into the raven.

  Mac slides in beside me, while Balor surprisingly takes the passenger seat. Since the others gave him a driving lesson, which turned into a car chase, all he wants to do is drive. But since I’m hurt and he is heavy on the gas, he doesn’t this time.

  And they called him a tyrant? Try a big kitten.

  Patrick revs the engine and we are off.

  I peer out the window thankful this mission worked out, and that even though her motivation is questionable, Morrigan led us to where we needed to be. It’s odd to look at the barren campground now. The ground is littered with bits of trash from the searchers. No tents, no people, just a cloud that hangs over the area screaming of tragedy. An unfortunate memory etched into the landscape.

  My mind drifts to all those who didn’t have us to help them. Those who wandered into a rift or were stolen from safety. Never to return home. One minute there and the next, just gone. My heart constricts. I can’t save them all, but I can do my damn best where I am able. Although it still won’t be enough, it may never be enough. The Fae have been planning this for years. Centuries even.

  Why?

  And the Realm is dying? How?

  As the plot thickens so, too, does the danger to this world. We could live in peace beside each other as many have. Mac, Casseus, and Patrick are proof of that. But Balor is also proof of what the rise to power can result in. How greed can lead mortal and immortal alike to do grievous actions. Some of which will take eons to heal from.

  “Mac?” I look over at him as he hums in response. His green, sea glass eyes take all of me in, yet their cloudy nature speaks of the chaos in his mind. “Tell me. You and Morgana?”

  He gives me that sexy, lopsided smirk that drives me wild. “You jealous, love?”

  Of course I’m jealous, but I can’t tell him that. If I do then he has one up on me. “No. I just know there a story there.”

  He leans in. My head rests on the back seat and I automatically turn toward him, unconsciously seeking him out. These men have turned me into damn attention seeking fool.

  “You forget I can feel you.” He brushes the dirt off my face, his thumb flicking it to the floor. His eyes dip to my lips sending a flutter through my belly. That same devilish thumb traces my bottom lip. “You’ve nothing to be jealous over.”

  I huff. This is getting too intense, but that crazy bitch inside me wants more. For what? Her own, personal torture? Who the hell knows?

  “An ex-girlfriend?” I sound jealous now and he knows it.

  “Oomph.” Patrick’s protest comes from the front and my gaze meets his in the rearview where his eyes dance with mirth. This ought to be good. “Ye know about King Arthur?”

  “Yes.” This I actually know. I watched the cartoon as a kid.

  “Rubbish! Author was a fooking bastard. Morgana is a devious wench and she was fooking Mac and Arthur.” Balor smacks Patrick on the back of the head.

  “Not in front of the lady.” Oh, that’s cute.

  “I’m no lady, Balor, you know this.” Still, he treats me like one and I kinda like it. Okay, I love it. “So, a sorceress. Why is she in the Realm?”

  “That is a good question,” Mac adds, while rubbing the grit from his own hands. “We haven’t seen or heard from her since that time period. I imagine she ran when shit hit the fan.”

  “Is she related to Morrigan? I always thought they were one and the same?” It’s odd that they aren’t.

  “Oh, so ye do know some lore!” Patrick acts like he caught me in a lie. I never lied to them. I just don’t always remember things at the moment. Sometimes they sneak up on me at odd times and then I address it. Like now.

  “Answer the question.”

  “Yes. Morrigan is her grandmother.” My eyes jerk over to Mac’s. He’s holding in his laughter and I know I’m struggling to picture Morrigan as a mother, let alone a grandmother. Oh, that is freaking complicated.

  “Are they important?” To you, is what I don’t say.

  “That depends…” Mac hesitates.

  “Morrigan is a seer. Morgana is a sorceress. Make no mistake, they both have a hand to play in all of this. Even if it is just Morrigan seeing the movements of her kin.” Balor’s voice is all knowing, ageless with wisdom in his baritone.

  “If Morrigan is a goddess, does that make Morgana a demigod?” I swear, one last question. I don’t know who I’m promising, them or me.

