Chapter 29
So it Goes...
Raven
"What story do you want to hear tonight, my little bird?”
Her voice is soft and warm like the blankets tucked under my chin.
“The magic poem!”
I sit up, letting the excitement bubble in my chest. But her gentle hands ease me back down. Her fingers start gliding through my hair, working through the tangles of the day.
“Shhh, lay back down,” she murmurs, her presence as familiar as the stars outside my window.
Her voice dips into a low whisper and she starts where she always does. She tells the story like it's a secret just for the two of us.
“Once, there was a king who was always grumpy.”
I giggle, like I do every time she tells this one.
“Some say it was because he didn’t have a woman to love,” she continues, her tone playful.
I press my lips together, stifling another laugh.
“Others would even say he had a woman, and that’s why he was grumpy.”
She chuckles at her own words and her eyes crinkle. The magic of the story starts to wrap itself around me, like it belongs to me and me alone.
“One day, he met the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen,” she lowers her voice, drawing me closer to the edge of the story. “She had hair like midnight. She was wild, and everything he found intolerable.”
I peek out from the covers, wide-eyed, and hanging onto every word.
“She spoke her mind. She never took things at face value. She always had to know the truth for herself. And that infuriated the king most of all. He never knew what she would say or do next. She was always causing trouble, and he wanted nothing to do with her.”
She pauses, tilting her head, waiting.
I take the bait.
“And yet?” I whisper.
Her lips twitch into that knowing smile, the one that makes me feel like she's already got me cornered.
“And yet,” she continues, “try as he might, he couldn't stay away. He was infatuated. Obsessed, some would say. He knew that loving her would eventually cost him, but it was a price he was more than willing to pay, in the end.”
My fingers clutch the blanket tighter. “Did the king stay away?”
She brushes a stray curl from my face, her expression is soft, but her eyes are distant.
“Oh, no, my little bird. Kings are very stubborn that way. He loved her beyond reason. He chose her, and with that choice, he sealed his fate. And hers.”
The warmth in her voice fades, giving way to something heavier.
“He knew she carried a power as ancient as the stars. Magic that was as fierce as it was beautiful. He understood that if he bound himself to her, every child in his line would inherit her wildness, her fire… and her power.”
Her fingers still in my hair.
“Every daughter. Every son. Would carry the mark and have her spark of something dangerous.”
The air is charged with something I don’t understand, and I almost think I imagined it. She speaks so softly, that it sounds like she's speaking them more to the night than to me.
“It was never broken,” she whispers.
There's a long pause before she speaks again.
“You’re running out of time.”
I freeze, looking up at her. Her eyes are distant, and unfocused, like she’s seeing something I can’t. Her words linger, and for the first time, I wonder if there’s something more to this story?
“Raven?”
Kane’s voice slices through the haze, grounding me too fast. I blink up at him, the memory, or whatever the hell that was, already slipping away.
I’m crouched on the floor holding a shard of broken pottery, like a total lunatic.
“Yes. Sorry. What’s up?” I quickly force my tone as casual as I can, like I wasn’t just seconds away from mentally unraveling into the dirt.
He crosses his arms, studying me. His eyes sweep over the broken pieces at my feet, then back to the way my fingers clutch around one a little too tightly.
“I should be the one asking you that.” His voice is low, but there’s an edge to it. “You wandered over here, crouched down, and started picking up broken pottery. Care to explain what you’re doing?”
I swallow, scrambling for an excuse that doesn’t make me sound like I’ve lost my grip on reality.
“Oh, right. I just… thought I’d pick up the broken pieces so no one else would cut themselves.”
He looks down at my hand, at the tiny bead of blood, and the sharpness in his face dulls for half a second. “Seems like you’re the only one who keeps getting hurt.”
His voice is gentle, but it’s laced with something that looks a lot like concern. And that sends an odd thrill through me.
I straighten too quickly, brushing off my dress, waving it off before he can look at me like that again. “It’s nothing,” I say, but my body has other plans, because even as I dismiss it, my pulse refuses to slow the fuck down.
But unfortunately, Kane doesn’t let shit slide. I try to walk away, but his fingers catch my wrist.
“Let me see.” His voice dips to that tone that says arguing is pointless. He’s got that look that says he's already decided, and I’m just along for the ride.
