Raven Chapter 35 Cashmere and Questionable Life Choices 438
Raven
When the game ends a few hours later, Emerson is the obvious winner, with Forrest coming in as a close second.
I throw my hands up. “You killed the vibes, Em! But fine, you get this one. My sheep are safe.”
“Well played, everyone,” Dre says, even though he barely played—he mostly made sure we all had tea and snacks.
Lunch is a simple sandwich bar. When I voice my disappointment, I’m just told, “We’re making sure you have room for the next part of the day.”
Well, color me intrigued.
“Am I finally going to see how Sam and Frodo destroy that ring?” I ask.
It’s a serious question. I really need to know how they get along with it. I mean, Sam almost died on purpose because Frodo tried to leave him. Not only is that feeling super relatable—it’s the kind of ride-or-die energy I want in my life.
“We are going to the Fae Night Market,” Dre informs me.
“Oh, what’s that?” I ask, bouncing a little.
“You’ll have to wait and find out once we’re all done,” I hear Selena say and turn around to find her standing in the doorway.
She pushes off the frame, slides across the floor in her socks, grabs my hand, and drags me out of the kitchen. When we get to her room, she practically throws me inside and shuts the door.
I’m about to ask what’s happening when my eyes land on the dress spread across her bed. Without conscious thought, I’m moving toward it, sinking my fingers into the fabric.
Holy siren titties, this thing feels like a cloud.
It’s a long-sleeved, fit-and-flare gown dyed the color of twilight. Delicate, shimmering flowers are embroidered all over it—tiny blossoms that seem to shift in the light. It looks like something you’d wear to a wedding if it took place in a secret magical garden.
“It’s cashmere,” Selena says. “Have the guys not introduced you to that yet?”
I shake my head, “We only had time to go to one store before the whole parking garage incident. They didn’t have anything like this. Granted, the place was massive so I could have just missed it.”
She snorts, “Bigger doesn’t mean better.” She motions to the gown, “Dress code is ‘enchanted evening.’ Enra got me an invite too so I’ll be there at the same time you are. She and Flare are off somewhere trying to find a dress for me.”
“They did this?” I ask, still petting the dress like it’s a beloved cat.
She looks at me, offended, “Hells no, this was all me.”
I throw myself at her for a hug. “Thank you! I love it!”
She just grins as she motions for me to undress. “No loungewear, no polyester, and, for the love of the gods, no iron jewelry. It’s rude.”
As I slip into the dress, I have to keep myself from moaning. It’s impossibly soft—like being wrapped in a warm cloud.
It has a graceful boat neckline that skims the top of my shoulders, elegant and open. But the real magic is in the back —a deep, plunging dip that sweeps down between my shoulder blades, leaving skin bare in a way that feels daring and delicate.
Selena hands me what looks like two shimmering, petal-shaped patches. “Magic bra cups,” she says with a wink. “They adhere with intent, not adhesive. Think lift and support, and they’ll do the rest. No straps, no bands—just you and the dress.”
I press them into place. They warm against my skin immediately, molding seamlessly and holding everything up exactly where I want it. It feels like being held by a gentle, invisible hand.
You are not going to get turned on by a magical bra cup right now . I tell myself, happy I’ll finally be getting some orgasms tonight by someone who isn’t myself. And, if I have anything to say about it, they’ll be as aggressive and delicious as possible.
“Okay, real talk,” she says, lowering her voice as she moves my thumbs into the little holes on the sleeves.
“The guys will give you the ‘don’t eat the food unless otherwise labeled, don’t make promises’ speech.
But there’s something they won’t say.” She meets my eyes, and the lightbulb that went off at my first experience of these thumb hole things winks off. “Watch Emerson.”
I pause. “Why?”
“He doesn’t trust the fae. And they really don’t trust him. He’s… an outsider among his own kind. Too emotional. Too human in his thinking.”
I just blink because, sure, the man is stab-happy and obsessive. But emotional? Not in the way normal people mean it. He shows his feelings through violence and clinical declarations that sound more like lab notes than love letters.
Not that I'm complaining. It's clearly working for me.
She squints at me, “You’ve never met an elf, have you?”
I just shake my head. “No. Even as a ghost, I never came across one.”
"That's normal. Elves are insular—they think anyone who isn't one of them isn't worth their time.
Fae as a whole are more down-to-earth. Emerson is the black sheep of both.
" She sighs. "Even Izzy and the girls were wary of him after the glamour slip.
