Ravenlight (The Ravenlight Cycles Book 1) Read online

  Taking the bowl from Imala, Sophie dipped more dark pigment onto her fingers.

  My sisters directed her on what symbols to trace, but their words were faint, as if speaking from a long distance. With my attention riveted to Sophie, I felt myself revolving around her again, like the moon, unable to pull away from the beauty of her face and pureness of her soul.

  When her hands skimmed over my chest, my arms flexed, and I fought an intense desire to press her into the pallet and show her how much I wanted to worship her body.

  A sensual smile spread across her face, and a glassy sheen shone from her gaze.

  She’s feeling the effects of the mugwort too.

  Slow, steady beats from the drums started. My brothers kept time on the taut skin, producing the deep reverberations. An ancient chant, sung since the dawn of man, followed the steady drumming.

  The pad of my thumb scraped the edges of the bowl, and I slowly traced a sign of protection on her chest.

  My sisters added their voices to the song, twisting their harmonies as a counterpart to the males, answering their calls for protection and guidance. Primal and beautiful, I never tired of the melodies my people sang.

  Chill bumps broke across Sophie’s upper arms. Her breath hitched, and her stare followed the movement of my hands as they slid more paint across her skin.

  Everything slowed, and it seemed like I could not only smell her sweet essence, but I could taste it too, like a delicate drop of fresh fruit, refreshing and nourishing.

  “Look, Revan.” She pointed to the fire. “The smoke is changing to birds, rising into the sky. How beautiful.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. My tribal ancestors, their forms willowy and ethereal, rose into the night, offering their blessings.

  “Let it begin.” Imala’s high-pitched words floated on the wind.

  Sophie’s head bobbed, and her body tilted to the side, in danger of falling to the ground.

  Only a little steadier, I pulled her torso to mine and eased her to the pallet. Instead of moving to mine, I laid with her. With the fingertips of my uninjured hand, I carefully traced her soft jawline.

  Lids lowering, she grinned, white teeth glowing in the low light of the fire. “Did I ever tell you”—she snuggled into my chest and yawned—“you’re the most gorgeous male I’ve ever known?” Trying to wink, she laughed. “And I think I love you, but I’m still trying to decide.” With two fingers, she smashed them against her lips. “Shh.” Her eyes closed. Soft, even breaths blew against my neck.

  I think I love you. Those five words swam in my head and danced in my heart.

  “I know I love you.” With a fierce grip, I held her tight and let the wings of the spirits carry me away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sophie Brannigan

  Cold wind caressed my cheek, pulling me from a pleasant dream where people sang in time with my heartbeat. Opening my eyes, I glimpsed a blanket of fresh, white snow. I scraped some from my cheek and tried to remember where this was and what I was doing.

  Before me sat an older trailer, the top half colored with a stripe of baby-blue, the rest of the aluminum the color of eggshell. Ice-covered stone steps led to the doorway. An old tire swing, capped with two inches of snow, hung from a frayed rope.

  Memories swirled in my mind.

  Before Mamma died, this had been home until we’d moved to the city for Daddy’s factory job. He’d drank less, and my mom had smiled more.

  Standing, I dusted the melting snowflakes from my jeans and hugged my arms, the bite of winter wind fierce through my thin clothes. I walked closer to the dwelling. Warmth awaited inside—not just physical warmth, but emotional warmth, too.

  A figure with deep wrinkles lining his face appeared beside me. Long gray hair braided into two separate strands rested across his buckskin-clad shoulders.

  Startled, I stepped backward.

  “So—” his shrewd brown eyes seemed to weigh me. “—you have chosen to pay the debt.”

  His words rang a bell, but confusion blurred my thoughts. “Debt?” I glanced toward the house, a deep ache twisting my heart. Mamma was inside, and I yearned to be wrapped in her embrace of love and comfort.

  “For the raven.” An eyebrow lifted. “If you wish to free him, you must refuse everything offered and sacrifice instead. If you fail, he will remain cursed.”

  For the raven. Something about those three words sent a prickle of premonition through my blood. There’s something in this I should remember, isn’t there?

