Raven Chapter 13 Familiars and Forgotten Pain 148 #3
As he describes it, an image flashes in my mind—not clear, more like a feeling given fuzzy form. A small, perfect berry, glowing like captured sunlight in a deep, peaceful wood.
Zero clue if that's even close to accurate. He said boggy. Miserable. Wet. But my brain doesn't care about accuracy. It sees him, in all his glory, and puts him in a peaceful wood with sunlight and berries.
So that's where he lives now. Right alongside the berries he smells like.
I look at Kieran. Dre said it like a memory, soft and far away. I'll have to find some . Like a wish, not a plan.
Kieran's already nodding, that glint in his eye that means he's jumped up to current favorite. I think he’s the only one that can read my looks already.
"We'll find ye some cloudberries, wisp."
I just smile. He'll do it. He'll find a way to give me that joy—it's what he does. Now if I could just convince him to let me past those walls he's hiding behind—the ones made of jokes and chaos and relentless sunshine.
My mind drifts to Forrest. Another wall. Just a different kind. This one I want to climb. Or maybe just destroy, brick by stubborn brick. Eventually, I'll get through to Mr. Made of Stone. But that's a long game.
Buckle up, bitch. We're in this for the long haul.
I know he's behind me, ready to spout more rules. But the heat of him is a distraction. That scent—sun-baked stone—makes me want to lean back and soak in his warmth.
So I do.
He goes rigid instantly. His hands come up, gentle but firm, grasping my arms and setting me back on my feet before he steps away. Full step. Distance re-established.
I turn, give him my sunniest smile. "One of these days, we are totally going to snuggle. Consensually. Just you wait."
He opens his mouth—probably to list ten procedural reasons that will never happen—but Anik's voice cuts through first.
"Training is over."
I realize Em and Anik have finished their sparring session and are now toweling off. My eyes are glued to the show. You could physically pluck them from my head, and they’d just float there, cartoon-style, trying to drink up all the deliciousness on display.
Anik’s gaze, dark and intent, lands directly on me.He jerks his head toward the kitchen. "Real food. Now."
I roll my eyes, but immediately fall into step behind him. Arguing is pointless, and he’s not wrong. Food.
I trudge to the kitchen, my legs feeling like they weigh way more than they should.
Somehow, the aftermath of my chocolate-fueled rampage is gone.
The kitchen sits in its usual state of gleaming, militant order.
I’m about to ask how he did that while in the training room with us, when he points a commanding finger at the stool I sat on earlier.
“Sit.” Is all he says before throwing on an apron, this one stating The Kitchen Is My Kingdom. You Are My Guest.
I frantically look around to try to find Kieran. I have ideas that need to be made into aprons immediately. To my disappointment, though, none of the guys followed us. They must all be showering, so I ask Anik the question I know Forrest will never answer.
“What does Ro-ro smell like?”
Anik just cocks his brow at my nickname for him then gives a little smirk of his own. “Preacher smells like a sauna. Cedar and hot stone.”
I can’t respond. My brain has been hijacked by a vivid image of Ro-ro in a sauna—hot, sweaty, and magnificently stacked. The man should monetize that view. Actually, no—he absolutely should not. Because if he did, I’d be forced to commit crimes. The ogling rights are mine and mine alone.
The moment Anik starts pulling ingredients from the fridge, my heart does a stupid, hopeful little flip. He’s making his classic skillet hash. And this time… this time I’ll get to taste it. No more watching from the sidelines for this ghost.
Well, former ghost. Current clumsy mortal.
He moves with a quiet efficiency that's mesmerizing. The heavy cast iron skillet lands on the burner with a definitive thud. Oil shimmers. Then the first glorious sound—the aggressive hiss as the potatoes hit the heat.
I lean forward, drawn in. The scent washes over me, and... oh.
Oh.
It's comforting. Which shouldn't surprise me—the guys themselves smell comforting, which tracks. But food ? I never would have thought. Food was just... fuel. A concept. Something people did to stay alive.
This is different. This is warmth and safety wrapped up in a single smell. Like being wrapped in a heavy, toasty sweater.
Garlic and onion hit the pan next. The fragrant cloud of warmth and spice makes my stomach clench. Then the sausage goes in, and the scent shifts to something primal. I check my chin for drool.
As he tosses the skillet with a flick of his wrist, sending the hash flying and landing back in a perfect, sizzling heap, the realization crashes over me. This isn't just a meal; this is Anik in food form.
