Page 23 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
I’m restless. Hungry in a way I don’t have a name for.
The memory of the men won’t leave me alone.
I see them as they were in the clearing, the way they moved, the way they looked at me. The certainty in their voices, the claim in their hands. The heat of their bodies close to mine, the threat and promise tangled together. It makes me flush, makes my heart pound so fast I worry it might break.
I shift on the floor, the fabric of my gown twisting around my hips. My thighs are damp, my breasts heavy against the thin cotton. I squeeze my legs together, trying to breathe through the sudden, hot ache.
It’s wrong, I think. I’m not supposed to feel this way. I’m not supposed to want the things I want.
But in the dark, with no one to witness, the wanting is bigger than the shame.
I glance up at the ravens again. They haven’t moved, but they watch me with an intensity that feels almost…intimate. Like they see the flush in my cheeks, the way my nipples stand out hard beneath the fabric, the way my breath comes short and ragged.
I pull the blanket up, but it does nothing to hide me from their eyes.
Memory crashes over me. Shade’s voice, low and commanding. Bran’s soft hands on my waist. Sable’s laughter in my ear. The way Grim’s stare made my skin burn. I remember the way they caged me in, the way I didn’t want to leave.
I rub my thighs together, desperate for relief, but it only makes the ache worse. I squeeze my legs tight and let my head fall back, my hair spilling over the stones.
The need hurts.
My hand drifts down my body, over all those places that ache. Touching them brings the hunger into screaming focus, but in a way that’s thrilling, and I briefly wonder if this is what it means to be alive.
A soft knock at the glass snaps me out of it. I look up.
The center raven has stepped forward, its beak tapping the pane. Its eyes are brighter than before, almost silver in the moonlight.
I sit up, pulling the blanket tight around my chest, my heart pounding. “What do you want from me?” I whisper.
The bird tilts its head, feathers ruffling. It looks like it’s waiting for something.
Grim said the forest listens, that I should be careful what I wish for. I let myself be reckless instead, let the truth whisper from my lips.
“I wish…”
The birds lean in, their beaks nearly touching the glass.
“I wish you could take me away,” I say, softer than a breath. “Take me to them. To the men in the clearing.”
My face is burning, but I can’t stop now.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” I finish, the words tumbling out before I can take them back. “I want to feel…alive. I want to feel everything.”
For a moment, the world goes completely silent.
Then, as if I’ve said the magic words, the ravens stir. The air in the room thickens, humming with a charge I feel in my bones.
The bird at the center leans close enough that its breath fogs the glass. Its eyes lock with mine, and for a heartbeat I feel the weight of it—ancient, patient, hungry.
The light in the tower flickers. The air smells of feathers and smoke and the sharp tang of midnight.
I stare at the bird, unable to look away.
“I wish,” I repeat, louder now. “I wish you’d take me from here. Please.”
The birds let out a single, synchronized cry, a sound that’s not quite a caw, not quite a song, but something in between. The glass shudders in its pane, and the darkness beyond feels closer, more alive.
I press my hand to the glass, my palm lined up with the center raven’s claw.
