Raven

Chapter 20

TWENTY

"You okay?"

Lachlan's words barely registered as I slumped back into the car. My eyes fixated on the empty space where Tia had stood just moments ago, her words replaying in my mind.

Pregnant.

How could that be?

I mean, I knew how it could be, of course, but what did that mean for us? The concept refused to take shape in my mind, Tia’s words still a jumble of nonsensical sounds. My consciousness drifted somewhere between reality and a surreal haze.

"Hey ..." Lachlan waved a hand in front of my face, his brow furrowed with concern. "You good?"

I managed a weak nod, the revelation having stolen my voice. If I opened my mouth to speak, I feared I'd betray Tia's secret.

"Raven ..." Lachlan hadn't even started the car. "Do you need to bail on this one?"

I blinked hard, trying to anchor myself to the present. "Sorry," I said, my voice hoarse. "I ..." A frown creased my forehead, but it wasn't directed at him. "That was just my girlfriend. I'm okay. We should go."

"Ah, girlfriend." He flashed a knowing grin. "That explains it. Women trouble, right? They sure know how to mess with a guy's head. The best thing to do is treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen."

My frown deepened, this time aimed squarely at Lachlan. "Does that even work? Isn't that like some outdated saying from fifty years ago?"

He shrugged and started the car, the engine's rumble matching the turmoil in my gut. "I dunno. It sounded good in my head, and it felt like you needed some advice. Women are a mystery to me. Hell, they're a mystery to any man from what I hear. Don't let whatever it is mess with your head. She'll go home, think about it, and come back saying she's sorry. Probably on her period or some shit like that. I swear, that time of the month comes around, and they just seem to go totally nuts. My real advice? Don't sweat it and let her come to you."

It was a good thing he didn't have the gift of telepathy, or I'd be in serious trouble. It was a pass on his advice.

Telepathy, though, is one of the rarer gifts. It's funny how shifters got gifts. I'm not even sure how it worked—if they're passed down genetically or just pure luck of the draw.

My mother didn’t have the same ability as me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure she had an ability at all. Not all shifters do, from what I knew. Maybe my gift came from my father. No one really talked about it. We learnt about abilities as we learnt about people. I wasn’t around anyone to ask them about theirs. I did try to ask my mother once, but she dismissed it, saying I was imagining things.

I only knew it was a thing because Stephen and Cade had talked about theirs. Cade could connect with people's minds, and Stephen could see things coming. I wasn’t sure if he was a seer, but something like that.

Lachlan dropped the topic of women when I didn't respond, for which I was grateful. The silence allowed me to stare out the window, lost in thought. I needed to clear my head, but Tia's words kept echoing. She'd only said she thought she might be pregnant, right? Not that she was pregnant. The distinction felt important, yet maddeningly unclear.

I tried to push the tumultuous thoughts from my mind, focusing on the task at hand. I just needed a couple of hours of peace to get through this.

When we neared our destination, I managed to drag my brain back into the game, at least partially. Malcolm had been right—this dock was different. We drove into an industrial estate unlike anything I'd seen before. I had a vague recollection of staying in Bolton briefly with my mother when I was younger, but the memory was hazy at best. Maybe we had used this dock?

Who knew?

Lachlan parked the car at the edge of the lot. Shipping containers, similar to those in the underground, littered the area, most with their doors knocked off. He led me to a section that looked more like a homeless camp than an actual shipping yard. It was empty, though.

We approached what appeared to be a house, though calling it that might have been generous. A door with intact windows stood out amidst the decay, its peeling paint showing the years of neglect. The roof sported a gaping hole, exposed rafters reaching towards the sky like skeletal fingers. The whole structure seemed one stiff breeze away from collapsing entirely.

Lachlan guided me to a small building adjacent to the dilapidated house. I was relieved; from what I could see through the windows, I wasn't eager to test my luck inside the main structure. The door frames looked to be the only things keeping it upright.

Fishing out a set of keys, Lachlan unlocked the door to the smaller building. He reached inside and pulled out two large poles, each ending in a hook reminiscent of those used at fairground games where kids snag plastic ducks for prizes.

"Here," he said, handing one to me. "You're gonna need this." He bent down and grabbed a pair of waders. "And these."

I stared at the waders and pole, my stomach sinking. "Oh, great. We're going into the water. So glad I wore my best jeans."

Lachlan smirked. “You think you’d know better by now.”

As we approached the rocky shore, the stench made me gag—a putrid mix of seawater, rotting seaweed, and sun-baked fish. The odour clung to the back of my throat, threatening to make me gag. My heightened shifter senses only amplified the assault. Breathing through my mouth didn't help; I could practically taste the decay. At least it was a distraction from thoughts of ... the baby. The baby. What the hell did that mean for me?

"Did she tell you she was about to die or something?" Lachlan asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"What?"

"The girlfriend. Not that I'm craving male bonding or anything, but you've been pretty shit company. You've been off in Timbuktu. Something you need to share? Can I help in any way?"

