Ravenlight (The Ravenlight Cycles Book 1) Read online

  Pecos “Revan” Chogan

  Shame poured through me. Someone they can’t have. I knew I couldn’t have her, but, after showing myself as a man, hope and excitement had blossomed. I don’t feel worthless and obsolete when I’m with her—I feel alive and whole for once. But she didn’t want a relic of the past; a man who wasn’t a man.

  I slipped between the trunks of two trees and swiveled to inspect the house, keeping myself hidden in the shadows.

  The door shut with a bang.

  Clenching my fists, I turned my back. Fine. If she doesn’t want to see me again, she won’t. I’ve wasted ten years of my life ensuring she was safe and the last few months falling in love. I was a fool for even thinking this would work itself out and we’d live happily ever after.

  Entering the clearing, I came upon my family either lounging, working on projects, or preparing supper. Farther away under the trees, several shelters sat hidden from view. We’d take them down soon and stow everything underground to be ready for the next full moon.

  Feeling a heavy, invisible weight settle onto my shoulders, I dropped onto a pallet and stared at the blue sky, watching a few high clouds drift across the wide expanse. It’s just as well she doesn’t want me. It’ll be easier to refuse her gift next month if she doesn’t change her mind. After all, why would she want to help someone she couldn’t love?

  My head throbbed, and my limbs were restless.

  Imala carved another wooden spoon, tracing delicate designs in the handle. It would be taken into Milford Creek and sold next month. The tribe didn’t have many needs we couldn’t fulfill ourselves, except for food and clothing. One day was not always enough for a hunt, so Takoda—being the most outspoken and charismatic of our group—would make the exchange with local shops and bring home fresh meat, produce, blankets, or clothing.

  “You look like someone stuck a knife in your gut.” Imala set down the delicate blade. She picked a tiny handmade brush, dipped it into a wooden bowl filled with cornflower blue paint and traced her carved, spiraling designs with a vibrant burst of color.

  I grunted, not wanting to hear her sassy remarks.

  “Is it your Sophie?”

  “She’s not mine.” My answer was a growl. I tore off the modern clothing and threw it across the clearing. I was ridiculous, thinking she would see past the bird and to the man.

  “She’s confused.” Throaty laughter floated my way. “Give her time, brother. It’s not every day a woman finds out the man she loves is also a bird.”

  “Ha.” Shimmying into the soft leather of my trousers was a comfort, and the unrestricted movement of not wearing a shirt was pure freedom. “That’s where you’re wrong. She doesn’t love me—desires me, sure—but she made it clear I was nothing but a pathetic dreamer.”

  “Men.” Trading the brush for her blade, the knife scraped against the wood, causing little hisses of sound and tiny shavings to curl and fall to the dirt. “All of you are as dumb as the rocks in this forest.”

  I stood before her. “What are you prattling on about? Besides, what do you know about love? You’re as bad as I am, hiding out here every month, afraid to leave our ancestral grounds.”

  She narrowed her disdained gaze and shook her head. “I know more than you think, idiot.” The knife pointed in the general direction of Sophie’s house. “And that girl worships you. I can see it in her eyes. Besides, who in their right mind would offer to sacrifice their life for someone they only lusted after?” Her attention returned to the spoon. “Try to remember she carries deep wounds that have scarred her in many ways. It’s probably very difficult for her to accept the idea someone cares about her well-being. Don’t give her what she thinks she wants. Give her some space, sure, but remember she’s young, confused, and probably frightened of her new-found feelings for you.”

  I grimaced, pacing the camp, running fingers through my hair.

  Takoda lounged against a tree trunk at the edge of the clearing, a smirk dancing on his lips. He was the only one of our tribe with gray eyes—their color a dark storm on the horizon.

  “What’re you laughing at?” Anger boiled under my skin like a pot of water sitting above a fire, ready to spill over the sides.

  He raised his arms, laced them behind his head and spread them so both elbows pointed outward. “Just a big bear who’s missing his paw, yet he hasn’t realized it yet.”

