Page 74 of White Raven
Wren came through the door a moment later with a bag full of small boxes, and Rhaena looked like she might puke.
“Alright. Grab a cup you don’t care about and let’s head to the bathroom,” she said, raising the bag.
Athan stiffened, tightening his mouth. “A cup?”
“To piss in,” Wren confirmed.
“What the fuck.No.” He stood from his chair, pushing it back under the table as he glanced at Rhaena. “It’s gonna be fine. Let me know…okay?” She nodded, taking a deep breath. “You need to call him. No matter what these tests say. I’m not sticking around for this part, but I’ll be here for you for whatever the aftermath brings.”
“So, periods and pee? That’s your Achilles heel?” Wren grinned. Athan shoved her in the shoulder as he headed for the door.
“It’s not as embarrassing as a fine-smelling lawyer,” he jabbed, opening the door as Rhaena giggled from the kitchen.
“Oh…okay. Yeah, cheap shot, Crapula.”
It had been a little over an hour since she’d gotten back from the store, and the apartment was still rife with the smell of garlic cloves, tomatoes, fresh basil and brewing coffee. He’d absolutely hate her for this hidden talent when it was still evident that poor Athan would never learn how to make toast, let alone cook an entire meal. She wasn’t gonna tell him about the added ingredient to the scratch-made red sauce still simmering on the stove, in the hopes he’d figure it out on his own and know that she meant this meal for them and them alone. He should be walking in the door any minute, and hopefully…whatever has him in a somber mood will be forgotten. Sarah turned the pot to the lowest heat, smiling as she topped it with the lid and sucked the bit of sauce off her thumb and padded to their bed.
Athan’s journal sat on her nightstand beneath the deep, red-shaded lamp. She’d been poking through it a little more since they’d found that ledger, a bit more eager to delve into what he was like back then. Sometimes it broke her heart. Sometimes it intrigued her. While she knew a great deal about him by now, Athan Kane was still a walking mystery in a lot of ways, and every added piece to his puzzle continued to paint him into someone extraordinary. Mate or not, this man was undeniably unique—and uniquelyhers. Every scribbled word made her fall harder. She covered herself in that worn out black and white checkered blanket and slid the journal off the edge of the nightstand into her palm, finding her marked place and reading his carefully worded thoughts.
Everything in this damned book seemed so sad. She remembered telling him that the first night she’d peeked through it. The first night she’d crossed that scary line he’d drawn and tasted that sinful mouth. All that pent-up sorrow bledout into her, and she swore that ever since that night—even after she’d found out the truth hours later—something in Athan had been freed. It was like his soul had been locked in those pages, and she was the only one with the key. And then he completely surrendered that soul to her in every possible way. She felt so undeserving, even if he’d been the one that took her life. After meeting him, her life would seem so empty if he were no longer part of it.
Even if cooking wasn’t one of his talents, his way with words was a force to be reckoned with. It was no wonder he was so inspired by Poe’s darkness. He wrote things so similar; one would swear they were the same person. Enter casing point. Sarah narrowed her eyes and read down the page.
A tonic so infused it begs the Devil to bargain the ache,
One’s heart can scarce be broken if it’s not alive to break.
How small tonight this river seems, so vast it kindly be,
Its icy swell a thief, taunting what she was to me.
Darkness do surround me, baptize me in your night,
For her soul has left me empty, drowning all the light.
My own soul trembles, angst; Succumbing to my strife,
While her mortal shell decays, devoid of human life.
A withering coil of merriment surrenders and is dead,
A single token of memory in a stone that’s washed in red.
No word so fitly spoken as at last she said goodbye,
No night forever darkest as the one that claimed her life.
A dark fowl perched to watch me while I entombed her in the earth,
Content to steal my sorrow and give me second birth.
I only wish she hadn’t…and that God had smite me first.
Her heart seized and felt every ounce of his pain. Try as she may, she couldn’t fight off the burn of tears behind her eyes. He had been so broken and lost. This had to have been about his mother. The dark fowl…a black bird.
Dahlia…
Knowing him now, made it easier for her to put those pieces together. He’d told her his mother’s body was found in a river, and no one had ever found out who’d killed her and dumped her there. Had that not been brutal enough, that sadistic bitch had killed him all over again, and had her way with his body for centuries. She never in her life wished harder to be able to watch someone burn twice. Losing her own mother made it easy to understand his anguish, but it also reminded her that nothing anyone could say—no matter how much they loved you—would ease that kind of pain. Even if they both had lost their mothers to murder. Maybe that was why he chose to become a detective of all things. To solve murders because he could never solve hers.
