Flock (The Ravenhood)

I googled facts about ravens out of curiosity last night and wished I’d done it a lot sooner. Even with their cloak firmly in place, it would have done me a hell of a lot of good just to recognize their traits are very much like that of their mascot.

A group of ravens is called a conspiracy, the irony of that not at all lost on me.

The birds band together in adolescence to form a bond as rebellious teenagers—which I’m sure is when The Ravenhood was formed—until they finally mate out. And the theory on Ravens is that they mate for life.

The wings Layla has on her back are permanent, a branding, a branding she volunteered for. At this point, I’m too hard-pressed to believe any man in my life is sincere enough for that type of commitment, let alone capable of it.

Ravens are also some of the most intelligent birds—which isn’t surprising. Every move they’ve made regarding me was calculated, argued over. I’m sure that more than one of Dominic and Sean’s early garage fights were about me. I suspected as much, but Sean confirmed it.

Dominic and Sean have both preached to me, more than once, that knowledge is power. It’s evident now the only way to become a player in this game is to outsmart them or prove myself by having a valuable secret they aren’t privy to.

It was this morning while I sipped my coffee on my balcony that I realized both Sean and Dominic slowly, subtly, and indirectly gave some of that power to me.

It was the blinking lights that summoned the image of Dominic, tucked in his camping chair with his phone plugged up to his laptop, serving as his internet connection, that flashed through my mind.

A connection that would otherwise be impossible if…there wasn’t a fucking cell tower just a few yards away from him. Once it occurred to me, I’d dropped my coffee on the porch and raced through the house and out the door, through the hundred yards of grass and into the clearing of trees only to feel like the biggest fool alive.

All those times I’d been to their gathering spot, they’d taken me in the back way, making the trip seem endless, a long distance away to mask the fact that their meetup spot, was actually in my literal back yard. This ploy makes perfect sense if you’re on constant watch of your enemy, and his dumb and unassuming daughter.

I wonder why Dominic finally made the decision to let me in.

With too many questions and my position uncertain, my anger only grows.

But I allowed them to manipulate me into believing they have power over me. At some point, I have to be able to demand answers if they want my cooperation. And that’s exactly what I’m determined to get now.

With all that’s been revealed, they just expect me to stay quiet and accept it? Not happening. If I’m in on this secret, I want the details.

I’ll have to tread carefully. So carefully. I’m toeing the line now, a line so narrow, one false step could send me falling into some dark oblivion, right back into the deep end. And that’s what I’m fighting against. The dark I’ve been kept in, with too many unanswered questions. I can either become a part of the game or remain a pawn in it. The latter I refuse to indulge in a day longer.

But the thought that all of this has gone down, and I’ve been blind, so fucking blind because of my feelings and experiences over the last few months is maddening. Drunk with lust and love, I tap-danced along the devil’s tongue only to end up in his throat.

I don’t like helpless. I’m a woman who needs some level of control.

I need an out, a place to kick.

They’ve crippled me. And because of that, I’m in danger, which has me stone-cold sober and constantly looking over my shoulder.

But that’s the thing about ravens. They always seem to be watching.

Now, I’m counting on it.

Rubbing suntan lotion on my bare chest, I sink into the plush lounger… waiting. The company had delivered my request on the fly, courtesy of daddy dearest’s influence, and I’m not above using it for my current purpose.

It didn’t take long for them to set up the sound system, and it was worth every dime of three of my saved paychecks. For the last two hours, I’ve been blasting the same song, straight into the woods at the back of the property.

I want more of an explanation than what Sean gave me.

I’ll follow the rules. No phones. No texts. No emails.

But if they won’t let me come to them, I’m going to make damn sure they come to me.

I’ll be a siren impossible to ignore.

Maybe I’ve read one too many books, but I have faith this tactic will work because there’s no way this isn’t going to turn a few heads, with the added possibility it will lead the curious to this particular secret. By drawing this attention, I might be inviting more danger into my life, but it’s a chance I’m going to have to take.

“K.” by Cigarettes After Sex blasts into the woods on repeat as I settle in for the duration.

And I wait. And I wait.

By the third hour, and the sight of the abandoning sun, I feel the weight of my failure, and finally close my eyes.

These men are infuriating, not only because they are willing to abandon me so easily without ample explanation but because they expect me to fall back to sleep after they’d strapped me to an electric chair.

I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive them for the hurt they’ve caused but being ripped away from them is a hard pill to swallow, despite the betrayal that still courses through me. Fuck them for allowing it.

As I reach back and really think about our conversations, about Sean’s life lessons, the more I start to piece together.

And the more furious I become.

I also realize I do know more, and it’s in the more I see these growing pains are necessary. They both invested a lot of time in me, Sean especially, and I can’t at all find a motive for that other than what I feel in my gut. It keeps bringing me back to the same conclusion—that they do love me back.

My heart aches every beat for two men who made sure to stake a claim on me. But I’m still a woman scorned.

In a matter of months, I went from boy crazy to man insanity. And they made damned sure of it.

I love them, and I hate them. But I can’t walk away from them, as toxic as they may be. Not yet.

But right now, I just want someone to talk to me.

Sighing, I wipe the tears away from beneath my eyes and internally scold myself. Maybe this was a stupid plan.

There’s no room for self-pity, not now, maybe not ever. I can’t believe I was so gullible, playing right into their hands.

Anger thrums through me as I jerk my position back to opposition. I don’t have room to make any more mistakes. I find some satisfaction in knowing that at the very least, I’ve annoyed them. Made my presence known, let them know I’m onto them.

It’s then when I sense I’m not alone, and I allow a lazy smile to upturn my lips. Sliding a hand over my naked breasts, I flatten my palm over my stomach before I lift my hand to shield my eyes.

“Nothing to say?” I taunt, my eyes still closed as a shadow covers me, blocking out the sun. My skin prickles with anticipation as I slowly open my eyes.

And freeze.

For endless seconds we just stare, and in those seconds, I’m made acutely aware of my position, my cape coloring red by eyes so penetrating, they grip me like a hand to the throat.

“We don’t want to let the wolf get a whiff.”

There’s no mistaking it. I’m staring directly into the eyes of said wolf.

He hovers over me, in complete contradiction to my attire in a tailored black suit. Hair the color of a raven’s wing, dark olive skin deepened by the sun, thick dark brows slashed over hostile eyes. Below, a strong prominent nose resting on a chiseled face, thick, God-kissed lips, broad shoulders, defined pecs, a trim waist beneath his open jacket, and muscular thighs that strain against his suit pants.

That’s when I know that knowledge truly is power, and I’ve been utterly stupid to think I had anything figured out.

I’ve been so fucking blind.

I’m drowning in fiery amber depths and nowhere near strong enough to withstand it. It’s the most I’ve ever felt under a man’s gaze in my life. I shuffle to cover my bare breasts as his eyes trail down my body. He’s ready to pounce, his posture livid, his fists clenching at his sides. I’m positive if I were standing, my knees would have buckled under the weight of his blistering gaze.

I’d gotten it totally wrong—one step forward, ten steps back.

“You’re The Frenchman.”