  “Don’t you start with me. You’re as bad as Imala.” Tipping my chin downward, I nodded toward his pelvis. “You sure you’re a man?”

  “Yep.” He smiled. “At least, I was last night when I found a sweet, lonely little thing looking for—”

  “Ugh.” I held a hand toward him, palm up. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”

  “You’re too tense. It wouldn’t hurt you to get laid every now and again.”

  “I did. A year ago.” Loud and annoying, his laughter dug under my skin like tiny biting bugs.

  “And you proved my point.” Still chuckling, he straightened, stretched his arms above his head, and smacked me on the shoulder. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

  “You just wait. One of these days, it’ll be your turn and then I will laugh at you.” I stalked toward the nearby stream, eager to wash away the day—and a certain breathtaking woman—from my skin.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sophie Brannigan

  “Child, what are you doing?” Miss Lottie, dressed to the nines with a bright red headwrap, golden hoop earrings, and a frilly white blouse, clucked her tongue. “You’ve overworked the batch. It’ll be too thick to pour into the molds if you don’t get a move on.”

  “I’m sorry.” I switched off the stick blender and immediately tipped the thickened liquid into a silicone-lined rectangular box. “There. I think it’ll be okay.”

  “Hmm.” She inspected my work then shook the filled wooden container to release trapped air bubbles from the bottom, her gnarled fingers gripping the sides. “Something’s been on your mind. Or rather, someone. Tell Miss Lottie what’s got you so down, girl. Ain’t nobody worth this much pain.”

  “It’s no one.” I shrugged and collected my utensils, keeping the gloves and goggles in place. To make soap required lye, which created a chemical reaction and turned oils and fats into a moisturizing cleaner—as long as the formula and ratios were meticulously measured. If the raw mixture splashed on the skin, it would burn. If it landed in an eye, things could be even worse. The loaf would sit and age for four to six weeks, giving the caustic agent time to dissipate and the liquid to firm into a solid.

  “Well, for being no one, he sure seems to have a hold on you.” She cackled and slapped a thigh.

  After placing newly washed tools onto a drying mat, I stripped my soiled protective gear. It had been twenty-seven days since our last encounter, and not once had I seen Revan—in either form.

  “Miss Lottie.” Sighing, I took inventory of our shelves, making a mental note of what needed restocking. “It’s complicated. He thinks he loves me, but I can’t reciprocate the feeling.”

  I hadn’t been aware of how much it would hurt not having him at my side, following me from work all the way home or waiting for me every morning with a peck at the window. My words had pained him, yet they were true. I couldn’t love him, and he couldn’t love me. Yet why does it feel like an aching hole has opened inside and a deep, dark monster lurks, waiting to devour my heart?

  “Sophie, anything worth having is usually complicated, girl. If it’s easy, then it’s shallow and unimportant.” With a slow, stiff gait, she eased herself onto a stool and propped her knobby wooden cane against the wall. “When my Wilfred was alive—God rest his soul—that man could make me madder than an ole wet hen. Some days, I was sure I hated him and wanted to wring his neck.” Her wrinkled face softened, and her rheumy brown eyes stared off into the distance. “But he always made it right. We lasted for over sixty years before his heart gave out.”

  I wrestled on another pair of gloves, pulled a loaf of
curing soap from a top shelf, and carefully flipped it onto a counter. When it was free from its silicone lining, I used a special blade to cut precise squares, setting the soap on a new tray. This batch was two days old, firmed into a solid yet soft enough to cut individual bars that would be ready for paying customers in a few weeks.

  “Well, there’s a lot more to Re”—I bit my tongue—“to him than I can explain. He’s too affectionate, too attractive, and too good for me. I don’t deserve him.” Or his misplaced affection.

  When I finished cutting, I moved the squares to a different shelf and worked on a cured tray of lavender-scented bars ready for packaging. Little purple buds, which I’d picked from the herb garden behind Aunt Merle’s house, decorated the tops. With an old-fashioned brown paper wrapping now hugging the items, I slapped on a Miss Lottie’s Unique Gifts sticker and put them in a basket.

