Page 42 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
Instead, I pull my arm free and rise, leaving her with a handful of my heat in the nest of blankets.
Sable is already up. Of course. He’s perched on a fallen log with a knife between his teeth, whittling slivers of wood into the air and pretending not to watch me. He grins when our eyes meet, but he doesn’t speak. Sable knows not to poke the bear before dawn, especially when we were up half the night, buried in Raisa again.
It’s the same every night. By day, we evade the king’s men, using the forest for cover, teaching her what it means to be free. At night, we teach her what it means to be ours. We fuck and claim and come until we’re all too exhausted to move.
She’s learning quickly, casting off the trappings of the princess for something else, something new and powerful. Her magic hums beneath her skin like a living thing, so bright it’s impossible to miss it, but she hasn’t used it yet. I’m not sure she even knows how or even realizes it exists. We haven’t told her yet.
Some truths, she needs to discover on her own.
I stalk away from the camp, rolling my shoulders, shaking out the ache from last night’s excesses. My body is still a thing of war, even when it’s soft for her.
The forest wraps around me, familiar and feral. The ground is a tangle of roots and frost, the air cold enough to cut glass.
The curse whispers, its demand growing fainter every day we spend with her. But the rage still simmers, bubbling as hot and fierce as ever. This is what I am. Bone and sinew. Blade and fury. My brothers joke that I was born with a knife in one hand and a grudge in the other. Maybe they’re right.
It doesn’t matter.
Today, the only weapon I care about is the one I’ve made for Raisa.
I fish it from my pack, where I hid it, wrapped in a scrap of soft leather. The bow is half the size of mine, but the string sings under my thumb. I’ve carved her name in runes only she and I will ever understand, right beneath the grip. The wood is yew, the color of dried blood. She deserves steel, but wood is warmer, more forgiving. She’s not ready for steel.
Yet.
I run my hands over it again and again, unable to stop. This isn’t a gift. It’s a test. If she’s going to survive out here, she needs to become something else, not a girl or a princess, but a monster like us. I can show her how. Iwantto show her how.
Behind me, Sable whistles, a low, two-note warning. I turn to find Raisa up, wrapped in a blanket, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She looks like she’s been dragged through a dozen dreams and come out hungry on the other side.
There’s dirt on her knees and fresh bite marks on her thighs. The sight makes something inside me twist and catch.
“You’re awake,” she says. Her voice is a little rough, which I love. There’s no princess in it, just woman.
“I am,” I say, then offer her the bow. She blinks and then takes it, her fingers tentative at first, then hungry. The moment her skin brushes mine, my heart kicks so hard I nearly laugh.
“What’s this?” she asks, but she already knows. She’s not stupid. Just new.
“For you,” I say. “Try not to break it.”
She smiles. It’s shy, but not the old kind of shy. It’s the kind that knows I want her. The kind that likes knowing it.
“It’s beautiful,” she says. “Did you make it?”
“Who else would?” I want to sound cocky, but it comes out hoarse. She’s still looking at the bow, tracing the runes with her thumb. Her hands are strong, not like a princess at all.
I want to see them on me again. I want to feel them raking trails of blood into my skin. Instead, I step back and nod to the trees.
“Come on. Time to learn what it’s for.”
We leave the camp behind, Sable watching us with that shit-eating grin until we vanish into the woods. While we’re gone, my brothers will keep watch. They’ll shift, and they’ll kill. Whatever it takes to ensure the men following us don’t find her before we’re ready.
The sun is barely up, but I can see just fine. So can she, apparently. She keeps pace, dodging every root and stone with a kind of wild grace.
Today she’s in Bran’s old shirt and a pair of pants that used to be Sable’s, tied with twine at the waist. The effect is criminal. I want to bend her over a stump and fuck her until she screams.
But not yet. First, the lesson.
“You know how to use that?” I ask, nodding at the bow.
“I’ve seen it done.”