  A squeak drew my attention from the old man to the trailer’s front door banging open.

  “Sophie.” My mother waved toward me. “Get your butt inside. It’s time for supper.”

  My eyes drank in her tall figure. Her long black hair, twisted into a loose bun on top of her head, accentuated her long throat. Previous memories of hugging her neck while she spun me in circles brought tears to my eyes.

  “Mamma?” Forgetting the strange man at my side, I stumbled up the steps.

  “You’re freezing. Get in here.” Smiling, she pulled me into her chest.

  I was six years old again, clinging to her and surrounded by safety. Inside, I stomped the snow from my shoes.

  Daddy, young and robust, sat at the small dining table and gave me a short nod. “Supper’s gettin’ cold, Sophie. Eat up.”

  Mamma pulled out a chair, picked me up, then placed me in the seat with a kiss to the top of my head.

  Happiness thrummed in my heart, wrapping little sparks of affection around me like a warm, fluffy coat.

  Smiling, she took her place across from me. “I made your favorite—meatloaf and macaroni.” Tipping her chin to my plate, she whispered, “And, if you eat it all, there’s chocolate pudding in the fridge.”

  “Yay.” Lifting my fork, I anticipated the flavor, knowing it had been years since I’d had this dish. I’d never tasted any meatloaf since that compared. My utensil stopped midway to my mouth. Why do I think it’s been years since I ate this? A thin tendril of dread coiled around the happiness in my chest. I shoved the uneasy thought away; afraid it would spoil my happiness.

  “Eat, Sophie.” Daddy’s eyes hardened. “Don’t waste the food I’ve provided.”

  “Mind your father.” Mamma shrugged a shoulder and took a bite, a hesitant grin on her face. “It’s your favorite, remember?”

  A rapid tap beat on the window behind me, and I twisted in my chair, curious what could be making such a steady sound since there were no trees with branches near the trailer.

  Wings fluttering, a large bird with a shiny black coat rammed his beak against the glass, his eyes seeming to focus on mine.

  I tilted my head and bit my cheek. He felt familiar. Why?

  “That damn bird,” Daddy roared as the squeal of the metal chair legs scraped across the linoleum floor. Standing, he stalked toward the window.

  “Wait.” I threw myself from the chair, a vital need to put myself between my father and the bird rising inside of me, pulsing through my limbs, and screaming in my brain. For the raven.

  Daddy pushed me aside and drew the curtains shut, darkening the dining area. “Sit down, Sophie, and eat your meal.” He plopped into his seat and glowered. “Your mother spent hours on it. You’re not going to let her gift go to waste, are you?”

  I wanted to rip down the curtains and check on the bird, outside in the cold, all alone, but I knew that tone. If I didn’t obey, he’d unbuckle his belt and slide it through the loops of his pants, the leather strap eager to strike red welts across my thighs, butt, and any other skin that got in the way.

  The warmth of the trailer dissipated, and the happiness in my belly turned to a heavy stone.

  “Eat, damn you.” My father’s voice was a boom, and I jumped, fear skating along my back and prickling my scalp.

  Stirring the macaroni on my plate, I twisted my neck to stare at the faded curtains.

  Tapping sounded again, insistent and determined.

  Sophie, they’
re not real. The words echoed in my head. Come back to me.

  That voice, deep and serious, made my eyebrows draw inward. Where had I heard it before?

  Mamma reached across the table and patted my hand. “Don’t you have such a good home?”

  Daddy grunted, scooping a large bite of food into his mouth. He focused on his plate while he smacked. Little pieces of meat fell out between bites.

  They’re not real.

  A memory of Daddy striking me across the face surfaced, me tumbling through the sky, his eyes telling me I meant nothing while he turned away. Alarm raced through me, and I stood, toppling the chair. It banged against the wall.

  An image of a man with dark flowing hair and a sensual smile came to mind. Revan. This isn’t real—it’s a test. And I’m supposed to save him.

