Page 10 of Raisa's Cursed Ravens
I feel eyes on me. At first, I think it’s paranoia. But the longer I walk, the surer I am. I’m being watched.
My steps slow, my heart leaping into my throat, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I’ve come too far.
I don’t even know where I’m going, but my feet move by instinct, leading me…somewhere.
Then, in a clearing that seems to appear all at once, I see them.
Seven men.
They stand together at the center of the space, arranged with such unconscious symmetry that it chills me. None of them is familiar, but every single one feels as if I’ve been dreaming about them for years.
The first thing I notice is how big they are. Even the smallest among them towers over me. They’re dressed like outlaws—some in shirts, some bare-chested, some with tattoos crawling up their throats and arms, some in patched pants or nothing at all. Their hair is long or cropped, or shorn, black, blond, or silver, but always wild.
They turn to face me in unison.
For a split second, I want to run. But I can’t move. My whole body locks up, heat racing through me. My face is on fire, my hands tingling.
The man closest to me is different than the others. He’s handsome, almost beautiful, in a way that makes my stomach twist. Wire-rimmed glasses perch on his nose, his shirt buttoned up to the collar. He looks so human that I almost trust him. Almost.
He steps forward, his hands open at his sides as if to show he’s no threat to me. His eyes are hazel, shifting green and gold in the twilight.
“Hello, Princess,” he says, his voice soft, warm.
I know that voice. Or I think I do. It’s a timbre that’s haunted the garden for years, always just beyond hearing, always right when I needed it.
I blink, trying to clear my head, but it doesn’t help.
“You know me?”
“Of course, Princess Raisa.” He smiles, and my knees nearly buckle.
Another man, standing slightly behind the first, is his opposite in every way. Long black hair, green eyes as sharp as shattered glass, his face angular and scarred. He’s covered in ink, the tattoos a riot of color up both arms and across his neck. He doesn’t smile. He just watches, his lips curled in a way that says he’s two breaths from violence.
The man next to him is even taller than the rest—maybe six and a half feet, with bulging muscles and reddish-brown hair pulled back in a thick ponytail. His arms are the size of my thighs. I catch the glint of knives at his belt. He’s beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful, full of the promise of ruin.
The others are variations of the same theme—wild, hungry, all eyes, teeth, and restless energy. None of them is much older than I am, maybe a handful of years, but they seem older, ancient. They don’t approach, but their gazes hold me just as firmly as any chain.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. My throat is dust.
The man with the glasses tilts his head, studying me. “Are you all right?” He says it like he means it.
I find my voice, barely. “Who are you?”
For a moment, he just looks at me. Then, “Bran,” he says, touching a hand to his chest. He nods to the left, where the tattooed one stands. “That’s Grim.” The massive man with the knives gets a nod. “Talon.” One by one, he names the rest. Sable, Rune, Onyx, and Shade.
Shade is last. I hadn’t noticed him at first—he was in the shadows, completely still. Now that I see him, I can’t look away.
He’s the biggest of them all, with black hair to his shoulders and skin so pale it almost glows. His eyes are bottomless, a color so dark I can’t tell if it’s black or blue or some new thing entirely. A silvery-white scar bisects the corner of one of his eyes in a waythat’s hauntingly familiar. He stands apart, his arms crossed and his gaze pinned to my face like he’s trying to memorize every inch of it.
He doesn’t speak.
Bran takes another step toward me. He doesn’t try to touch me, but I feel the weight of his presence. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he says.
I should be afraid. I know I should. But the word means nothing right now.
“What do you want?” I manage, my voice barely more than a whisper.
The seven look at each other, then back at me. Shade’s mouth curves, the move something between a smile and a snarl, and my stomach goes tight.