  “No.” Patrick mumbles something under his breath that I’m sure is inappropriate. I’d love to hear it though. His curses are rather comedic. “Morgana is Fae. The worst of ‘em.”

  Which brings me full circle. “When I peeked into the soul of the wolf. I saw... no, I felt his confusion over seeing a king and a queen together. I believe they were both using the wolves.”

  “If that is true then we are all fucked.” Mac’s worrying me.

  The truck slows and a stab of disappointment pierces me. I don’t want this conversation to end, but I am also looking forward to a shower, or maybe soaking in the hot tub. Is it safe to do that with open wounds? Damn, I may have to wait.

  “Care to explain?” I try to focus back on the conversation. The engine rattles down, giving a small shake before finally shutting off. The door once again creaks open and this time I unbuckle myself.

  Moving takes herculean effort as my muscles ache. My shoulder is stiff and I can see the bruise blooming and changing colors as my healing speeds up the process.

  “Think of the Realm like the dark ages.” Mac slides out behind me, keeping me steady as we walk toward the cabin.

  The door swings open and Casseus stands there with his brows drawn low. He takes two strides before lifting me up. “I’m taking her to bed.”

  “Wait!” I want to finish this conversation. I pinch his chest, but it does nothing to keep him from marching me up to the loft.

  “What conversation?” He sits me on the edge of the bed before kneeling at my feet where he unlaces my sneakers. I tilt my head at this crazy raven. His cloak is nowhere to be seen and his skin glistens with drops of water from a shower, and he’s dressed in jogging pants and a t-shirt.

  “Well, we discussed Mac and Morgana.” He snorts at that. Seems I’m not the only one who has any feelings about that pairing. “And we were just about to discuss the Realm and its royalty.”

  Everyone files into the loft and the guys scatter. Mac takes a seat on the plush chair. Balor on its pair and Patrick falls to the floor. At least they all know better than to sit on the bed while dirty—which I’m doing right now. Damn.

  “Dark ages,” I prod, while eyeing the shower. Would it be rude to shower while they talk or is that pushing boundaries too far? Choices, choices.

  “That is where they are stuck. Divided into two houses. One king and one queen to rule either side of the Realm,” Mac answers. “Obviously they run things differently on either side. Always at war. Killing when they can where they can. Ruthless.”

  “So if they are working together then something bad has happened?” I conclude.

  “Yes. And none of us,” Mac’s hands flutter over his body, “gods can get over there because they have barred us.”

  “How?”

  “Magic, Little Raven.” Mac’s eyes shift and his lips pinch. “We taught them all we know. We kept humans out by preventing their species from crossing a portal or tear. They turned that on us. We didn’t know. So when we came over one by one, none of us could return.”

  Hmmm. “The wolves said the land is dying.”

  Balor jumps on this. “Is that exactly what he said?”

  “Pretty much,” I reply with a shrug.

  Balor and Mac share a secret look.
The air thickens with dread and my skin itches, not from healing, but from the ominous feeling slithering down my spine. “What aren’t you saying?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why?” I feel like a child pushing my parents to tell me why something happened.

  “Because it is only speculation.” Balor gets up, his frame unfolding from the small chair with grace. “I need to check on something.”

  By now both of my shoes are off and Casseus is staring at me, or through me, I can’t tell.

  A loud snore drifts up through the tense air, the perfect breaker for the mood. I don’t know if Patrick is passed out or just pretending, either way, I’m thankful.

  I stand on shaky legs and Casseus grips my thighs, sliding his hands to my waist and gently directing me to the bathroom. I look back at Mac, but his eyes see far past the four walls of the cabin. He’s lost to his own thoughts and the stories of his past. Where they haunt him and give him those dark circles under his eyes. They’ve all lived for so long. Experienced so much. My own self-consciousness plagues me. Why do they want me?

  “Because, sweet raven, you are a breath of fresh air,” Mac replies, his eyes slowly meeting my own.

