Raven Chapter 13 Familiars and Forgotten Pain 148 #4
Starting from the edges, a living, velvety black smoke unravels their shapes. It drifts toward me—sentient, deliberate—and I can't look away. It wraps around my hands. Slithers up my arms. Pours itself directly into the open cuts.
The pain is instant. Blinding.
A grunt tears from my throat as my knees hit concrete. The guys surround me, voices a chaotic blend of argument and panic, but I can't hear them. Can't focus on anything except the fire.
It feels like a branding iron—not just on my skin, but down to my very bones. Deep. Searing across my back, my sides, even beneath my breasts. I'd be screaming if the pain didn't feel so godsdamn familiar.
My body knows this agony. Horrific, intimate déjà vu. I grit my teeth and endure.
I tune them out. Focus on breathing. It'll either end, or it'll kill me.
Either way, I won't have to worry about it anymore.
The fire eventually remembers it's not supposed to kill me. Just scar me, apparently.
I groan, pushing myself to my feet. My entire torso throbs like one massive bruise.
All of them fall silent, watching me with a mixture of fear and wary confusion. I just stare back and shrug.
A shriek escapes me as a bizarre, skittering sensation moves across my torso, like something is shifting and settling just beneath my skin. Acting on pure instinct, I grab the hem of my shirt and yank it up to my chin, stopping just short of flashing everyone. My mouth falls open.
Inked across my torso are two magnificent ravens.
From what I can see, their bodies are on my sides, with one enormous, intricately detailed wing spread across each of my rib cages.
The primary feathers curl under my breasts, their delicate tips kissing the runes inked down my sternum.
It’s breathtaking. I do a little spin, desperately trying to see my back, but fail spectacularly.
"So," I start, my voice sounding blasé, “anyone have any theories as to what in the worlds just happened?"
I should probably be panicking, but I never have conformed super well. Plus, my besties wouldn’t do something like hurt me.
I look to Em because, let’s be honest, if anyone is going to know, it’s him.
He takes a few graceful steps toward me, his gaze locked on my hands like he’s cataloging and analyzing every tiny detail with an intensity that matches everything he does.
When I follow his gaze to my hands again, I see it—the cuts from Huginn and Muninn have vanished, replaced by two new, intricate black runes etched into my skin.
Without a word, his long, cool fingers encircle my wrist. His thumb traces the marks with the precise pressure of a scholar examining ancient text.
A shiver, sharp and electric, races up my arm.
Gods, if you take the euphoria of touch away from me, I will personally drag you into this plane and bury you.
I threaten internally as my eyes flutter closed on a soft, involuntary sigh. I don’t want him to stop.
When I open my eyes, his amber gaze is still locked on me, but it’s changed from the detached analysis from a minute ago. Now it’s back to the carnal obsessiveness I love so much. Like I’m a masterpiece of nature he needs to understand on a cellular level.
Once again, I’m wishing I could sneak off and tend to some badly timed needs. I also really need to learn how to use the laundry machine, because at this rate, I’m going to be out of underwear by the end of the day.
A throat clears. We both look over. Kieran. That knowing, delighted smirk firmly in place.
"So." He draws it out, voice dripping with implication. "Was that what I think it was? Because it looked awfully familiar from where I'm standin'."
Forrest's voice cuts through, cool and definitive. "A claiming." Single, sharp nod. His gaze fixes on my newly marked torso like he's assessing a new strategic variable.
My eyebrow arches. "And what's a claiming?"
I turn to Kieran. “Also, you said that looked familiar.” I eye him up and down skeptically, lingering on certain… assets. “Do you have a tattoo that moonlights as an animal in a naughty place or something?”
Kieran just laughs. Em finally releases my hand, and I seriously consider stabbing him. The loss of his touch should be classified as a crime. Punished accordingly.
He looks from my torso to my face, and just like that, the analytical mask slides back into place.
“Your familiars have claimed you,” he says, his British accent making the supposed clarification sound way more helpful than it actually was.
I blink, waiting for more. When none comes, I look pointedly at Kieran.
Right. Emerson gives the textbook answer. Kieran translates it into actual words.
Kieran grins like he suddenly learned how to read minds. Or, and this is just a maybe, I shouldn’t play poker.
“We’ve seen it happen once before,” he explains, his gaze flicking meaningfully toward the others. "Back when we took Silas on—our resident warlock."
"My familiars?" I ask, still lost but happy I've at least confirmed he doesn't have a hidden dick tattoo I didn't know about. Me being wrong would just be a delightful surprise for later.
Em's eyes light up—the man is genuinely psyched to share. Honestly, if he weren't so obviously a subspecies of elf, I'd swear he was some kind of nerd dragon, hoarding knowledge and 1950s tech.
"Powerful magical bloodlines are sometimes chosen by familiars.