  “Oh, young love.” With a grunt, she retrieved her cane and lifted off the stool with a slow, steady unbending. “Sophie, child, I know you’ve been through a lot—more than any kid should’ve ever had to experience—but don’t let your past decide your future. If the boy says he loves you, listen to your heart more and your brain less.” She patted my hand and gathered the filled basket to her side.

  Easier said than done.

  “You want me to carry that in there for you?” She was so small and frail on the outside, yet a rod of iron on the inside.

  “No. You stay here and keep working. I have a feeling today’s business will be booming. Everyone’s raving about the new recipes, especially the body lotions.” She halted and gave me a shrewd glance. “You really love doing this, don’t you?”

  I nodded, a little lighter after her praise.

  “Well, later this week, I’d like to talk to you about my shop. I ain’t gettin’ any younger, and I figure, at eighty-five, it might be time to retire these old, weary bones—at least for a few days a week.”

  Is she going to let me run the shop by myself? “Alright. But you don’t look a day over sixty.”

  “Shoo, you.” Her little crooked fingers flicked toward me, and she laughed, hobbling out of the processing room to the front of the store.

  I flipped through my index cards to find the shea butter recipe I’d created last week and gathered ingredients for a new bodywash. I missed Revan and contemplated her words. Was it possible I loved him? I couldn’t block out the memory of Daddy’s fists, or how he’d turned his back on me as I fell.

  Aunt Merle still loves me, and nothing bad has happened. Still, it was hard to think about offering my heart to Revan, yet I was prepared to offer my soul in exchange for his freedom. What did that mean?

  Banishing all thoughts of the alluring man, I retrieved the electronic scales to measure liquids, losing myself in work.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Pecos “Revan” Chogan

  Circling high above, I watched Sophie’s form walking to her car. I’m pathetic, hiding up here, coasting on the warm updrafts so she won’t see me.

  Ravenlight was in a few hours, and even though it killed me, I’d hoped staying away would make her forget the utter nonsense of trying to break my curse. She’d made it clear she did not have deep feelings for me.

  Even so, I still couldn’t bear the thought of not keeping an eye on her. I didn’t know what else to do. Lost and lonely, I sought to stay away for the first few days, but a gnawing hunger inside forced me to her side—out of sight, of course.

  Just as she grabbed the door handle, a burly man stepped from the shadows.

  Alarm zipped through me, and my heart stuttered. Who is that?

  I dove for a closer view and settled onto the roof of the store next to Miss Lottie’s.

  “Sophie, give me a chance to explain.” A bald fifty-something man with weathered skin held out his hands. A large brown stain colored the chest of his red flannel shirt, and the sclera of his eyes were yellow instead of a normal, healthy white. “I just got out of jail and need a few bucks to get me back on my feet. You’ll never see me again, I swear.” His smile showed rotted teeth and more wrinkles than most fifty-year-old people usually sported.

  Why did he look familiar?

  “Please go away.” Eyes wide, Sophie stood next to her parked car, her knuckles on the door handle white with strain. Her gaze bounced around the street in the late evening sun, as if seeking an escape. Or help.

  The man was her father, and bitter hate rose within me. What I wouldn’t give to transform into my human form and beat him into oblivion. I soared closer and landed on her car roof.

  She couldn’t see me, but I had a clear view of this despicable coward who’d struck his little girl then left her for dead.

  I could probably peck out his eyes before he realized what happened. But I didn’t want to subject Sophie to more trauma. Even though she’d made it clear she didn’t want me, I still cared for her—always would. My love for her was like a wild vine—uncontained and all-consuming—my thorns sharp and painful to anyone who dared lay a hand on her.

  “Look…” He stopped a foot from her rigid body. “Maybe I wasn’t the greatest dad, but I was under a lot of pressure after your mom died.” He rubbed trembling fingers over his shiny head. “And then there was you, always asking questions and needing something—food, clothes, attention. I couldn’t deal with the strain.”

