Page 86 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
She leans in, her lips barely an inch from his ear, and whispers something soft enough I can’t catch it. Whatever it is has Shade’s eyes closing for a heartbeat. When they open again, he looks like he’s been reborn and ruined in the same breath.
She kisses him, once, at the corner of his jaw. His hands hover in the air—he wants to hold her, but he doesn’t. He just lets her go.
Next is Grim.
He tries to act stoic, but I know him too well. He’s vibrating with nerves, his mouth working soundlessly. Raisa doesn’t say a word. She runs her thumb along the side of his cheek, tracing all the way to the hinge of his jaw. Then, slow as the tide, she presses her forehead to his, her eyes squeezed shut, her hands fisted in his shirt. He sways, just a little, like she’s the only thing tethering him to the earth.
They stand like that for three breaths. When she steps back, Grim’s cheeks are wet with the first tears he’s shed since we were boys. He doesn’t try to hide them.
Bran is next. He looks like he’s about to fall apart just from being seen. Raisa smiles at him, soft and private, then tugs his shirt aside to bare the patch of skin on his neck where her mark—the one she branded into him—still glows faintly. She bends down and presses her mouth to it, sucking once, then nipping at it with her teeth.
He shudders, the muscles in his arms bunching, and for a second, he looks more alive than I’ve ever seen him.
She moves on to Talon, who’s still trying to hide the tremor in his hands. Raisa doesn’t tease him. She stands on tiptoe, straightens his collar, and grins at him like he’s the only person who’s ever made her brave.
She smacks his cheek, light but real. “You aren’t allowed to die,” she says, as if it’s a command.
Talon’s mouth splits into a savage, almost childlike grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Rune is next, his eyes bright with tears already. He reaches for her, but Raisa catches his hands in hers and brings them to her chest. She doesn’t kiss him. Instead, she runs her fingers down the length of his forearm, tracing the tangled runes and sigils inked in his skin. At his wrist, she pauses, then draws a shape—something quick and secret—into his flesh with her fingertip.
He gasps, a ragged, broken sound. The tattoo flares, light spilling over his skin, and he looks at her like she just handed him the whole world.
She lets him go with a squeeze.
Sable is last before me. I expect him to smirk, to crack a joke, to break the spell with some filthy promise. He doesn’t. He stands very still, shoulders hunched, eyes locked on hers. Raisa brushes his hair from his face, then leans in and kisses his cheek—soft, softer than anything I’ve ever seen her do.
She whispers something into his ear, earning a laugh, a real sound, not forced at all. His whole face lights up, and I know I’ll never forget the way he looks in this moment, unburdened, free, forgiven.
She straightens and faces me.
My heart tries to escape through my throat. My hands—so big, so stupid—open and close at my sides, itching to grab her, to pullher in, to keep her forever. But I stand my ground, let her come to me.
She stops a breath away.
Her eyes are locked on mine, that impossible storm gray that haunts my every moment. I can see every fleck, every secret. She lifts both hands and places them on my chest, over the brand she burned into my heart. I feel the heat through my shirt, through my bones, through every layer of scar and regret I ever tried to bury.
She doesn’t smile, but her lips part. “My heart is yours.”
That’s it. Nothing fancy, nothing poetic. Just the truth, raw and unvarnished.
I don’t trust myself to speak. If I open my mouth, I’ll break. So I just look at her, memorize the curve of her jaw, the way her hair falls around her shoulders, and the slow tremble in her hands.
She lets them drop.
Then, deliberate as a death sentence, she turns and faces the others, her back to the castle.
She looks at each one of us, and I know what she’s doing. This is goodbye. Maybe not forever, maybe not even for long, but it’s the kind that matters. The kind you make when you know there’s a chance none of you walks away.
The air is thick, choking. Sable wipes his nose on his sleeve. Grim bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood. Shade is stone, but his eyes are red. Bran pulls Rune into his side, and they hold onto each other, neither willing to let go.
I take one last look at Raisa, and then at my brothers, and then at the castle—cold, silent, waiting.
She turns to me, the others bracing in her shadow, and for the first time in my life, I want to pray. Not to gods or fate or anything real, but to her. Just her.
I press my fist to my chest, over her brand, and nod.
She does the same.
