Page 80 of Raven

We moved down the corridor as quickly and as quietly as we could. Every step seemed to echo, every creak of the floorboards, a beacon announcing our presence. Her son stayed silent.

"Here," I passed the boy back to Anika as we stopped at a door not three from where her place was. There was no time to run up the stairs, to get to another place, and I knew this room was vacant. The key was locked in a hatch on the wall so whoever Malcolm got to refurbish these places, could get in. This one hadn't been done or even touched. It was rotten floorboards, smashed windows and a sickly-sweet smell, but it was away frommy father. "Get inside," I said, as I pushed the door open, and stepped away so she and the boy could get in. I gave her the key. "Lock the door and don't come out, no matter what you hear. Do you understand?"

She swallowed hard, then nodded. "Raven, I?—"

"It's okay. Thank you," I said,

And as I went to pull the door closed, she caught my arm. "Here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle. "It isn't much. I carry it in case of..." she trailed off. "I just have it. If you need to get away, throw it hard enough to smash. It only gives you seconds, but ..."

"Sometimes seconds are all you need?"

She nodded, and I reached for her hand, clasping her hand around the small bottle and holding both in mine. "Thank you," then I took it and closed the door. The lock clicked into place behind me.

I stood there for a moment, my heart pounding, the small bottle clutched tightly in my hand. The weight of it was reassuring, a tiny lifeline in the chaos that was about to unfold. I could hear footsteps now, heavy and purposeful, echoing up the stairwell. My father and his pack were coming.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself for what was to come. My body ached, my wounds screaming in protest at every movement, but I pushed the pain aside. I had to face this, had to protect Anika and her son, and had to find a way out of this mess.

I flexed my fingers around the small bottle. A last resort, a desperate gambit if things went south. And knowing my father, things were definitely going to go south.

The footsteps grew louder. Closer. I could smell them now, the scent of my father's pack, a mixture of aggression and anticipation. My panther stirred within me, ready for a fight we both knew we might not win.

But I had to try. For Anika. For her son. For myself.

I took one last steadying breath and stepped forward to meet my fate.

THIRTY-SEVEN

I struggled to pull the shirt over my head as I stumbled toward the corridor, pain lancing through my side with every movement. The tight fabric scraped against the bandages Anika had wrapped around me, the wet warmth of fresh blood soaked through. I bit back a groan, fighting to keep my breathing steady. I had no time to fall apart. Not now.

Footsteps echoed on the stairs. They were inside. Any second now, they’d be on this floor, and my heart slammed against my ribs in sheer panic. I couldn’t fight them all. My father was alpha, and I was just a wounded kid running on borrowed time. My panther stirred restlessly beneath my skin, torn between anger and instinct, his loyalty wavering under the pull of the alpha’s power.

I ducked through the door at the end of the corridor, half tripping into a narrow stairwell that Malcolm hadn’t got around to refurbishing yet. Rusted tools and abandoned materials littered the steps, half-missing boards forming jagged, unreliable footholds. I clung to the remnants of the banister, my side screaming in protest with every lurching step.

The sound of the door crashing open above made my pulse quicken. I knew how this would play out. My father didn’t needto check every room. He was a panther—my panther would lead him straight to me, drawn to its alpha. I pushed myself harder, my vision swimming as I descended the last few steps, barely managing to keep from collapsing as I burst out into the open air.

The cold hit me, stealing my breath and sending my head spinning. I staggered, eyes darting wildly around the alley. Where to? I wasn't so familiar with this side of town. I didn't come here except for things for Malcolm, and most of it was industrialised now, save for a little area. I headed that way. Through the trees, the park. A Human park, but it didn't matter.

I couldn't run. I tried, launching myself forwards, heading to the treeline, but the moment my foot slammed against the ground, pain shot through me. I clutched at my side, trying to hold the pain in, trying to push it away, so I could move. I half ran, half walked, ending in some weird kind of limp. Just get there, and?—

“I told you, Raven,” a voice rang out, sharp and commanding, “there is pack everywhere.”

I stumbled to a halt, nearly losing my balance as several figures stepped out from the treeline. Panthers. They were everywhere. Rick stood among them, with a smug smile, like he’d been expecting this, and just behind him was Tia, her face unreadable. Anger surged through me, hot and vicious, but fear was right there with it, clawing at my insides. I don’t how I was still bleeding, still struggling to heal properly. My panther should’ve been fixing this, closing the wounds Rick had left on me, but it was like something was holding him back. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the constant pain, or the way my mind was fraying at the edges. But the worst of it was seeing Rick—he wasn’t fully healed either. He was still hurting, still carrying the marks of our fight, but he was standing there, feeding off the thrill of this like it was some kind of game.

I turned back, only to find my father standing there, watching me with an expression that was maddeningly calm. His gaze locked onto mine, and for a second, I saw a flicker of something—maybe even regret. But it was gone as fast as it came, replaced by the unyielding command of an alpha who had come to claim what was his.

“Raven...” he said, his voice almost soft, almost coaxing. “Stop this now. It’s time for you to come home.”

I wanted to scream at him, wanted to lunge forward and rip that look off his face. But my body was barely holding together, and the rage inside me felt like a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. “My home is here,” I snarled, my voice raw.

He shook his head, stepping closer but not too close, as if he were trying to corral a wild animal. “No. Your home is with me. With us. With your kind. You’ve been running for too long, Raven. You’re only hurting yourself. You don’t belong here.” His gaze flickered to the blood soaking through my bandages, and something in his expression shifted, like he could see the struggle inside me, the war I was losing. “Why aren’t you healing properly? You’re holding yourself back, Raven. You don’t even know what you’re doing to yourself.” Another step towards me. “Come now. Come and claim the life that is meant to be yours.”

I clenched my jaw, desperate to keep my panther under control, but it was hard. Harder than it had ever been. My father’s presence was like a magnet, pulling at something deep inside me, and my panther—my own damn panther—was leaning towards him. “I’ve got a life,” I said, my voice cracking. “It’s not perfect, but it’s mine.”

My father’s laugh was bitter, laced with pain. “This? Working in some pub, living on scraps? Earning yourself a poor education to pretend to get by? This is not a life for my son. You’re meant for more. You’re my heir, not some runaway playing at being Human.”

I fought against my own panther, who was pacing, pushing, desperate for the pack. Desperate for the power my father promised. But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—give in. “At least it’s my life. It’s mine and I created it.”

His expression darkened, the patience slipping away. “You’re speaking as if you have a choice.” His voice dropped, edged with steel. “You don’t. I’m not here to negotiate.”

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