I had to knock some sense into them. They're coming around now, but we'll see. "
She sits me down in front of a mirror surrounded by lights and starts parting sections of my untamable mass of half-waves, half-curls. I close my eyes and sink into the feeling of someone playing with my hair. I never knew it could feel this good.
When she reaches the end of whatever she’s doing, she speaks again.
“Glamour doesn’t work while we’re at the market, but it’s considered neutral territory. Keep an eye on Emerson. Stick close to the others. And remember—the market is beautiful, but it is not safe.”
I open my eyes.
She’s worked two tiny braids into my hair above each ear, and somehow wrangled the top half into a thick braid dotted with little gold beads. The bottom half falls in soft, tamed beach waves, with the braids draped over them.
It so closely mirrors Dre’s usual style—swapping ink for braids—that I love it even more.
She steps back, smiling softly. “You look like a star that fell into a garden.”
I stare at my reflection. The flowers seem to glow; the gold in my hair catches the light. Selena jolts to the side.
“Oh! And that insane warlock popped in after fighting the town’s barrier to drop this off.” She holds up my crystal necklace.
I jump up, making grabby hands. As soon as she hands it over, I slip it on, the familiar weight settling against my chest. Then I remember. My hand goes to the pocket of my discarded lounge pants, pulling out the ring I'd stolen from Emerson's room. It slides onto my finger like it belongs there.
I wish I had Kieran's guitar pick with me too, but it doesn't exactly scream enchanted garden, and I have no idea where I put the thing.
The sense of rightness washes over me—the crystal tucked between my breasts, the ring sitting heavy on my finger.
Izzy bustles in a moment later with a massive box I’m assuming is Selena’s dress, and shoos me out just as quickly. As I stand in the hallway, the door shutting in my face, I think about offering to help Selena get ready… but I’d probably be more of a hindrance than help.
I sigh and head down the hall toward the stairs, stopping when I reach Em's open door.
He's standing in front of a mirror, no glamour in sight. Sharp features. Pointed ears. That soft purple skin I love. His hair falls in pale, opalescent waves, like it's lit from inside.
And his eyes—amber, intense, almost glowing—are locked on his own reflection.
He’s dressed in a three-piece suit that looks like it stepped out of another century: sharp-fitting waistcoat, tailored trousers, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms lined with slender knives. The fabric is a deep charcoal, making him look severe and elegant.
It shouldn’t look like armor, but on him? It does.
Below the neck, he's a walking armory. Knife on his thigh. Two more on his back. Blades along his ribs, his other thigh, his boots. He adjusts a sheath at his wrist before rolling down his sleeves in a way that feels ritualistic.
Then he reaches for the jacket. As he slips it on, I see the slits in the fabric—perfect little murder-holes lining up with every blade.
The jacket settles like a second skin, turning a walking armory into something that looks like a gourmet pastry.
All refined layers on the outside, hiding a deliciously unhinged filling.
I've seen him geared up as a ghost. But in person? My skin tingles. This isn't watching from the other side of an invisible wall. This is "Academic with a Body Count" in formalwear, right in front of me.
When he catches my gaze in the mirror, his eyes hold mine, unapologetic. Then they slide down my body. The look he’s giving me has my skin going from tingly to on fire.
My brain short-circuits. I do the only thing I can: exit stage left and head straight down the stairs. If I didn’t, I’d have thrown myself at him—and considering how many sharp objects he’s currently wearing, I probably would’ve regretted that. Maybe.
Oh, be real with yourself, you would have loved it. You hussy. My inner voice chides.
When I get downstairs, all the rest of the guys are already there.
Forrest is in his usual charcoal suit, and I have to resist the urge to check his sleeve to see if this one has started fraying yet or if he’s fixed it.
Dre wears a navy pinstripe suit with a pale pink dress shirt, no tie, top button undone. He looks like a Viking about to attend a garden party. Both of us are adorned with matching gold hair beads. I owe Selena another hug.
Kieran, in his usual mix of hedonistic comfort and glamour, is dressed in a deep wine-red velvet blazer embroidered with flowers that look remarkably similar to mine.
Underneath is a bronze-colored silk shirt and a pair of dark dress pants.
My eyes keep catching on the few open buttons at his collar and the gold chain glinting in the light.
Anik—because he could not care less about dress codes—is in his usual tactical gear from head to toe: black fatigue pants, a black long-sleeve shirt that clings to him in ways I’m personally cataloging as sinful, and his heavy-duty combat boots.