  “Wow.” Her hand left the doorhandle, and she propped it on a hip. Straightening her stance, she jabbed a finger into his chest. “You’re really something, aren’t you? Coming around after all these years and then trying to blame your sins on me? I was hurting too. You were the adult who was supposed to take care of his child.” A sob wrenched from her chest on the last word. “You’re nothing to me anymore.”

  She began to turn, but he grabbed her upper arm and shook it. “You listen here, you little bitch.” Spittle collected at the corners of his mouth, and the smell of stale alcohol wafted from his breath. “I gave you a roof over your head, I—”

  With a bellow—well, it probably sounded more like a squawk to human ears—I let him have it. Flying directly into his face, I used my talons to grab his nose and shoved my sharp beak toward an eye.

  A high scream split the air, and he grabbed at my body, trying to dislodge my grip.

  You will not hurt my Sophie. The sound of my quills breaking cracked the evening peace. A burst of pain shot through a wing, but I was relentless. I couldn’t beat him with my fists, but I could damage him in other ways.

  “Daddy, let him go.” Her voice rose to a shriek and her fingers clawed at his arms, scratching tears in the skin.

  “Get him off me,” he gasped, “Or I’ll break his neck.”

  “Revan, stop!” Shoving her fingers between his face and my mouth, I had no choice but to halt, or I’d hurt her. She pulled me from his face and tucked me against her chest.

  Charles Brannigan’s face was a masterpiece of shredded skin. One hand covered an eye, which bled at the corner. He bent forward and yelled something unintelligible.

  “Get out of here,” Sophie screamed.

  He stumbled away, mewling and shouting, blubbering curses between sobs.

  She lowered herself inside the car, slammed the door and engaged the locks. “Oh God, Revan, are you okay?” Her fingers stroked my feathers, as if searching for damage.

  When she touched my left wing, I hissed.

  “You’re hurt. Let me take care of you.” She set me onto the passenger seat and started the car.

  I sat on the upholstery and tried not to let the pain show while the vehicle sped down the road.

  “I thought you’d left.” She shot me a quick glance then refocused on the street ahead. “You shouldn’t have tried to protect me.”

  From my low vantage point, I watched the tops of buildings give way to trees.

  Flicking the blinker lever, she eyed me for a moment. “Seeing him today made me realize he’s incapable of love—always has been. All these years, I thought something was wrong with me.”<
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  I shifted, careful to not stretch my crushed wing. Feeling dizzy, I hunkered down, afraid I’d pass out, fall off the seat, and break a leg. Some brave warrior I’d be, then. Time seemed to fade in and out.

  She parked the car.

  The sudden lack of momentum sharpened my attention.

  A line appeared between her eyebrows. “You don’t look well. Let’s go inside. I need to look at that wing.” With a soft caress, she cradled my body and lifted me so I could hop onto her shoulder.

  Clinging with the last bit of strength within, I should’ve been embarrassed I was being coddled like a helpless baby, but I was so relieved her father didn’t hurt her I shoved my pride away and focused on staying upright. I hated needing her help but realized that’s what people do for those they care about—they take care of each other, no matter what.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sophie Brannigan

  Keeping one hand on his feathered back, I threw open the wooden door and entered the old farmhouse. Frying chicken and baking rolls assaulted my nose, but I didn’t have time to stop.

  “Hi, honey. How was work?” Aunt Merle turned, a spatula in one hand. “Oh.” Her eyebrows climbed. “I wondered where he’d went.”

  “Work was good.” I hesitated, wondering if I should mention what had happened with Daddy and Revan. He didn’t seem to be in immediate danger, as far as I could tell, but I wanted to get him alone and reassure myself he was okay—without her sharp eyes and sharper ears.

  “You taking him to your room?” Her head nodded toward the second floor.

  “Yeah. I’ll let him out the window when he’s ready to go.”

  She eyed the bird. “It looks like his wing is bent.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded and stepped onto the bottom stair. “I think he flew into a window or something. He’s probably fine, but I want to check him, just in case.”

  “Alright, then.” Her lips pursed, and she swiveled to the stove. “Supper’ll be ready soon.”