  “Where are you going, Sophie?” Mamma cried, standing and stretching her arms toward me. “Please don’t leave me here alone.” Her glance cut to my father. “With him.”

  “You’re not really here.” I backed toward the door.

  “What are you saying?” She sprinted to me and cupped my cheeks with her warm hands. “I’m as real as you make me.”

  “No.” I gently pulled her fingers from my face. “You’re dead. And he”—I pointed to Daddy, whose gaze pierced me, hate shining from its depths—“is a horrible person. I choose Revan.”

  Disentangling from her grasp, I wrenched open the door and stumbled into the blinding snow-covered yard.

  Except sand had replaced the snow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Pecos “Revan” Chogan

  From above, I circled the desert.

  Sophie stumbled into a sand dune and fell to her knees. Shading her eyes with a hand, she took in her surroundings.

  Every time I tried to land on her shoulder, I found myself thrown fifty feet into the air.

  So, one of the rules must be I’m not allowed to touch her.

  “Sophie,” I called, but it came out as a caw.

  She looked up. “Hi, bird.” Her feet shuffled through blowing sand. “I think I’m lost, because I can’t remember how I got here or where I’m supposed to go.”

  The sun’s heat beat upon her head. Tall, saguaro cacti dotted the landscape, and a few tumbleweeds rolled down a nearby dune.

  “It sure is hot.” Stopping, she surveyed a purple mountain range. “I’m supposed to reach those mountains, I think. It doesn’t look that far.” She began to run.

  I wanted to tell her those mountains were at least thirty miles away, and if she maintained her pace without anything to drink, she’d become dehydrated. Only a squawk sounded.

  After thirty minutes, her jog became a walk. Two hours later, her walk became a stumble. Sweat glistened on her skin.

  Sit down and rest, Sophie, I mentally projected, like before, hoping it would work again.

  She paused and tilted her head, as if listening, like in the trailer when she’d faced the test of her parents. A few feet away, a boulder broke the monotony of the brown sand, and she dropped onto the ground, leaned her back against the rock, and crammed herself into the scant shade.

  “I’m so thirsty.” Her tongue ran along her cracked lips.

  I fluttered above, unable to provide help or water. Frustration pulsed inside me. Seeing her suffer like this made my heart ache.

  The old shaman appeared, toting a bulging waterskin.

  Seeing him once again brought a mixture of shame and fury into my soul. After all, he was the one responsible for the curse and Sophie’s current suffering.

  “Hello.” He stopped in front of Sophie and crouched. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, and her hazel stare zeroed in on the water. “Why didn’t I bring any?” The words croaked from between her lips, and her throat moved, as if trying to swallow.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I came along.” Unstrapping it from his shoulder, he unplugged the top and offered it to her. “You shouldn’t be out here in this heat. You should go home.”

  “Thank you.” She grasped the soft container and lifted it to her lips. Her tongue licked her chapped mouth but she didn’t let one drop of liquid touch her skin. Instead, she slowly lowered the waterskin and gave the shaman a puzzled stare. “Where’d you come from?”

  When he smiled, his wrinkled face showed a few new lines. “Oh, I’m here to collect a debt.”

  “No.” I flew toward his face, my claws outstretched, but he lifted a hand and batted me away. Determined, I corrected course, and like a bullet, I soared near them again, anger boiling in my mind. If I could, I’d tear his head from his neck.

  “A debt?” Her hand clenched the waterskin, still untouched by her lips. “It must be paid, right?”

  The old man lowered himself to sit beside her, the feathers in his hair blowing in the low wind. “Yes, otherwise no balance exists between the worlds.” His dark eyes shot to me, and his upper lip curled. “Drink, girl. Remember how thirsty you are?”

  She wrapped her other hand around the skin and pressed it to her mouth. Tipping her head, her stare locked onto mine and she froze. “Revan?”

  I didn’t dare fly closer, knowing I’d be thrown into the sky again. Instead, I beat my wings against the hot air, hovering several feet away.

  With a twist of her neck, she glanced at the shaman again. “No.” She pushed the water to him, but he kept his hands in his lap. “I’m here to save him, to pay the debt.”

