Raven

Chapter 33

THIRTY-THREE

They didn't break me. Not in the way they wanted or had intended. Not in the way that would make me bend to their will. No. But they had broken parts of me—my heart, my panther, some deep part of me that trusted her, that had believed.

I sat back in the corner of my cell, my panther so curled up inside with all their fucked up lies. So torn apart. He wailed like a wounded animal, shattered in a way I didn't know was possible.

I fell for it. I fell for it, and my mother had been right, and I... God, Mum. If only I'd listened.

Their games, their lies. They'd woven a web so intricate, so believable, that I'd walked right into it, blind and willing. And now, the truth was a dagger, twisting in my gut, each revelation a fresh wound.

My fists clenched and unclenched, knuckles white with the force of my grip. I wanted to hit something, to tear this cell apart with my bare hands. But what good would that do? The real damage wasn't to the walls around me, but to the walls inside me—the ones I'd built to protect myself, the ones Tia had so carefully dismantled.

Tia. Her name alone sent a fresh wave of agony through me. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise—all lies. My panther keened, a sound so full of anguish it felt like it was being ripped from my very soul. He'd trusted her too, had seen her as our mate. Now, he recoiled from the very memory of her scent.

I slammed my fist into the wall, welcoming the sharp burst of pain. It was real, tangible, unlike the nebulous ache that consumed my chest. Blood trickled down my knuckles, but I barely noticed. What was a little more blood, when I was already bleeding inside?

"Fuck," I roared, my voice echoing in the empty cell. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK."

The rage bubbled up, hot and violent. I wanted to shift, to let my panther take over and rampage until there was nothing left of this pain. But even that was denied to me. I was trapt, in this cell, in this body, in this nightmare of betrayal.

My father's words echoed in my head. "I'm sorry we had to go to such lengths to get to you, Raven." Sorry? He was fucking sorry? A bitter laugh escaped me, bordering on hysteria. Sorry didn't begin to cover it. Sorry wouldn't erase the memory of Tia in Rick's arms, wouldn't undo the weeks of lies, wouldn't bring my mother back.

Mum. God, I'd failed her. She'd tried to protect me from this, and I'd walked right into their trap. The guilt was a leaden weight in my stomach, mixing with the grief and anger until I thought I might be sick.

I slid down the wall, my legs no longer able to support me. My panther paced restlessly within, alternating between snarling in fury and whimpering in pain. For once, we were in perfect sync—both of us shattered, both of us lost.

The tears came then, hot and angry. I didn't try to stop them. What was the point of pretending to be strong now? They'd seen me at my weakest, had orchestrated this whole charade to break me down. Well, congratulations to them. Mission fucking accomplished.

But as the tears flowed, something else stirred within me. A spark of defiance, small but fierce. They might have broken my heart, shattered my trust, but they hadn't broken my will. Not yet. Not ever.

I I wiped my eyes roughly, taking a deep, shuddering breath and closed my eyes, letting everything drown right through me in a cold heat that went through my body.

I visualised it, felt it like my father had done to me when he'd taken my mother from me. When he'd overwhelmed me. I was like him, right? He'd said that. I had his abilities, which meant I could do what he could do. So I played. Every piece of anger, every sliver of hurt that ran through my body, I used it, and then I sent it out, like little red angry marching ants. I sat cross-legged in the middle of my cell, like I was meditating and let my ability roam, let it spread from me like lava seeping across the ground.

Tia came down later. Alone. No Rick. I didn't get up. I don't even know how long I'd sat there, pushing the threads of power out, pulling them back in. Opening and closing my hands, mastering control. It'd become like breathing. I was sure I could wield the power with my hands, hold it like a ball of light and send it out. Control it.

"This hasn't been to hurt you," she said to me.

I lifted my head to stare at her, to feel that coming off her, but to see her.

"Your father tried to get to you. He wanted you back, but your mother had you so hidden."

"Well, you managed to get to me. If you can manage it, then why couldn't he? You all knew where I worked, where I went to college. You all ..." I trailed off, shaking my head at myself. "I don't want to talk to you. I bet you and Rick laughed at me, right? You'd come back and laugh at how stupid I was?"

"No. I would never ..."

