Page 6 of Raven

She hesitated, torn. I'm sure part of her wanted to decline, but another part was still on edge, half-expecting those men to return. "If it isn't too much bother," she finally conceded, her voice small.

I shrugged, an easy gesture, trying to lighten the mood. "Even if it was, I'd do it anyway." I extended my hand, a peace offering. "I'm Raven, by the way."

Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she took my hand. Her grip was firmer than I expected, a hint of the strength she possessed. "Tia," she replied, the hint of a smile touching her lips.

As we started walking, I kept my senses on high alert, ready for any sign of trouble. But my mind was racing with questions. Who was Tia? Why hadn't I seen her around before? And most importantly, why did my panther feel so drawn to her?

THREE

We stepped out into the main street. Spy Glass was in complete and utter darkness. Max had pulled the blinds, and they did a pretty good job at blocking out the light.

I could picture it all in my mind: Clayton and Max would be sitting in the bar with the other staff, sharing a drink and relaxing. No doubt, Clayton would be on the fruit machine, gambling his earnings away. Max lived above the bar. Eventually, she'd go up to bed and leave them to it, letting Clayton lock up after everyone. As long as they didn't touch the expensive drinks, they could stay. It was a simple,don't take the piss, rule.

I joined them on a rare occasion, but it was so rare they thought I didn't drink or socialise, which was partially true. That was only because of time. I had college, work, and my mother to balance. Plus, my mother didn't so much like me mixing with people. She'd had strict rules about socialising most of my life, and even at nearly eighteen, that hadn't changed.

As Tia and I came out onto the street and into better light, I caught her by the elbow. "You're bleeding." Blood glistened on her cheek where the knife had caught her. For whatever reason, I'd not seen it before. But now, standing out in the light andthe silver taking its effect, red bloomed across her cheek and the capillaries just under the surface bulged.

Humansand their weapons.

Fuckers.

I wiped her cheek with my shirt’s edge. Not that it made it look any better. The silver embedded in her skin reacted like an allergy, pooling outwards. "That needs looking at," I said.

It wouldn't go if she didn't.

Bringing her hand up to it, she touched her fingers to the wound and winced.

The tips came away smeared. "It'll have to heal on its own. I don't have health care," she said.

Others, unlike Humans, didn't get free access to health care and things like that. They paid insurance costs through Society memberships and other things with the Council, but not everyone could afford that level of care. Plus, we were shifters; we didn't tend to need much in that way.

"We could go back into the bar. Honestly, Max won't mind. Clayton has so many balms, he won't care either."

Balm was something shifters got off witches. It hurt like holy hell when it was applied, but it pulled out the silver and then allowed the cuts to heal. A silver-infected cut was like a growing infection, no matter how small. It would get better on its own, but it'd take its sweet time.

"It's okay." She stepped back from me, putting a little distance between us as if I might grab her and pull her inside. "I'll just let it do its own thing."

I tilted my head, studying her. "It could scar. Max really won't mind."

Her eyes glistened like the blood on her cheek. I'd pushed a little too hard maybe. Even my panther felt it, and when she brought her hands to her face and started to shake her head, I wasn't exactly sure what I was meant to do.

"Tia?"

"I'm so stupid. This is all my own stupid fault." She lowered her hands a little, peered at me. To my relief, she wasn't crying. She put her hand to her forehead and maybe if I wasn't there, she would have.

She wasn't stupid. I was.

"It's not your fault. Those guys were pricks. They did this." I hesitated, wanting to go to her, my panther feeling her distress. I hated that sometimes—the ability to feel what others felt and not just on an empathetic level, but I could feel it as if I was experiencing it. Sometimes it was so confusing to know what my own emotions were, and what I was picking up off someone else.

"I should have left when they started their crap in the bar." She looked at me helplessly, and that distress in her intensified, because I felt that too.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself against the wave of her emotions. "You had every right to be there. You shouldn't have to leave because some arseholes can't behave themselves."

She nodded, but she didn't really believe me.

I could feel her as if I could feel my own body, where it ached from the little hits I’d taken. Usually, I was good at switching this off and blocking it. I’d practised putting up mental shields to hold everything back, so I didn’t get bombarded by other people’s emotions, but it didn’t seem to be working that night. “You could have been standing outside naked, dancing in the moonlight, and it’d still be their fault.” I moved closer to her then, reaching a hand out to place it gently at the curve of her back. Physical contact was good for this, skin-to-skin even better. “It’s not your fault. I promise.”

She didn’t back away from me, which was a good thing, nor did she shake my hand away from her. Instead, I felt her heart leap with my own. It caused my breathing to hitch, but I neededthe contact to calm her. The emotional connection worked both ways. This was my ability.

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