" His voice drops, gets all low and reverent.
The tone he uses for things that genuinely captivate him—which is basically just information, let's be real.
"The mechanism of selection is a mystery, but the purpose is not.
They form a symbiotic bond to help balance and control immense power.
They are anchors, and in return, they offer absolute protection to their bonded witch or warlock. "
His eyes gleam. "They are the ultimate safeguard for a source of power too great to be left unguarded."
“So why was that pain so familiar? Have I had one before?”
All eyes are trained on me now as I drop my shirt back into place over my torso.
“What do you mean the pain was familiar?” Dre asks.
I shrug, "The pain was familiar somehow. I don't know how to explain it, but I knew it would end, so I just... rode it out."
Emerson's eyes light up—I can practically hear him retreating into his brain, running calculations. I want to ask more, but a massive yawn cuts me off, followed by a groan as something new settles into my muscles. Dull. Uncomfortable. Tight.
I sift through forty years of human complaints filed away in my brain. Gym talk. Heavy lifting. Whining about stairs the next day.
Oh. This is soreness. This is what they were all bitching about.
Dre steps forward, motioning back inside. “You need food and sleep.” His eyes roam over me with concern. “You didn’t fall asleep until early this morning, then got up only a couple hours later to search the kitchen.”
“Destroyed the kitchen," Anik interjects dryly before using his bulk to start guiding the mass of bodies into the kitchen.
I shovel a forkful of the skillet hash into my mouth the minute my ass hits the seat, and my brain short-circuits. Forget the ghost thing; this is the real out-of-body experience.
Anik watches me, arms crossed, like a grumpy sculptor waiting for a critique on his masterpiece.
Joke's on him, because coherent thought has left the building. The potatoes are these perfect little golden cubes of crispy-on-the-outside, fluffy-on-the-inside joy. The sausage is so savory and peppery it should be illegal, and the way the cheese is all melted and clinging to everything feels... downright indecent. It’s like the food version of a perfect one-night stand.
Or at least I’m assuming, since I’ve never had one before, but the sounds that are made during those are similar to the ones I’m making right now.
The sound that escapes me is absolutely not appropriate for the kitchen table. It’s a half-moan, half-sigh of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
Anik's eyebrow twitches. "Is it acceptable?"
"Acceptable? Big guy, if this is your idea of acceptable, I'm not sure my body can handle what you consider 'exceptional.' This is... wow. I finally understand why you're so possessive of the kitchen. If I could cook like this, I'd never let anyone else in here either."
I take another bite, my eyes fluttering closed. "Seriously. Are you trying to seduce me? Because this is a way more effective tactic than growling. Just a tip for your future repertoire."
I bury myself after that in a sea of decadence, making sure every last morsel is accounted for and residing in its new home—my stomach. When I tune back in, I realize the guys are all discussing their plans for the day.
Meanwhile, I feel like a water balloon that's about to explode. So I just let it all flow over me and slip into what I'm pretty sure is a coma. If I die, at least Anik will know it was his cooking that did me in. A truly noble way to go.
"I'll head to Hell's Bend today and see if I cannae sweet talk someone out of some security footage. I wanted to do that this morning but The Lorelei had some issues with our promotion being a wee bit too popular." Kieran admits, and for a moment I’m rising out of my food coma to stab a bitch named Lorelei. That is, until I realize he’s talking about his club, so I sink back into it.
“Anik and I will be with the supes we rescued last night. They all need to be medically cleared, interviewed, then reunited with their families or set up somewhere if they have no one.” Dre says as I float carelessly through my newly enlightened state.
“I’ll be in the office. Emerson, you’ll be here with Raven.” Forrest informs him.
The prospect of that sounds way too good not to swim up to the surface and crack my eyes open. Me? Alone with Emerson? Yes, please.
Forrest does a weird little head tilt thing towards me while making eye contact with Kieran, and he sighs before coming over and helping me off my stool. He leads me down the hallway, and I look back to see Forrest quietly lecturing everyone using his super stern boss face.
“What am I missing?” I ask Kieran, who looks weirdly deflated.
"Ach, nothin', wisp, just Saint ruinin' everyone's fun." I know there’s more, but he just looks so dejected that I can’t seem to bring myself to grill him. Plus, I still feel like one of those water balloons, and he seems to be leading me to my bedroom.
My heart soars for a second, thinking I'm about to cross orgasms off my list, but he just pulls back the covers, settles me in, wishes me a good nap, then leaves. I look after him longingly, my body giving a half-hearted twitch of protest before my full, heavy stomach vetoes the motion entirely.
A few decades without sleep, and now I need it constantly. The gods have a sick sense of humor.
But also? Kieran tucked me in.
No surprise—I'm the punchline of some celestial joke I'll never understand. Joke's on them, though. This time around, I get a nap and a view first.