Raven

Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

I crept up to the flat, my footsteps as silent as a panther's, praying if my mother was home, she was asleep. The door creaked open, revealing total darkness. My heart relaxed. I didn't flick on the light, instead fumbling for the small lamp on the side table in the entryway.

The soft glow illuminated an empty sofa. The blinds hadn't moved, but more telling was the note I'd left—untouched. She hadn't been home at all. This wasn't like her. My watch read twenty past eleven, just after curfew. Sure, she would've been at work, but she always came home in between. Always.

Something gnawed in my chest, that dull ache I'd grown used to over weeks, suddenly roaring to life. It jolted my panther awake, a growl rumbling in my throat as he urged me to shift, to protect us from an unseen threat.

But we were okay.

She was okay.

I inhaled deeply, trying to settle my panther and everything threatening to overwhelm me. I needed logic, not panic.

The underground. That's where I'd go.

I bolted out of the flat, each step igniting the worry in my chest. So much for not panicking. It was like a dark cloud had wrapped itself around me, suffocating. The moment I stepped into the night, which should have been refreshing, the feeling hit me—thick and visceral in my gut. I heaved in a breath, my panther demanding we shift. We needed to run.

I sprinted through side streets and back alleys, ducking out of sight of humans. Luckily, as Malcolm had said, with moon night approaching, the streets were nearly empty. Humans cowered indoors, their ignorant fears of rampaging shifters keeping them safe. And shifters? We saved our energy for the sweet release of moon night.

The entrance to the underground loomed ahead, disguised as the end of an old reservoir. Under the first arch of the abandoned railway, a world of secrets waited. Sometimes, when the weather turned foul, we had to wade through water to reach the door. Tonight, the stench of mould, and damp assaulted my nose. Broken tiles littered the floor, graffiti screamed from the walls, and in places, the ceiling wept, creating eerie, mossy growths. Some of the brickwork looked ready to crumble at a touch.

I dodged puddles, my feet miraculously dry as I approached the door. The familiar knock, a moment's wait. No ID needed here—they all knew me. The door creaked open, revealing a young boy. "Hey, do you--"

I waved him off, guilt twisting in my gut. "Not right now. I'm sorry." We'd normally chat—he wasn't a shifter, some kind of orphaned necromancer. His disappointment clawed at me, and I threw up a mental shield.

I needed to see my mother, or Sue—anyone to assure me she was okay. The knot in my belly burnt hotter with each step, unease crawling under my skin. I couldn't shake it. It was in my head, in my blood.

I pushed through the crowd, making a beeline for the familiar pink neon light advertising Sian's place. The reception area was a shock—all leather, velvet, and elegance, like stepping into a posh hotel. But tonight, even that couldn't calm my nerves.

No one sat behind the desk. I slipped around, pushing through the door to the back. As a kid, I'd rarely ventured beyond reception, always under strict orders to avoid the rooms. Now, I moved cautiously down the hallway, a maze of doors hiding who knew what.

I cracked open the door behind the reception, peering inside. A woman further up—her name escaped me—was saying goodbye to a human man. He practically bounced off the walls, giddy. Bite marks on his neck betrayed the truth—she was a vampire. Sometimes humans came down here just for the bite, their fear and fascination a twisted irony.

Where the hell was she, though? My mother's room was number three, or it had been the last time I'd been down here. I wasn't sure it'd changed. I went to it, her scent thick, but I paused outside the door. The last thing I wanted was to burst in on my mother with a client. I braced myself and closed my eyes, sending out the threads of my ability, hoping to feel her presence first and check for any other emotional profiles.

Nothing. Not a thing. The room felt empty, a void where my mother's vibrant energy should have been.

I placed my hand on the handle, pushing it slightly, ready to be told to close the door. But it swung open, revealing darkness just like our flat. I leant in, feeling for the light switch.

The room was empty. Just a very well-decked out boudoir. The space smelled like my mother, though, her scent thick but not fresh. She hadn't been here in hours.

As I moved to leave, a voice stopped me cold. "Raven."

