Page 81 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
“What did you do?” I ask.
He grins, white teeth flashing. “Set a ward and warning sigils. Nothing gets close without me knowing.”
“Except Talon.”
“Nothing human,” Rune amends. “Or anything else that isn’t hungry enough to try us.”
I nod. The implication is clear. We are not the most dangerous things in this forest, but we are close. The whole journey, we’vecircled wide around the barest hint of civilization, avoiding anyone and everyone. But I know they’re out here—monsters, just like us. This forest gathers them like it’s calling its lost sons home. It’s ironic that my father’s kingdom is on the edge of it when he’s the biggest monster of all.
The air grows colder as the sun dips below the horizon. Bran tucks the blanket around my hips, then drapes another over my shoulders. It smells like smoke, sweat, and something sweet. I lean into him, and he squeezes once, just enough to let me know he’s there.
Talon returns as promised, a brace of rabbits slung over one shoulder and a wild, savage grin on his lips. He’s bleeding from a shallow cut across his cheek, but doesn’t seem to notice.
“Dinner,” he announces, tossing the animals onto a flat stone near the fire.
Sable is the first to react, springing up and seizing the nearest rabbit. He skins and guts it in seconds, his hands almost delicate despite the speed.
“Who wants liver?” he asks, waving the wet organ on the tip of his knife.
“Me,” Rune says, reaching out. Sable flicks it into his palm, and they both laugh, the sound sharp and cruel.
Grim prepares the rest, using his own knife and an eerie, practiced efficiency. He never makes a mess. He arranges the meat on spits, sets them up over the fire, then wipes his hands on the grass. His eyes meet mine for a second. There’s heat in them, and maybe a dare.
The smoke thickens, taking on the sweet, oily smell of roasting fat. My stomach growls, but nobody mocks me for it. They’re all hungry, in their own ways.
We sit in a loose circle, the fire crackling and the world narrowing down to the orange light, the scent of food, the press of bodies against mine.
Shade is the first to speak, his voice low. “We’ll reach his castle tomorrow.”
Nobody has to ask who “he” is. My father’s name is a curse now, best left unspoken.
“Will he be waiting?” Sable asks, licking blood from his fingers.
Shade shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Either way, he doesn’t win.”
Grim snorts, but doesn’t argue.
I stare into the fire, the heat prickling my skin, and think about the promise I made to myself: Never feel powerless and caged again.
I feel powerful now. Not because of the magic, though I know it’s there. Not because of my brothers, though I know they’d die for me. It’s something else—a certainty of my place, a rightness in the way I fit here, the way their lives tangle with mine and refuse to let go.
When the food is done, we eat in silence, tearing meat from the bones with our teeth, licking the grease from our hands. It’s primitive, almost obscene, but I love it. There’s no pretense, no careful manners or staged politeness. Just hunger, and the blunt joy of filling it.
Afterwards, I watch them clean their knives, tend the fire, and set up the sleeping arrangements. They check on each other without words. Bran sets Sable’s broken nail, Onyx cleans Talon’s cut, Rune wipes sweat from Grim’s brow, and gets a flick on the nose for his trouble. I catch Shade staring at me, his eyes dark. He doesn’t look away when I meet them.
I want him beneath me, ruined the same way he ruins me. The thought is sudden, absolute, a demand in my bones. The desire isn’t sweet. It’s a deep, roaring hunger, something that would have scared me once upon a time.
The magic pulses under my skin, impatient and greedy.
I stand, letting the blanket fall from my shoulders. My skin tingles, both from the cold and from the way seven pairs of eyes track my every move.
Shade is the first to speak. “Princess,” he says, but there’s no question in it, just raw invitation.
I ignore him, stepping out of the bedding and unbuttoning my shirt. The fabric sticks to my skin, peeling away to reveal pale flesh, bruised and marked by love and war. I let it fall, then drop my pants as well, leaving me naked in the gold-blue firelight.
Sable whistles, long and low. “Fuck, Raisa. You’re trying to kill us.”
Grim’s eyes burn from the shadows, his jaw tense, hands clenching and unclenching like he’s deciding whether to pounce or pray.