  Casseus grips my hip, a casual tug spoken with a thousand words. “I’m no better than the goddesses you knew.” I don’t know this, but until the words fall from my lips I know the fear is true. That it weighs me down. I’ll never be a match for centuries of power that has developed into expertise.

  “You,” Casseus lifts my chin with a glide of his fingers, angling me just so his lips brush over mine in the sweetest, chaste kiss, “are imperfect, flawed, and impulsive.”

  I frown. That isn’t a compliment at all.

  “Just the right recipe to match our perfect sort of chaos,” he finishes. I’m still not sure it’s a compliment, but as I shower off the blood and grit I realize he said ‘our.’

  Chapter 5

  Mac

  Sleepless

  My thoughts drift in and out, mimicking the gentle rise and fall of Bette’s stomach. She lay horizontal across the king-size bed, taking over. Her long, dark hair spread across the white sheets like an inky ribbon. Those long, dark lashes fan under her eyes. I lose myself in the peace she exudes as she sleeps.

  I don’t need to stand as a sentinel. In fact, I should go downstairs and wait for Balor to return. He ran out, taking the truck with him, a dangerous combination. He drives like he once ruled, with malice and glee in uniformed chaos. If I weren’t a god myself, I’d avoid riding with him altogether. Though I think I’m leaving myself to a fate worse than death.

  Fate. I scoff.

  Those tricky bitches. Long ago, when the Realm and Earth created us, our boredom thrived. There is only so much one can do when there is nothing, when things are developing, forming. The moment of conception where cells divide and create. Trees sprout, the seas form, and the sky churned from inhabitable to habitable.

  I recall the moment of my birth. Waves cradled me like a womb, nurturing me, forming me. They kept me safe, breathed life into me so that one day I would return the favor and keep them safe.

  I snort.

  What a freaking joke. It well deserves my cynicism. I can no longer keep the Earth safe. Convincing humans that their trash doesn’t belong there is useless. Many nights I’ve followed behind huge boats, watching as they dumped the trash and polluting her peaceful depths.

  Because of a long-ago pact, we do not interact with humans. Their minds are fragile. Born of the Earth and only the Earth, their greed empowers them and yet, we were no better. Our interactions had brought empires to rubble, men to slaughter, and caused rivers to run red with blood.

  None of us are exempt from greed, or much less any sin.

  And fucking Morgana. I stifle a groan as embarrassment swamps me. Tears burn my eyes with emotions that run as deep as the channels that flow beneath the Earth’s crust. I hate that Patrick was correct. She played me for a fool. Just another pawn in her manipulations. I understand Bette’s worry. How can we be so drawn to her with centuries of goddesses and gods? I’m not ashamed to admit my desires flow both ways. I may be the only one of us, but I always attributed that to my fluid nature. Like the sea, my beloved, I look beneath the surface to where true personalities shine. The hidden gems of gratuitous deeds, and the thoughts that run deep and are obscured by snark and sarcasm.

  Morgana is, or was, the blackest soul I knew. But I didn’t see that. I saw the potential she held and the good she could do with the powers she coveted. Yet, she never used them as I wished. I could never change her, and she could never change me. We were opposite sides of a coin, drawn together under circumstances that forced us together.

  A past left there, in the past. Yet, her presence in the Realm? My mind tore when I saw her alive. Elation turned to sorrow and churned my stomach. But as I stood there staring at her, slack-jawed with my heart thumping out of control in my chest, I could do nothing but acknowledge the feeling that wrapped itself around my soul.

  She meant nothing. Not now. Never again.

  As I look at Bette fast asleep, her body healing in the way only those with a bit of magic can, my heart thumps for other reasons.

  For a future with someone whose smile spears my soul and infects me with the need to know everything about her. She claims to be this terrible person, but centuries of fucked-up situations have taught me that deeds don’t always make a person who they are. There are many other factors. Like those deep thoughts buried in the chasm of our souls, the ones no one utters out loud. The ones that either thrive on narcissism or emotion.