I spun around at the sound of my name. It was Sue, her face etched with worry. "Where's my mother? She didn't come home last night. She isn't home now."

Her eyes widened, horror dawning on her face. "Oh god, nobody told you? Trixie was meant to come and tell you. She..." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter." She pushed me back into my mother's room, closing the door behind us.

"No one told me what? Sue? What's happened to my mother? Where is she?" My voice cracked, panic rising in my throat.

Sue trembled, her eyes filling with tears. Even without my abilities, I could see the emotions threatening to drown her. "She was attacked last night. Oh, hell, someone was supposed to come and say."

"Attacked? What do you mean? Where is she?" My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a painful reminder of my mother's absence.

"She's in the infirmary."

"Was it a client? Something hurt her?"

"No." Sue shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "No. It was after work. It was..."

It didn't matter. My mother was in the infirmary. I pushed past Sue, back out the door, almost colliding with a woman in a business suit, another human down here for their fill. I shot her a glance, barely registering her startled expression.

Sue was running behind me, impressively fast for someone in heels. "Raven ... wait"

"How the hell did my mother get beaten up?" I growled, my panther stirring beneath my skin.

We pushed through people, their faces blurring as we passed. I wanted to break into a full run, but the crowded hallways made it impossible.

Sue offered hurried excuses as we barrelled through. "She was in town. The humans' town."

"What?" I froze, my heart pounding as I stared at Sue. "What the hell was she doing there?" A sickening realisation hit me. "Oh God. She was on the Worst Side? In Speake?"

Sue's nervousness radiated off her. "It's not my place to tell you. This is between you and her."

I heaved in another breath, my fists clenching at my sides. "She was paying off my fine, wasn't she? She was there trying to sort it out." I shook my head, anger and guilt churning in my gut. "Fucking hell. What was she thinking?" Without another word, I bolted from Sue, racing to the other end of the Underground where the shipping container infirmary stood like a grotesque monument to our violent world. I burst through the doors, startling the receptionist.

"Raina McCullough," I demanded, my voice a barely controlled growl.

The woman raised her head, recognition flickering in her eyes. "Raven ..." She hesitated, her expression softening. "Your mother is--"

Sue had caught up, panting. "I know where she is. Come on."

My mother was in one of the critical bays, tucked away in the labyrinth of dark corridors. This was where shifters like us ended up when the unthinkable happened. We didn't get sick, didn't need medical attention often—unless it involved silver or something that required urgent care. But then again, most others here didn't get sick either. Witches healed themselves, vampires were already dead, and the fae had their own ways. This place was for the desperate cases, the ones teetering on the edge between life and death.

Sue pressed the buzzer on the door, and after an agonising moment, a low hum signalled our entry. The door slid open with a hiss.

My mother lay on the fifth bed along, tucked into a little corner like a broken doll. A small light illuminated her battered form, but the rest of the place seemed suffocated by gloom. It was clean, though—clinically dark, as if the shadows themselves had been sterilised.

"Jesus Christ," I choked out, rushing to my mother's bedside. The sight of her ... If I couldn't scent my mother, if my panther didn't instinctively recognise her, I wouldn't have known this broken figure was her.

Her face was so swollen it was barely recognisable, eyes closed and bulging beneath puffy lids. A vicious gash carved its way across her cheek, still angry and red. Dark, mottled bruises blossomed across her skin. Around her throat, ugly marks—someone had tried to strangle her.

My knees buckled, and I gripped the edge of the bed to keep from falling. The room spun around me, rage and despair battling for dominance in my chest. This was my fault. My mother, my fierce, indomitable mother, lay broken because of me. A low, keening sound escaped my throat—part human anguish, part panther's roar. I reached out to touch her hand, my fingers trembling as they hovered over her bruised skin, afraid that even the gentlest touch might cause her more pain.

"Mum," I whispered, my voice cracking. "What the hell happened?"

"She's going to be okay," Sue said, coming to stand beside me.

