Page 11 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
Bran answers for all of them. “We’re here for you.”
I swallow hard, my lips numb.
This is not what I expected.
“Why?” I say. The word comes out ugly and small.
Grim is the one who answers. His rough voice has an edge that scrapes down my spine. “Because you need us. Because you’re ours.”
It’s a ridiculous thing to say, but I can’t look away. I can’t even laugh.
The space between us closes without me realizing it. I stumble back, landing against the nearest tree. My hands curl against the bark, desperate for anything solid.
Bran is three steps from me now. He moves with a hypnotic grace I’ve never seen.
“Don’t be scared,” he murmurs. “We’re not going to hurt you.”
I believe him. But something in his voice tells me that “hurt” might mean something very different here, that it might be a promise instead of a threat.
The rest of the men hang back, but I feel their attention like a physical thing, sharp and searing.
I can’t breathe. My heart is trying to escape through my ribs.
Bran stops an arm’s length away. He looks down at my hand. “Interesting feather.”
I open my palm. The quill has stained my skin, the black smudge stark against my paleness. I should drop it, but I simply clutch it tighter instead.
“A…friend gave it to me,” I say.
He nods, his eyes brightening. “Then you should keep it close.”
I nod, unable to do anything else.
Bran lifts his hand, so slowly I have time to flinch away if I want to. I don’t.
He brushes the back of his fingers along my cheek. The touch is so gentle it hurts.
“You’re as soft as you are beautiful,” he murmurs.
Something shatters in me at his words, the kindest anyone has ever given me. I can’t decide if I want to cry or laugh. I just want to stand here, pressed against the tree, letting this stranger touch me.
“Did my father send you?”
Grim steps forward, the motion sudden and predatory. His eyes narrow. “She doesn’t understand,” he says, the words dripping with disappointment.
Bran glances back at him, then at me. “It’s all right,” he says. “She will.”
Shade finally moves, his voice a thunderclap in the quiet. “Bring her,” he orders, black eyes unblinking.
The air snaps. I feel the energy crackle from one man to the next. Grim closes in, stopping on my left. Bran stays to my right. The rest circle, not quite touching, but close enough I can smell them—sweat, smoke, wildness.
They inch me toward Shade, the space between us closing little by little until he’s right in front of me. He looks down at me, a full head taller, his expression unreadable.
He reaches out, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says, echoing Bran, but with a command in it that makes my body sing. He leans in, so close I can feel his breath on my ear. “Your father has no place here, Raisa. You don’t belong to him. You belong with us.”
Every part of me knows it’s true. My mind rebels at the thought of belonging to strangers, but my body has already surrendered.