"You would never?" I rose then, to walk over to the cage door. "You would never what, Tia? You're just like they are. You're pathetic, you're cruel, you're a fucking selfish viper, just the same as them. Oh, so my dad wants me back? Tough fucking shit. I will never be part of this pack. Not like this." I eyed my cage. "You can all keep me here, if that's what you want. Keep me prisoner. Whatever. I don't give a fuck, but the rest ... no. So fuck you, Tia. Just fuck you and fuck off. I never want to see you again."

I felt her recoil at my words, but sympathy was beyond me now. I didn't care if they hurt her.

"I did care for you. It wasn't a lie."

"Yeah? Well, you and I both have very different definitions of what caring for someone looks like." My words came out harsh, and I wished I could use them to physically hurt her, to make her heart ache the way mine did. I inhaled deeply, pulling the air right down as I gave Tia one last look and then I turned from her, went back to the middle of my cage and sat, resuming my position. I closed my eyes. I had nothing else to say to her. Nothing she could say to me.

I went to that place inside, where my ability lived, and I grabbed for it. I held onto it, to anchor myself. And then I pushed it out again, this time directing it straight at Tia. All the pain, the betrayal, the crushing weight of her lies—I channelled it all, flooding her with the raw, unfiltered agony that consumed me.

I felt her stagger under the onslaught of emotions. Her breath hitched, a small, choked sound escaping her lips. Good. Let her feel it. Let her drown in it, the way I was drowning.

"Raven ..." she gasped, her voice thick with the pain I'd forced upon her. "I ... I can't ..."

I didn't respond. Didn't even look at her. I just kept pushing, wave after wave of anguish and fury. Her footsteps, stumbling and uneven, as she retreated.

Good.

I inhaled deeply, my nostrils flaring as I drew in the lingering scent of Tia's distress. The air tasted different now, charged with the remnants of my unleashed ability. My fingers tingled, alive with the power I'd just wielded.

I remained seated, cross-legged in the centre of my cell. My eyes stayed closed, but a small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. The concrete floor beneath me no longer felt cold; instead, it seemed to hum with residual energy.

My chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths. Each exhale carried away a fraction of the tension that had knotted my muscles, replacing it with a warm satisfaction that spread through my limbs.

I uncurled my fists, fingers splaying out on my thighs. The skin of my palms tingled, as if I'd been holding onto live wires. I focused on that sensation, letting it ground me in the moment.

Gradually, I became aware of the silence around me. Tia's retreating footsteps had long since faded, leaving only the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat. It pounded in my ears, strong and resolute, a reminder that I was still here, still fighting.

But I wasn't done. Not yet.

I reached out with my ability once more, letting it seep through the cracks in the concrete, searching. There—just beyond around the corner—I sensed him. The guard. His emotions flickered at the edge of my consciousness, a mix of boredom and unease.

My lips curled into a predatory grin. Perfect.

I gathered my power, concentrating it into a fine point. Then, with the precision of a surgeon, I began to push. Slowly at first, a gentle prod at the guard's emotional state. I felt his unease grow, watched it bloom into anxiety.

More. I needed more.

I dug deeper, tapping into the well of pain and betrayal that Tia had left behind. I shaped it, moulded it, and then hurled it at the unsuspecting guard. Wave after wave of anguish and despair crashed against his psyche.

Confusion turned to fear, fear to panic. A muffled whimper from beyond the corner, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

I pushed harder, relentless. The guard's emotions spiralled, a maelstrom of terror and misery. His pain fed me, fuelled my assault. I was vaguely aware of a choking sob echoing in the hallway, but it felt distant, unimportant.

He gasped, letting out a strangled sob. Opening my eyes, I listened, holding onto that pain. I'd given him mine, fed it to him. I'd never tried that before. When I'd used my power on someone, I'd only ever calmed them. Ironic, right? My father had taught me that I could send any kind of emotion out. As long as I could feel it, I could use it.

My father had flooded me when he'd killed my mother. He'd rendered me useless. Could I do that to them? Could I use my abilities to influence someone to do something for me?

"What's wrong?" someone said.

"I don't know," came the reply, but it was a sobbed reply. "I just..." The words cut off in a cry of pain.