I shook my head, my throat tight. "How the hell is this okay? I don't ... What the hell did they do? What ... I just ..."

Sue put her hand on mine, her touch warm and comforting against my trembling fingers. "They beat her with silver. She'll be fine and she'll recover. The doctor says it's worse than it looks, and she's strong. They gave her some Lycanthrocyte. It should help with the healing. It's just going to be slow because of the silver."

Lycanthrocyte was the medication they gave shifters if we needed to give our natural enhanced abilities a jump start. For my mother, it'd be given to boost the healing process. Shifting was always the best healer, but when we couldn't—which was usually down to something with silver—then we needed a kick. The drug amplified our already impressive regenerative powers, knitting together torn flesh and mending broken bones at an accelerated rate.

"How did she get here? You said she was in Speake? That's a good bus ride away ..." And there was no way anyone found her there by accident. The only people in Speake were humans, and this is what they did if a shifter found themselves in that territory. It was a no-shifter zone to the tenth level. Not only were we banned from the area, they were not afraid to shoot on sight. It was why I'd been shoved in the police cells there. Because it was the humans' favourite game. Hunt the shifter. Fuckers. Oh, I bet they'd taken so much pleasure when they'd beaten my mother. I bet there were many of them. One on one, silver or not, they'd be no match for her. But they knew what they were doing. They'd have incapacitated her first and then attacked, because humans were fucking cowards.

"She got herself here," Sue said, her voice laced with guilt. "She collapsed at the main doors. They brought her in a few hours ago. I'm sorry. I should have come and got you. I ... We sent Trixie out, but then you know what she's like. It was my fault. I just didn't want to leave your mother and I ..."

My turn to comfort Sue. "It's okay. She's fine." I pushed my mother's dark hair back from her face, trying not to touch anywhere where she was bruised or injured, which was pretty damn hard because her entire face was a mess. Her usually smooth skin was a canvas of purple and blue, swollen and distorted. I ran my fingers gently down her shoulders, down her arm and then paused and sucked in a breath. Someone had stood on her arm. No. Not stood, stomped. A boot print was neatly embedded in her flesh, the skin mottled and torn. Someone had been wearing silver-plated boots when they'd done this. The thought made my blood boil, a growl building in the back of my throat.

"They said you can stay as long as you need to. They aren't going to throw you out."

I nodded, grabbing a chair and pulling it to the side of my mother's bed. The metal legs scraped against the floor, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "I can't believe she went to Speake. I ..." I slid my hand down to hers, careful of the IV lines and bruises. Her skin felt cool and papery beneath my touch. "What the hell were you thinking?"

This was my fault. All my fault. If I'd left those humans alone, and not got involved. If I'd have just gone home ... but then what would they have done to Tia?

This was the humans. It was the humans and all their stupid rules. I hoped one day there was an uprising. The thought of retribution, of justice, burnt in my chest. One day, we'd show them. One day, they'd learn what it meant to fear the night, to cower before the strength of the shifters they so carelessly abused.

Malcolm's son, Stephen, talked about that so much. I didn't hang out with him and Cade often, but when I did, this was one of his favourite topics. He talked about it in a way that made it feel like it could happen, that one day we would all rise and then the humans would be fucked. He always said he'd lead the way, and I believed him. I would be standing right by his side when it happened, because the humans needed to stop. This all needed to stop.

I leant on my mother's bed, resting my forehead against her side and closed my eyes. I didn't really fall asleep, more like drifting in and out of my thoughts, and there were many of those. With everything going on right in that moment, it was a wonder I didn't drown in it all. The beeping of the machines, the antiseptic smell of the infirmary, and the lingering scent of silver and blood all swirled around me, a constant reminder of where I was and why.

"Raven?" My mother's voice came, I'm not sure how much later. How long had I sat there? An hour? Maybe more. It didn't matter.

I raised my head and found my mother looking at me. Her eyes were open, still swollen but alert, searching my face with concern despite her own condition. I swear some of the bruises had already started to heal. Thank God for Lycanthrocyte. The purple and blue marks seemed less vivid, the edges beginning to fade to a sickly yellow-green. It wasn't much, but it was progress.

