Page 98 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
Inside, the castle is lit with morning sun, the high windows spilling gold and crimson across the marble floors. There’s no blood, no sign of the battle that made this place ours. Just the cold hush of old stone and the faintest trace of her magic in the air.
She’s waiting for us. I can feel it.
I lead the way through the halls, my stride loose, my hands in my pockets. I could find her blindfolded, nose broken, heart stopped. Her presence is a beacon, hotter than fire, sharper than any hunger I’ve ever known.
We reach the throne room, and I push the doors open without slowing.
She’s on the throne, of course.
Her hair is down, flowing like a black river over her shoulders. The crown sits perfectly on her head, like she was born with it. She wears white today, the fabric tight over her breasts, cinched at the waist, the skirt fanning out in waves of silk and bone. Her legs are crossed, one foot bouncing in time with her heartbeat.
Her eyes go storm gray and bright as the sky after lightning when they find mine.
She smiles, and my insides catch fire.
The room is empty, save for her. No guards, no council, no audience at all. It’s just us and her, the way it’s supposed to be.
We stop at the foot of the dais, seven monsters and their queen. For a second, I think she’s going to make us kneel while she wrecks us like she did last night.
She doesn’t.
She stands, the crown glinting, and descends the steps in three quick strides. Her slippers are soft, but I hear every step.
I can feel the others tense, the air thick with want and expectation.
She reaches me first.
“Shade,” she says. Her voice is the only thing that matters.
I could play it cool. I could wait for her to speak, let her command us the way she always does.
But I’ve had enough of waiting.
I grab her by the waist, lift her clean off the floor, and spin her once just to hear her laugh. That sound is reckless and a little wild. Beautiful.
She grabs my face in both hands, kissing me hard and messy and so fucking perfect I nearly drop her.
I don’t.
I set her down, but only to slide my hands lower, cupping her ass through the silk. She bites my lip, just enough to sting, and I want her so bad I could tear her in half.
“Missed you,” I say. The words sound stupid, too small for what I feel when every beat of my heart spells her name.
She grins, licking my taste from her lips. “You’re late,” she teases, but there’s nothing angry in it. Just heat, hunger, and love.
The others crowd close, a wall of bodies and need.
Grim is first, pulling her hair back to bare her throat. He kisses her there, soft at first, then harder, nipping until she gasps.
Talon comes next, his hands rough on her shoulders, spinning her so he can rake his teeth along the curve of her jaw.
Sable and Rune are a tangle, each wanting a piece but not willing to fight for it. Sable goes for her lips, Rune for her hands.
Bran hangs back, his glasses slipping down his nose, but his eyes never leave her face.
Onyx waits, as always, until the chaos ebbs. Then he steps forward, brushing the hair from her eyes, his thumb stroking her cheek.
She melts under his touch, her lips parting, a soft moan escaping as he kisses her, slow, deep, and deliberate.