He flicks his wrist, tossing the skillet. The hash flies, then lands back in a perfect, sizzling heap.
I've watched him make this dozens of times. But I was only ever watching .
Now, with the scent wrapping around me like a blanket, I finally get it. This isn't just a meal. It's him. Every layer. Every note. The foundation, the complexity, the raw edge.
I just didn't have the senses to understand before.
“You will not cry over potatoes,” I tell myself, trying to be the bad bitch I know I am and shoving the awe-filled tears inside of me again.
I hear a snort to my right and practically fall off the chair. Kieran is sitting right next to me, looking like he’d rather eat me than Anik’s hash.
As everything else that isn’t food related slowly comes into focus, I realize, at some point, while I was immersed in the reality of Anik making breakfast, the rest of the guys have filled the remaining seats at the island.
I decide I might as well take this opportunity to conspire under the cover of sizzling potatoes.
“Psst.” I lean in and whisper to Kieran. “I need to commission a few aprons.”
His smile grows until it feels like I’m looking directly into the sun. “Ideas, aye? A certain grumpus has a birthday comin’ up soon, and I’m clean out of inspiration.” The sizzling cuts off, and he switches to a barely-there whisper. “Find me later, wisp.”
When I look over to my other side, I realize Em is there, dissecting me with his eyes again. He's cataloging every micro-expression, every breath. A wave of heat floods me, so potent it's almost embarrassing.
Okay, so the whole 'silent, brooding genius' thing is officially doing it for me. Noted. Is this a problem? Nope. Don't see a problem here.
I arch a single eyebrow at him, a silent acknowledgment of his scrutiny and my own unwillingness to be cowed by it. Let him stare. I find I rather like being his favorite subject.
I wonder how this same intensity would translate to more private settings?
A jolt, sharp and unexpected, goes through me at the mere idea, and I let out a faint, involuntary sound.
What in the nine realms is happening? My body is humming with a strange, restless energy, a deep, fluttering ache settling low in my stomach.
The ache seems to cause a chain reaction that has me leaking profusely.
Is this normal? Should I be leaking so aggressively? This doesn’t feel normal. Also, I feel empty. Why do I feel empty?
My core clenches, and I have to stifle a moan.
I didn’t even know it could do that. I do it again and barely resist the temptation to bite my fist. I see a faint glow and look over to find Kieran's eyes blazing, locked on me with an intensity that rivals Emerson's.
The air suddenly feels too thick to breathe.
I fan my flushed face, wondering if it would be utterly ridiculous to excuse myself. There's this strange urgency thrumming under my skin, and I have a powerful, undeniable urge to go somewhere private and figure out what on earth my body is trying to tell me.
I should probably consult with Dre soon and make sure I’m not malfunctioning. I still don’t trust that those asshole gods gave me a normal, perfectly functioning body. The other shoe has to drop at some point, right?
As Anik is plating up the food and I’m still reeling from my internal crisis, a soft tap-tap-tap draws my attention to the window. I turn to see two familiar silhouettes perched on the railing outside. Two out of my three best friends.
Without a second thought, I launch myself from the stool. I only trip twice on the way to the glass door, which feels like a personal victory. Ignoring the sudden swell of agitated voices behind me, I slip outside.
“Hey, guys!” I say, my smile stretching wide. “Look! I’m a real girl now!” I do a little, unsteady twirl and finish with a bow.
I reach up to scratch behind their heads, my fingers sinking into the impossibly smooth, silky feathers.
A soft, contented cooing spills from both of them.
I’m so lost in the sensation that the sound of the door snicking shut behind me is loud enough to startle me.
I turn to find all five men standing there, a wall of tension.
Two sharp, stinging pains—one on each hand—snap my head back around. I pull my hands away to find two neat cuts welling with crimson blood. A morbid curiosity takes over. I bring my hand to my mouth and lick.
“Hmm. Blood is… salty?” I muse aloud. A chorus of sharp intakes of breath sounds from behind me.
A low, rumbling growl follows. “Come here, little one,” Anik commands, his voice tight.
I ignore him. These are my besties; they wouldn't hurt me without reason.
But when my eyes dart to Leandre, I see his gaze has dilated, zeroed in on the blood beading on my skin with frighteningly arousing intensity.
Just when I had tamped that shit down, too.
My feathered friends shift beside me. When I look back, they're no longer fully birds.