Page 54 of Raven

And there’s Little.

I smile as I look at him on my couch, poking on the iPad.

Children are emotionally intuitive, and from the start, that day at the Center when Archer and Kat were kidnapped, Little clung to Raven, fascinated like a kid in a zoo who saw a tiger for the first time.

My father was a powerful man. Is powerful, probably even more so after the Change. But he swung his power at others like a giant wrecking ball. Many were lucky enough to duck on time. Many were destroyed by his powerful blow. I used to admire it—until I started ducking away, too.

I hope this won’t be the case with Raven.

Raven tucks the phone into his pocket. “Let me know as soon as you get messages like this. We’ll figure it out.”

I nod.

“Have a good night.”

“Night!” Little shouts as Raven walks out the door, and disappointment washes over me.

Raven watches me, researches me, I’m sure. He shows up and teases me. But when other people are around, he pretends he doesn’t know me. Not a word about the party either, despite the message he sent me.

So, in a split-second decision, I pick up my phone and text him.

Me: New rule. If you don’t want me around other men, I expect you to play as nicely.

Annoyed, I open one of the food containers too roughly, spilling its content.

Only now do I realize that I’m upset that he left.

Little looks up from the iPad. “Why won’ Raven stay fo’ dinner?”

Because that’s not what Raven wants. He wants me, and dinners don’t fit in the list of things he wants to do with me.

And he doesn’t respond to my message.

I shrug.

Little won’t let go of the topic, though. “He is sad.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah? He does seem a bit sad sometimes. On the inside.”

“Yeah, on the inside,” Little repeats thoughtfully.

“Maybe just quiet?” I probe. I like getting the little guy to talk.

“Tha’ too. He’s angry he likes you.”

I stall with the plates in my hands, then slowly set them on the kitchen island. “Why do you say so?”

“‘Cause he doesn’t like many. An’,”—Little swallows and corrects himself—“and he likes you.”

Not enough to answer my text, apparently.

“He likes you, Little.” I smile as I nod for him to come get his food.

“Yeah, bu’ I’m not a girl.”

A laugh escapes me. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Little comes over and plops his butt on the chair in front of his plate on the table. “‘Cause he don’ want anything from me.”

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