  I’d bet everything I am that hers thrive on emotion. Her actions subconsciously seeking something she lost long ago. I know because I too seek that emotion I lost long ago. We live far too long and in that time the core of our being becomes lost. Humans, with their short diseased lives, feel every little freaking thing. It draws us like a moth to a flame. Just to feel what they do.

  Bette is a certain type of temptation to those like us. Humanity layered in chaos, valleys, and tiers of emotion turned immortal. And she somehow bound us together. Feeling her emotions is a drug I never want to squander. I pray to the fates she never loses that, because I fear if she ever does, so too will we. And with it, our morality.

  Whispers drift up from below where the others are lost to a heated debate. I’ve avoided them for hours now, caught in the chasm of depraved thoughts. But as the door opens and closes, and the delicious scent of Chinese floats up, I move before I can think not to.

  My stomach grumbles, reminding me I require actual food to survive. Something these men forget. Though, I believe Patrick also needs food. Balor? He used to feed on the blood he spilled. Now he gorges on take out and fast food. He’s filling out and his power grows. We are two divine opposites of the sea. Life and death. Eventually, he will need that blood once more.

  I walk into the small kitchen and sit at the round table with the others. Each digging through the brown, greasy bags Balor has delivered. I find a container of General Tso’s and dig in. The flavors explode on my tongue and I devour the entire thing in one breath as my hunger takes over.

  I look up and I’m not alone in my starvation. Even Casseus is eating. I wonder if it is more for show or if his new link to us has him feeling that craving.

  He’s another complication I didn’t expect. Seeing him again brought old feelings to the surface. His black mowhawk, overgrown and lying across his features, gives him an edge that his persona doesn’t always reflect. His black eyes always drew me in, allowing me to get lost in those fathomless depths. And those freaking lips.

  One kiss. One kiss damn near one thousand, three hundred, and four days ago. And I can still taste the ghost of his intoxicating, earthly taste.

  He looks up at me, his eyes hooded and staring right through me. That devil may care tilt of his lips turn up to the sides and I just know. I just know he feels the same way. My heart skips a beat and a flock of birds tickles my torso. I
release a breath and look away, shelving that for later, because that feeling is addicting, and I want more. Fuck, do I want more.

  I cough, distracting myself and squashing the rising flush. “What did you find out?”

  “I could not find the wench.” Balor pushes his food away from him and I swear he grows just a hair more. Before long, he will be the size he was before we had to kill him. “But I do not return empty-handed.”

  Forks clatter and all eyes turn to him in anticipation.

  “Out wit it then!” Patrick unscrews his flask, desperate to ease the nervous energy rising through us and weighing down the room.

  “I came across a pack of werewolves.” He crosses his arms, a frown stretching his face down.

  “Here?” Casseus breaks out the tin of toothpicks, popping one in his mouth.

  “Yes.”

  The news doesn’t exactly strike me as surprising. “What did they have to say?”

  “It seems that Bette freed one of the alphas stuck in the Realm.”

  Patrick is cutting him off before he can even continue. “How the hell would they know?”

  “They know because we forgot something vital.” He looks at each of us, letting the mystery thicken the air. I roll my eyes, he’s always been so damn dramatic. “The wolves are of the Realm and the Earth. Their link thrives between the two.”

  “But the wolf said he couldn’t cross the tear,” I chime in, voicing the thought that doesn’t make sense.

  “Exactly, so they have somehow kept them from crossing and yet their link is solid. Many of the wolves are slowly awakening from the power the Fae held. The one she freed is Connor. He’s been communicating through the pack link to the alpha on this side, Killian.” Balor plays with the scruff of his beard, losing himself to thought.

  “Do you think that means there is a portal somewhere? Still open?” How can they communicate between worlds? That is a vast difference.

  “It would make sense,” he replies, but his voice drops, telling me he isn’t convinced. Wolves are pure magic, a gift not even I fully understand. Their mysteries run deep and they covet them like dragon’s treasure.