"No." I ran my hands through my hair, wincing as I caught a knot. I couldn't even say the word 'pregnant' out loud, let alone share it with Lachlan. It wasn't that I didn't want the baby, but Christ, I was just seventeen. I shook my head again. "I'm sorry. I'm focused."

I pushed my panther back mentally. He was the main problem, wanting to take control. He didn't care that I had to live in the real world; he was going full predatory cat mode, and the battle raged inside my head and body.

Using my ability, I forced him down. I was going to have to pretty much put him to sleep if I wanted to focus on Malcolm’s task. I echoed the command inside my own mind as I pulled on the waders, shaking my head to clear it. I gripped the pole, ready for action. "Okay."

Lachlan studied me for a second, a whirlwind of emotions crossing his face, but he said nothing. "Alright, let's do this."

We headed towards what passed for a jetty—a crumbling concrete path leading into the inky water. I took tentative steps, praying the bottom wouldn't suddenly drop off. The last thing I needed was a late-night plunge into the frigid depths.

The water was as dark as pitch, with no lights around to pierce the gloom. This isolated spot had been chosen for a reason. Lachlan peered out into the night and said, "I know it's over in that direction."

He meant east. We both squinted, staring into the vast nothingness. It didn't take long before three blinking lights came into view. Either that, or I'd stared so long my mind was conjuring images just for a break in the darkness.

The slow purr of an engine finally reached my ears. No, it was them, and they were using nothing bigger than one of those boats families rent at boating lakes. How the hell did they get that across without it sinking? Though, I don't think the river was that wide here. Maybe they came in a larger boat and then swapped. It didn't really matter. The fact was, they were there, and they'd made it okay.

"Get ready," Lachlan said, his voice taut with anticipation.

The tide was in, water lapping at the jetty. Lachlan stepped down until the water brushed his mid-shin. I moved beside him, my heart pounding. As the boat drew closer, we both used our hooks to snag its front.

"Hold tight," Lachlan called to the figure huddled in the back with a small child curled against them.

The helmsman cut the engine, and the flowing tide tried to pull the boat back into the water. My foot slipped on some slimy moss, but I gripped tight, refusing to let go, fighting to keep my balance.

"Hold it still," I ordered Lachlan, my voice tense.

I fished the money out of my pocket—the payment Malcolm had given me for the boatman. With a quick flick of my wrist, I tossed the wadded bills to him. He caught them deftly, giving a curt nod of acknowledgment.

"Hurry up and get them off," the boatman growled, his eyes darting nervously towards the horizon. "I want to get back before it starts to get light."

“Sure.” We just had to get the woman and her child off.

Only, it wasn't a woman. It was a girl. My jaw dropped as I took in her appearance. She couldn't be more than—she was definitely not older than me. Fourteen or fifteen at most. She clutched a young boy to her chest, no more than three years old. Of course, ages could be deceiving, especially for us shifters. We always looked younger than we were. Maybe she was older than I thought. To some, I probably only looked about fourteen too.

It wasn't our place to judge.

"Hi," I said softly, slipping into the calm demeanour I needed. My panther settled, knowing what we had to do. I offered my hand, while Lachlan held the boat steady. I eased out the threads of my ability, not to detect, but to calm her. I could only imagine what it must have been like for her—three strangers in an unknown place, after coming from somewhere where trust was a luxury she couldn't afford. "We're here to pick you up. Toaster," I added, using the code word.

That eased her tension. I felt her anguish recede slightly. "Christmas," she replied, completing the exchange of unrelated keywords we had to give. I only knew what she had to say to me, and she only knew what she needed to hear back. It was safety for both sides.

"We're going to take you to someplace safe," I assured her.

She nodded, pressing the child closer. "He's asleep."

I could see that. His long legs dangled past her knees, his head resting on her chest. His rosy cheeks seemed flushed.

"Do you want me to take him so you can get down?" I offered.

She hesitated, holding him tighter. "It's alright."

I understood her reluctance. Instead of pushing, I stepped deeper into the water, praying I wouldn't find that sudden drop-off and trying not to let the water breach my waders. I reached up, not for the boy, but for both of them. "You stand, I'll help you down."

When she moved, the boat rocked dangerously, and she nearly lost her balance.

"Hold it still," I barked at Lachlan.

"Trying," he grunted, grabbing my discarded pole and holding one in each hand, straining against the current. Veins rose in his arms and neck from the effort. He wouldn't be able to hold it for long.

"Turn and sit on the edge of the boat," I instructed the girl. She complied, her movements slow and careful. "Lean back."

I caught her, lifting her and the boy with ease. I carried them backwards, hyper-aware of my footing until we were clear of the water. Turning, I gently set her down on solid ground.

We cleared the boatman, then escorted the girl to the car, settling her and her son in the back. I offered her something to eat and drink, but she refused. I noticed she didn't have much with her—just a small black bag containing her meagre belongings.

The boy slept through it all, oblivious to the events. I caught the girl's eye in the rearview mirror and offered a reassuring smile. Her gaze felt like it pierced right through me, but I think they were just eyes that had seen far too much in too few years. She laid the boy's head on her lap, stroking his hair tenderly. The gesture reminded me of long-ago trips with my own mother.

