Page 75 of White Raven
Sarah wiped the stray tear from her cheek, something sharp scratching her wrist as she raised her hand from the blanket. She closed the book and set it back on the nightstand and brought the blanket closer to inspect the menace that scraped her. There was something sticking out…plastic? She tugged on it, having never experienced an issue like this with the blanket being as old and useless as it was. Her pestering was causing a small hole in the fabric, and she winced at it, scared to make it any worse. If she could just get—
“What the fu—” One smooth tug, and a long feather was freed from the quilt. Black. Old. Nearly blue in the dim light.
That’s a fucking raven feather. What the actual hell?
Now that she was thoroughly racked with curiosity, she pulled the hole open a little more and stuck a fingertip into it.
There’s another one!
The quilt was padded with raven down. There was absolutely no way this was a fucking coincidence. Before she could reel back her shock, Athan’s footsteps charged up the stairs outside the apartment door. She hadn’t even registered hearing his bike pull up outside the gallery. His key slid into the knob, and it turned, the door easing open and his eyes seeming desperately heavy before he noticed the expression on her face.
“Hey, you.” He turned, closing and locking the door behind him, and concern was evident on his face, though she was sure she heard it in his voice too, when he called to let her know he was on the way home. Everything she’d just thought about telling him seemed insignificant. Sarah piled the blanket to her side and slid off the bed.
“You okay?” she asked, watching him toss his keys and cigarettes on the counter. His eyes went straight for the steaming pots on the stove, and when they trailed back to hers, a slow grin crept across his mouth.
“We’re not about to have communion, are we?” he jabbed, starting to grin.
“You’re an asshole,” she snorted, approaching him as he shrugged his jacket off. “No, I think you’ll like this. And it’s not charred…like every other morsel of food in this house.”
“Solid burn, St. James.” He brought his arms around her, and his skin was freezing. He didn’t tremble with cold, and his heart seemed steady. The only sign that anyone could overlook at his immortality. “Sorry. It was a cold ride.” Any other human would have their teeth chattering.
“Well, come warm up. I made coffee…and I’ve been doing verywifelyshit.”
“Smells like it,” he smiled, following her to the stove. When she lifted the lid to the sauce, he breathed in the steam, and his eyes slightly darkened. “I know what you did.”
“Damn, really?” She parked her hands on her hips, and he snatched the wooden spoon from the pot handle, blowing while he nodded and carefully tasting it.
“Fuck, that’s good.” He had another spoonful, dropping it to the counter and showing his palms. “I forfeit. The pans and the spatula are yours. How much blood is in this sauce?”
“A pint and a half,” Sarah giggled, stirring the pot and turning off the heat. “What gave it away?”
“I’m older than half of what Nell has in that back room downtown, Sarah. I know blood when I scent it.”
“Well,” she shrugged, opening the fridge and pulling out two wine glasses full of O-negative. “Cheers, then.” She handed him a glass and they clinked them before sipping.
“What’s the occasion?” he smiled, sliding that tongue over his bottom lip and making her thighs press together from the sight of blood on his mouth. God, he was breathtaking.
“We are,” Sarah smiled, sipping from her glass again. “We’re celebrating an eternity of more boring nights in, andbasking in the ambiance of our very…normal…abnormallife.” She turned, setting down the glass and pulling two plates from the cabinet before looking over her shoulder. He was watching every move and looking at her like he always does. That smoldering stare that said he’d rather feast on every inch of her rather than partake at anything in that pot. “That, and a possible new lead.”
His concentration broke, and he sat his glass down. “A lead?”
Sarah filled their plates as she spoke. “You know…I’ve had that blanket on my bed since I was a baby. It’s quite literally a security blanket, and I’ve never been ashamed to cling to that shit. I’ve taken it everywhere ever since I was little. It just…makes me feel better.”
“I gathered as much,” Athan smirked, pressing against her back and trailing his mouth over her neck. It was distracting, but she continued.
“I don’t know where it came from. I never asked. It was just always something I had. I never knew my grandparents. I figured maybe a great granny made it or something. Maybe it was something from my mom’s childhood that she passed down. I dunno,” she shrugged.
“Mmhmm…” he hummed, nuzzling her earlobe with his nose and breathing her in. She paused momentarily, closing her eyes and slowly losing herself in how good he felt, and the chill of the tip of his nose against her warm skin.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, ma’am…” he whispered, taking the lobe between his teeth. Sarah turned around to face him, caged between both his arms while she held both plates. Red sauce dripped from one of them, landing on the swell of her breast. It was hot, but…not as hot as the way his eyes looked as he stared at it.
“If you do it, I’ll fucking—”
“Love it…” he purred, lowering his mouth to her chest and slowly licking off the sauce. His mouth closed around that spot, sucking it harshly before he kissed over it. “You’re an excellent cook.”
Dammit, this was important. And she stuck her foot in this meal.