So I pushed, and pushed and threaded everything I felt out and into him. Could this be it? Could I really do it? I pushed it to him as if we were standing side by side and I was pulling out all my pain like it was a thread of wool. I needed him to take it. I needed to twist it more than I thought. I changed it. Morphed it. Instead of my pain, I turned it to guilt. But I felt the other body near him. Another man, a panther. One I had only seen bring me food. I latched onto him too, doing the same.

A clatter told me the first man had collapsed. "Chester," someone said, but it didn't take long for his own pain to mingle with mine.

But this time, instead of feeding him the agony I felt, instead of all the betrayal, I turned it around. I had to force myself to feel, almost like putting myself in his shoes, only if those shoes had a fucking conscience. Well, I gave him that part. Made him feel all the guilt, all the remorse.

I pushed harder, channelling every ounce of shame and regret I could muster. I imagined what it would feel like to be complicit in keeping someone prisoner, in tearing a family apart. The weight of it, the crushing, suffocating guilt. I poured it all into him.

A choked sob echoed from the hallway, followed by the sound of stumbling footsteps. They grew closer, urgent and unsteady. I kept my head down, maintaining my facade of despair, even as I felt him approach.

"Oh god," the guard's voice was thick with emotion. "Oh god, what have we done?"

I didn't move.

"I'm sorry," he gasped out. His footsteps drew nearer, hesitant but driven by the overwhelming remorse I'd given to him. "I'm so, so sorry."

I lifted my head slowly, feigning surprise at his presence. The guard stood before me, his face a mask of anguish. Tears streamed down his cheeks, his body trembling with the force of his emotions.

He fell to his knees, reaching out as if to touch me but stopping short. "Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Please forgive me. I didn't ... I didn't know. I didn't understand what we were doing to you."

I stared at him, letting the silence stretch, feeling his desperation grow.

"I can't ... I can't bear this," he continued, words tumbling out in a rush. "What we've done, keeping you here, it's wrong. It's all wrong. I'll help you. I'll do anything. Just... please, forgive me."

"You're sorry?"

He nodded. "Yes. Yes. Please ..." He put his hand to his chest. "Tell me what I can do to make this up to you. Please, tell me."

It was hard to hold onto the connection between us. I had to loop it, and keep pushing, but I had to keep it at a balance. My panther roared in me, I'm not sure if it was out of approval, or if he felt the agony I was channelling.

"Do you have keys?" I said, testing, daring ... I didn't rise to my feet, but I crawled close to him, close to the door. "I have to go and bury my mother," I said. "They left her."

He started sobbing at the sound of that. "They killed her. They ..."

"They did. Now she's alone. Do you have a mother?"

He nodded violently. "Yes."

I closed my eyes for a moment, concentrating. I reached deep within myself, to that raw, aching wound of losing my mother. The pain of it was still fresh, still bleeding. I took all of that—the shock, the disbelief, the crushing grief—and channelled it into the guard.

But I twisted it. I made it personal for him. I imagined what it would feel like to lose his mother, to have her ripped away suddenly, violently. The emptiness, the void left behind. The knowledge that he'd never hear her voice again, never feel her embrace.

The guard's face crumpled. A keening wail escaped his lips, a sound of pure anguish. He doubled over, clutching at his chest as if physically wounded.

"Mum," he gasped between sobs. "Oh god, Mum ..."

I watched him, my face a mask of sympathy even as I continued to pour grief into him. "It hurts, doesn't it?" I said softly. "To lose someone like that. To know you'll never see them again."

He nodded, unable to speak through his tears.

"Now imagine," I continued, my voice low and intense, "imagine if someone had taken her from you. Murdered her. Left her body alone, uncared for."

The guard's sobs intensified. He looked up at me, his eyes wild with grief and horror. "I ... I can't ... It's too much..."

"But that's what happened to my mother," I pressed. "And you ... you've been keeping me here, away from her. Unable to bury her, to say goodbye."

His face twisted with fresh guilt and sorrow. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm so sorry. What ... what can I do? Please, tell me what I can do."

I leant in closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "Let me go. Let me go to her. Let me bury my mother."

The guard's hand moved to his belt, fumbling for his keys. His whole body shook with the force of his emotions—the manufactured grief for his mother, the very real guilt for his actions.

"Yes," he mumbled, tears still streaming down his face. "Yes, of course. I'll ... I'll help you. We have to make this right."

He reached for the lock.