I'm not sure which memory exactly. Maybe the night when Malcolm came and picked us up, almost like this, though we didn't come from Exile. My recollections blurred, so many similar nights rolling into one. But I remembered being in the backseat with my mother, curled in the corner, feeling older than my years and resentful about being shipped around once again.

I recalled watching the lights as we entered the town, the tower coming into view, the silhouettes of hills and trees against the night sky. I remembered the myriad smells that came with it. And I remembered my anger. God, was I mad about being moved again.

This girl wasn't angry. Her fear kept prodding at me, trying to worm its way in. I focused on keeping her calm, projecting soothing energy as best I could, and asked myself, is this how my mother had felt? Was she the same? Was I too busy with my own bullshit back then to realise what she might have been going through?

I smiled at the girl, my eyes meeting hers in an attempt to offer some reassurance. We were the good guys, but the fear radiating off her told me she wasn't convinced. I had no idea what horrors she'd endured; that information wasn't mine to know. But for her to be shipped back this way and not to Exile, it must have been pretty fucking serious.

In my personal life, I didn't know anyone who had come from Exile. No one down in the underground, that was for certain. I'd helped plenty go the other way, for them to escape everything that oppressed others here. I'd only helped a pregnant shifter escape, and those who had been wrongly accused of things, but the humans don't give a damn. I've helped those the humans seem to be gunning for and the only way to save their lives was to send them to the barren place we all fear. That place with its large chimneys and camp-like accommodations. What I imagine from what I've heard, the place was desolate, with areas that resembled Nazi camps.

As Lachlan rolled the car to a stop on Holly Road, the engine's purr fading into the night, I turned to the girl. "We have to walk a couple of blocks," I said, my voice low and steady despite the nerves twisting in my gut. "It's for security. The fewer people who know where you are, the better."

Her eyes, wide and wary, flicked to Lachlan. "What about him?"

"I'm just gonna wait for Raven and then we'll get the car back home," Lachlan said.

Her exhaustion pushed against me. "I can carry the little one for you if you want," I offered, nodding to the sleeping child in her arms.

"It's okay," she murmured, her grip tightening. "I've got him."

I understood her reluctance. To her, I was just another stranger in a long line of threats. But fuck, she looked ready to collapse. Her face was pale as moonlight, dark circles etched beneath her eyes like bruises. She wasn't a shifter, but magic hummed beneath her skin. Some kind of witch, I guessed. Her power was silk against my senses, making my panther stir restlessly.

"I'm Raven, by the way," I said as I helped her out of the car, her movements slow and careful.

"Anika."

Something in her eyes caught me off guard. Behind the fear, there was a strength that made my panther want to reach out, to comfort her, to let her know she was safe. But I knew better than to crowd her. Instead, I kept a protective distance as we walked, close enough to defend her if needed, but not so near as to make her more uncomfortable.

The night air was crisp and still, the streets eerily quiet. Anika's eyes darted around constantly, searching for threats in every shadow. At one point, Lachlan gave us a wave before melting into the darkness, the car disappearing from view.

Anika's bag was light in my hand—she literally had nothing to her name. When I got home, I was going to hug my mother. And when I saw Tia ... fuck. I was going to promise her the world, vow that our child would never know this kind of fear and desperation.

The old tenement building loomed before us, freshly painted but still modest. As I punched in the key code, the smell of paint and new wood assaulted my nose. Inside, the floors gleamed pristine white, a stark contrast to the darkness we'd left behind.

Anika's room was at the top of the stairs. When I opened the door, the similarities to my old home with my mother hit me hard. One room with everything crammed in—bed, kitchen, sofa. At least we'd had a bedroom and a bathroom.

"The bathroom's two doors down," I explained, gesturing. "I'm afraid you have to share it."

Anika nodded, her eyes taking in every detail of the small space. "It's okay."

I handed her the key and Malcolm's contact card. Malcolm will check on you in a day or two.” Then I showed her the meagre supplies in the fridge and cupboards—milk, eggs, cereal, some fruit. It wasn't much, but it would keep her going. I gave her the envelope of cash Malcolm had provided, explaining its purpose.

Anika stood in the doorway, still cradling her sleeping child, hesitant to fully enter the room. As I turned to leave, something held me back. It wasn't my panther this time, but a deep, inexplicable need to make sure she'd be okay.

"Lock up behind me," I said, my voice gruff with emotion. "There's a chain and bolt on your door. Keep those fastened. Nobody knows you're here but me and Malcolm. If anyone else comes, it's a lie." I nodded to the phone. "Use that if you need anything, anytime. Someone will answer, someone will help."

A flicker of a smile crossed Anika's face, though I saw her hold her son tighter. He stirred, blinking sleepily. I hadn't meant to scare her, but I needed her to stay safe.

As I forced myself to leave, I felt like a monster, though I couldn't explain why. I promised myself I'd check on her in a few days, unable to shake the feeling that I was abandoning them somehow.

Walking back into the night, my thoughts swirled with images of Anika, of Tia, of the child that might be coming. For the first time, I truly understood the weight of responsibility, and the fierce need to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.