Raven Chapter 19 Bad Men and Blanket Burritos 241 #4
“Here’s what we’re going to do. Anik, you’ll be in charge of weight and resistance training.
I’ll take the afternoons. Twice a day, no compromises.
” His eyes land on me then like he knows I’m about to groan or ask that maybe Kieran or Dre train me in the afternoons.
I’m way more likely to talk them into skipping one occasionally.
“Emerson, your priority is her magic. See if you can get her controlling it instead of just lashing out blindly.”
I flinch a little at that, because the truth of his statement hits like a physical blow.
There’s also a big, fat fuck you rising from my hindbrain.
I’d like to see them try to disarm a nuclear bomb every time they feel a strong emotion.
Is that taken into account? Of course not.
Granted, I’m not the one disarming the bomb either—that falls on my familiars.
I really need to get them a cookie. Or maybe a spa day. Or maybe laid? Would that be weird?
Forrest’s gaze lands on me, pulling me from my bizarre train of thought. The look he’s giving me is final and resembles granite, which means I’m really, really not going to like this next bit.
“And until we have a solution, Raven, you don’t leave this apartment.” His voice is quiet but absolute. “It’s the only way we can guarantee your safety right now.”
He drones on a little more about procurement lists for Silas, but the words turn to static in my ears. I don’t bother telling them it’s pointless. I have no control. Anything they give me, I’ll just destroy, just like the pendant.
A cold, sharp fear lances through me: what if the same thing happens to the guys’ hearts? What if this thing I want so badly—this connection, this family—isn’t possible for me? What if I’m so fundamentally broken that I end up hurting them, and it’s all my fault for not staying well enough alone?
Just as the anxiety threatens to pull me under, Leandre is there, kneeling in front of me, his hand extended. A silent offer. An anchor. I don’t say a word, just slip my hand into his, hoping with everything I am that he’s about to take care of me in ways I can’t even begin to do for myself.
He leads me into a bathroom I recognize, and I want to kiss him for somehow knowing exactly what I need. I hear him moving around, fuss with the shower, then leave. Meanwhile, my brain remains a fuzzy, blessedly silent black hole for the entire time I’m stripping down and stepping into the shower.
I come back to myself a little as the hot water curls around me. I stand under the spray for much longer than is probably necessary, but by the end of it, the grime of the garage and the static in my mind have washed down the drain. I feel… solid again.
Stepping out, I find a set of clothes folded neatly on a little wooden bench.
A giant, fluffy towel hangs from the heated rack.
When I wrap it around myself, I decide the heated rack is the prime example of why individuals deserve more credit than the gods.
They never gifted anyone with something so perfect.
Nope, this was all earth-dweller ingenuity.
The towel is warmed to a panty-melting temperature. Panty-melting because, now that I’m out of that fuzzy, detached space, I’m realizing all over again how insanely attractive it is to have a man who knows exactly how to take care of me.
I pull on the lounge set. It’s a new one. It’s also soft, warm, and right now, it feels like a suit of armor made of peace.
I zombie-walk to my room, my only goal to curl up in bed and cease to exist for a few hours. Apparently, corporeal life is way harder than I gave anyone credit for. I need to go back in time and leave myself a note: Criticize less. Empathize more. This shit is hard.
Once I’m in my little room, I see a tray on my bed with a cup of tea, a few chunks of chocolate, and a dental charm. Seriously, if Dre asked me to marry him right now, I would. I don’t even know why he left me a pair of underwear with this lounge set if his goal was to just ruin it.
Speaking of, I drop down and dig through my pile of stolen goods until I'm pulling out one of Anik's thermals.
The set is comfy, but nothing will ever compare to wearing their clothes.
I strip down once again, take off my panties because there's no point ruining them any more than I already have, and slip the giant shirt on over my head.
I glance around for the rest of my clothes—the mountain I dumped on the bed earlier—but it's gone. Someone's been in here. My tired brain files that away under "problems for later Raven" because right now, I don't have the energy to care. Anik's thermal is on. That's what matters.
I settle into bed, noting someone, probably Kieran, procured me the squishy blanket I declared as mine earlier. Drawing it up around me like the most comfortable hooded cloak in existence, I get lost in the joy of sensation.
The tea isn't the same one as earlier; this one seems to do the opposite. No energy zinging through me, just... quiet. The sharp ache behind my eyes is finally starting to fade.
I have the dawning realization that I now know what a headache feels like. Not a fun discovery, but at least now I know what to call it.
Not exactly the "finally alive" list items I was hoping to check off, but beggars can't be choosers.
When the teacup is empty, and not a sliver of chocolate remains, I pop the dental charm in and climb out of my burrito as it goes to work.
By the time it’s completely dissolved, my breath is minty fresh, and I’m comfortably curled up under the sheets.
The scent of Anik and the embrace of my stolen blanket perches me right at the edge of sleep, tempting me deeper.
And I try, boy do I try, but there’s an incessant ache that just won’t go away. The entire day has just been a whirlwind of attractive men doing attractive things, and to expect me just to sleep after all of that?
Forget about it.
Sighing in defeat, I decide sleep can wait.
There's a different kind of oblivion I'm chasing tonight.
My fingers find their way between my legs, and I let the day's chaos crystallize into one potent fantasy.
It's Forrest's stern mouth on mine, Anik's hands pinning my wrists, Kieran's laughter in my ear, Emerson's analytical gaze watching my every reaction, Leandre's cool skin against my feverish heat.
I let the images crash over me. A tidal wave of "what if" and "someday," I chase the feeling, winding myself tighter and tighter until I shatter, the whirlwind of the day collapsing into a single, perfect point of quiet satisfaction.