"Mum," I breathed, relief flooding through me. "How are you feeling?"

She licked her dry lips, the movement clearly painful. "Can I have some water?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

I got up to fetch it. There was a small jug and a beaker at a water station near the wall. I grabbed one of the straws too, so she could drink without having to move too much. The water sloshed in the jug as my hands shook slightly, adrenaline still coursing through my system.

Returning to her bedside, I carefully poured some water into the beaker. "Here, Mum," I said softly, holding the straw to her lips. "Small sips, okay?"

She nodded weakly and took a few sips, wincing as she swallowed. Even that small movement seemed to cause her pain, and I felt a fresh wave of anger towards the bastards who'd done this to her.

"Sue said you went to Speake?" I asked, setting the beaker down on the small table beside her bed. "What on earth were you doing there?"

My mother's eyes flashed, a fierce light burning through the swelling and bruises. She took a moment before answering, not out of weakness, but as if calculating her words."Sorting things out," she said.

"You paid off my fine."

She pulled her oxygen mask down to talk to me. "I cleared your debt, that is all. I made sure you didn't owe the humans a bloody thing. You're my son."

"And it was my mess. I have to make my own mistakes," I argued. "You could have got yourself killed."

My mother's eyes flashed with that familiar stubborn fire. "Maybe you do, but I could help you, so I did. I don't stop being your mother just because you grow up." She paused, taking a painful breath before continuing. "One day you'll have children of your own and you'll know this."

I slumped back in my seat, pressing my hands to my temples, just trying to think this through and what I wanted to say, because inside I was so eaten up. I didn't want her to do these things. I didn't want her to bail me out, and sure, I was grateful for it, but also ... I did have to make my own mistakes, I had to live and learn. But I also didn't want my mother paying in blood for the things I'd done. "How did you pay them?" I asked. "It was ten thousand pounds."

"I had some savings," she managed.

"You had ten thousand in savings?"

"Not fully. I ..." She couldn't breathe. Her breaths came out ragged. I reached up then and fixed her oxygen mask back over her face.

"Easy, Mum," I said. "Just breathe for a minute, alright?"

She sucked in the air, trying to get her breath back. I watched the numbers on the machine, her levels, low, lower than they should be, but rising slowly. After a few moments, when the numbers were almost where they needed to be, she said, "I sold the car." And before I could respond, she added, "We don't use it. You have the bike."

"But the car. You ..."

"I don't want to talk about this now. It's finished. It's fine. It's done. Your debt to the humans is paid off. Now you can join the Sentinels and not lose half of your earnings to this."

Honestly, I didn't know what to say. When my mother didn't want to talk about things, we didn't. "Why are you so keen on me joining the Sentinels? I thought ..." With all her shielding my life, all the control. "Why?"

She was slow to move and respond. I think if I wasn't there, she'd have drifted back to sleep, and maybe I should have gone home and left things. Let her heal and get better. "Because it's the better choice," she said. "Because if you're part of the Sentinels, you're safe."

"I'm safe by going to war?"

She turned her head slightly so she could meet my gaze. "It's hard for me, Raven. You've literally been my whole life for more than half of it and I know you're becoming a man and I have to take the brakes off sometimes and let you live your life, and I'm trying. I really am. But I want you safe, and I ..."

"Safe from what, though? What is it you're hiding me from?"

Her eyes, though tired and pained, held a depth of worry I'd rarely seen. It was unsettling, seeing my strong, fierce mother looking so ... vulnerable. She seemed to be wrestling with something, weighing her words carefully.

"It doesn't matter. There are things that you can't understand."

"Maybe I could if you shared them, maybe--"

She raised her hand. "Enough now."

I ground my jaw and stared at her. The door slamming on this conversation like it always did. There were times when I felt like I could get through to her, when I could ask and maybe she'd actually tell me, and then she'd slam the door shut and no, nothing. I got up out of my seat and walked around her bed. There were no windows in this place, nothing to look at and enjoy the scenery. I stuffed my hands in my pockets. "Tia's pregnant," I said. I leant against the wall, head back.