I huff out a laugh, “Oh, what, are you suddenly a doctor now?”
“Let me have a look.”
It's softer this time, but no less insistent.
I sigh dramatically, holding my hand. “Fine, Dr. Kane. Knock yourself out.”
His scowl melts into a slow smirk, looking far too amused. When he takes my hand, I forget the sting entirely.
“It’s not that deep, Princess. No need for dramatics.”
Then he winks. I swear this man is so insufferable.
Without any kind of warning, he drags me toward the sink like this is an emergency situation. It's a good thing I have fast reflexes or I would've tripped. And, of course this damn room has its own sink, why wouldn’t it.
I start to argue, but he grabs a towel and runs it under the water. My hand is caught in his and before I can pull back, his fingers settle around mine.
“You know,” I murmur, desperate to focus on literally anything else, “I could’ve done this myself.”
Kane makes a quiet noise, while his thumb presses slightly against my wrist. “Sure you could’ve.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t ignore the way his touch sends tiny jolts of awareness through me. Or the way his fingers are slightly rough and seem to have way too much power over my breathing.
He looks up and the heat in his eyes is enough to make my pulse trip over itself. I know he's hot, and it's obvious that I want him, but fuck. I need to get a grip.
I look away immediately, determined to keep my cool, but it’s too late. Because when he pulls my hand from the water, and wraps it with the damp towel, his eyes are already trailing up my arm, pausing at my chest, and settling on my lips.
My grip tightens around the counter, but I catch myself too late. His eyes snap back to mine and something dark slides across his face.
“You’re staring again.”
“Still enjoying the view,” I manage, forcing a shrug, but my voice is quieter than I want it to be.
His eyes narrow slightly, and whatever intensity was there before, doubles. He devours me with his eyes and he isn't subtle about it.
The terrifying part is how much I don't hate it. Being pinned with the full weight of his attention is a thrill I shouldn't crave this much.
I’m caught in his pull, while my pulse hammers in my ears. My hands start to tingle just enough to remind me how far gone I am, and all I can do is stare back, completely captivated. The sensible part of my brain is nowhere to be found.
He moves closer, lifting his hand as his fingers slowly brush against my cheek as he unties my mask, the silk unraveling effortlessly beneath his touch. He slides it off, sets it down, and I forget how to breathe.
The world narrows to what little space is left between us and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to close the damn distance and take what I want. Which is a scary thought, because I don't know where that came from.
“You are a wild one, you know that?”
His voice sends a thrill pulsing through me and I swear I could come on the spot. Also a terrifying thought.
“Thank you?” I manage, but it comes out shaky and more like a question.
His lips twitch, but that doesn't stop his fingers that are currently grazing my neck. Every inch of me he touches comes alive, tingling with a heat so sharp I feel it everywhere.
“You’re also dangerous.”
His voice is rough and dark, and now his fingers are making their way down my arm, leaving a shiver in their wake.
I laugh, shaking my head even as my body leans toward him. “That’s rich coming from you.” Trying desperately to sound casual. But his touch scrambles every thought I have. “If anyone’s dangerous here, it’s you.”
His lips are on mine, stealing the breath right out of me, swallowing my gasp like he owns it. Thank. Fucking. God.
He tastes exactly like I remember, intoxicating with that faint woodsy bite that’s unmistakably him. This isn’t like before. This isn’t a kiss meant to tease. It’s a goddamn war.
His tongue parts my lips, tangling with mine in a kiss so deep, so devastating, it burns right through me. A groan slips free, and the moment it does, his grip tightens. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head back to take more. And I let him.
The dress. The party. The world outside. All of it fades. All that’s left is him.
His mouth, his hands, his body pressing into mine like he wants to bury himself so deep I’ll never get him out again.
I feel his hands dragging down my sides, firm and possessive, like he’s staking his claim inch by inch, and I feel every scorching second of it.
A small noise slips from me, a desperate sound that only makes him kiss me harder, like he’s been starving for this.
His grip tightens at my hips, hauling me against him, and oh, fuck. The thick, hard length of him that's pressing against my stomach is undeniable, and it only fuels the fire. My fingers fist his shirt, yanking him closer. My nails dig in just to see if I can break that impossible control of his.
I want to see him lose it. I want him to snap.
I grind against him, and the sound he makes in response is filthy enough to send feeling rolling straight between my thighs.