  “But it’s not yours to pay, girl. Why would you sacrifice yourself for his crimes?”

  Gray-green eyes turned on me. “Because he saved me years ago with no expectations or strings attached. By saving my life, doesn’t that help atone for his past?”

  The shaman jerked to a standing position, disgust twisting his face into something ugly. With a grunt, he threw the waterskin to the ground and disappeared.

  Thirsty and eager for moisture, the sand soaked the clear water into its depths, and the sun burned away any trace of the liquid.

  Sophie splayed her hand against the spot where the water had been and sighed. “I really am thirsty.”

  I chanced landing on the rock and felt my weight settle onto its hard surface.

  She eyed me and gave a tired grin. “One more test after this, huh?” Pushing herself upright to stand, she stood and stretched. “Guess I’ll keep walking.”

  With one foot in front of the other, she trudged through the thick sand and braved the burning sun.

  Ancient Spirits, please extend your protection to this woman. I can’t lose her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Sophie Brannigan

  The heat faded and the desert scenery morphed into flat plains with rolling grasslands. Now twilight, a sliver of the sun peeked above the horizon, setting the sky alight with deep oranges and purples, the rays kissing the tall ocean of grass.

  The whinny of a horse pulled my attention, and I twisted in its direction.

  At least a foot taller, the animal pawed at the ground, his white coat speckled with tan circular markings scattered throughout. Several other horses milled a few feet away. Farther ahead, the silhouettes of tents rose against the horizon, smoke drifting from the opened flaps at the top.

  To my left, a large bonfire glowed.

  I stepped around the horse, careful to keep my distance from its hooves, and hid next to a nearby tipi, the surface of its hide firm under my fingers. Where am I? I’m supposed to do something, just like in the desert, yet why can’t I remember?

  The deep beat of drums rumbled through the ground at my feet, vibrating through my bones. Several male voices rose in song, their tones an undulating pitch, then dropped to a lower register, keeping time with the deep boom-boom-boom of the drums. It was beautiful, even though I didn’t understand the words.

  Crouching, my gaze roved over their forms. Long feathers dangled from the men’s hair, and the women wore long skirts. They danced around the fire.

  At this distance, I couldn’t s
ee their faces, but judging from their movements and singing, they seemed to be celebrating. One man, his hair long and black, with thin bands wrapped around his arms, held something above his head, as if making an offering to the sky.

  As I watched his muscles ripple in the firelight, a pleasant tingling clenched my belly. I took a step toward him then stopped, realizing I had no idea who these people were or why I was here.

  Why does it feel like I know him, though?

  “Sophie.” A deep voice spoke from the dark.

  I screamed, but the people at the fire seemed not to notice.

  “They can’t hear you.” An old man stood beside me, his gray braids hanging across his shoulders. “This is the last trial. Are you willing to sacrifice your soul for that man?”

  The words rang inside my head like the strike of an enormous gong, the vibrations shaking my entire body. Everything rushed back at once. Revan—doomed to live most of his life in another form. Revan—wild and free, a child of the Earth. Revan—my beautiful, fierce warrior who protected me all these years.

  “Yes.” I threw a glance at the shaman. “I love him.”

  “Sometimes love is enough, sometimes it isn’t.” His somber eyes searched my face. “The offering is your soul in place of one of the others.” He pointed to the tipi, and I nodded in understanding.

  Like a puff of wind, his serious face faded into nothing, leaving me to watch the celebration by myself.

  Revan threw his arms wide and twisted in circles, his voice adding to the merriment of the ritual.

  The tribe laughed and slapped each other, then they shoved off and started the stumbling dance all over again. Sparks and embers from the huge blaze fluttered into the sky like little orange and yellow sprites twirling with their own dance.

  He looks so free and happy. This is what he was like before being cursed. My heart squeezed with love and pride, but also with pain. To free him would mean a sacrifice, one I was willing to make, yet the thought of leaving him stabbed a pang in my chest. The world blurred for a moment, and I closed my eyes, willing my head to stop spinning.