I could feel my mother staring at me, feeling every single ounce of weight in it as she did. The woman, who, for my entire life had managed to hide her emotions from me, let them go right then, like a dam crumbling. I was so flooded with them, I had to keep myself still or they'd knock me sideways. So much spilt out of her at once, that the thread of it threatened to choke me, and in a way, I wasn't sure what it was I was feeling and what was hers.

"I'm sorry," I said when I managed to catch my breath. "I ..."

She didn't say anything to me. She didn't need to and maybe it was worse because with the healing and the effects of the Lycanthrocyte, her healing was doing so much better. The bruises were going, the gash sealing, but they were still there, grotesque in all their glory.

"I know you're disappointed in me. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"The baby is yours, I assume?" Her tone was clipped.

"Yes."

My mother took off her oxygen mask and pushed herself up on the bed. Her face was a mix of emotions—anger, disappointment, worry—all fighting for dominance. She winced as she moved, but her eyes never left mine.

"Do you have any idea what you've done? The consequences this could have?" I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off. "How could you be so fucking stupid?"

I stared at my mother, her words slamming into me. I knew this would be her reaction. I'd tried to brace myself for it, but it didn't make it easier. I fought to keep my voice calm and controlled, to talk to her like a man who knew what he was doing."I asked Malcolm for permission to mate," I said, my words coming out steadier than I felt. "I've signed up for the Sentinels, and I've petitioned the council for the mating."

My mother's eyes flashed with anger. "You told him about the baby?"

"No. I know it's against the rules, but Tia and I decided if we mate now, we can play with the dates." Even to my own ears, I sounded pathetic—a child seeking permission.

"After everything we've been through, after everything ..." She couldn't even finish the sentence.

"But I don't know what we've been through. I ask, and you keep your secrets and don't tell me. I don't even know what it is we're running from. We are running from something, right? That's what all this is. I try to figure it out, but you won't speak. I don't know what you're afraid of or why. And this ... I know I'm only seventeen, but this feels like a chance for me to have a normal life."

My mother swung her legs around, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her face contorted with pain, but her eyes blazed with determination. "You speak of things you have no idea about. You are seventeen. You are not the age to be making all these decisions."

"I'm about to be eighteen. What are you doing?"

She shuffled on the bed, clearly trying to get up. "Going home," she snapped. "I swear, I dig you out of one mess, and you throw yourself into another. Do you have a death wish?"

"I didn't do this on purpose."

"No. You did this because you didn't think. I told you about that girl. I told you not to see her, and now look. You've ruined your life."

Her words cut deep, but I pushed back. "I haven't. This is ... It's a baby, Mum. You had me at fourteen."

"Yes, and do you think that was a good idea?"

"You managed alright. We're here. We're okay." I moved forward, concern overriding my frustration. "You need to rest."

My mother had got to her feet, shaky but determined. She started to pull out the IVs from her hand.

"What are you doing? You can't go home. This is stupid.”

She pushed me away, her touch rough and dismissive. "You've done enough, don't you think?" She brushed me off like I carried some disease she might catch. "How far along is she?"

"I don't know. Not long. That's why we can mate and no one will figure it out."

Her eyes narrowed, a cold calculation replacing the anger. "Or you can get it fixed."

I knew what she meant—a "preventative execution." The very thought made me sick. "No," I said, my voice firm for the first time. "That's not an option."

My mother's face hardened. "We need to talk to Malcolm. Maybe he can arrange something, make this ... problem go away."

I stepped between her and the door. "Mum, you're not thinking straight. You're hurt, you're angry. But this is my child we're talking about."

She glared at me, swaying slightly on her feet. "Move, Raven.”

“No. I won’t let you. You need to rest.”

Her panther growled, right below the surface. She flashed behind her eyes. “I said move. We're going home, and we're going to fix this mess you've created and hope that you didn’t just throw your entire fucking life away."