Last of the Ravens. Linda Winstead Jones
had offered the owner twice as much as the place was worth, but the stubborn man refused to sell. Thank goodness the cabin was rarely used. Bren needed privacy; it was all he required of life.
All was dark at the intrusive cabin tonight. No lights shone from the windows, and Bren hadn’t seen a car in the drive as he’d made his way home hours earlier. Even if someone was there, they’d have to have binoculars or a telescope to see anything they shouldn’t.
And still, he wanted that cabin. Once he had it, this entire mountain would be his. Like his father before him, he’d spent years snatching up pieces of property in order to make it so. When he had that plot of land down the hill, the privacy he required would be his, finally and completely.
Bren stripped to his skin, then easily stepped up onto the railing that surrounded the large, deep deck. He glanced down into the vast space beneath, felt the sweep of evening air against his skin, held his breath as deep inside he acknowledged the certainty that yes, something in the world had shifted. He also accepted that he did not know what that something was—and did not need to know. His world was small. Everything he needed was right here.
He dropped, catching air against his bare skin for a moment and then erupting into freedom. If anyone had been watching, they would’ve seen a man one moment and a flock of black birds the next. They would watch as those birds swept down the mountainside, moving in concert, flying as one, until they convinced themselves that they could not have possibly seen what they thought they’d seen.
The last of the ravens flew into the darkness, and in this form, which was as natural to him as human flesh and bone, Bren knew that somewhere in the world all was not as it should be.
But that did not concern him. Not at all. He caught a fierce wind and a cacophony of caws echoed down the mountain he called his own.
Miranda awoke slowly, wondering where she was and how she’d gotten here. What day was it? Where the hell was she? It didn’t take her long to realize that she was in a hospital. The shocking memory of the accident came back to her in a flash. She didn’t remember the collision itself, but she recalled vividly the headlights on the semi that had crossed into the wrong lane, and she remembered screaming.
Jessica!
“You’re awake.”
Miranda’s head snapped to the side. Not a good move. Her head was wrapped in a thick bandage and she had a headache that made her skull pound furiously. Still, she was relieved to see Jessica standing there, untouched, wearing the same pink sweater and jeans she’d been wearing when she’d picked up Miranda.
The bright sunlight shining through the window behind Jessica made her look less than substantial. It had been just after sunset, last Miranda remembered, so the light meant she’d been unconscious all night…
“I love you,” Jessica said, not coming any closer.
She must feel horribly guilty to get so emotional. Jessica didn’t do emotion, not so blatantly. The love was there but it remained unspoken, except in the worst of times. “I love you, too,” Miranda said, and she lifted a hand, motioning with her fingers for her sister to come closer. Jessica didn’t budge; she stayed in the bright sunlight.
Miranda’s arm was bandaged, as well as her aching head, and she couldn’t help but wonder why she’d been hurt so badly while Jessica didn’t have a scratch on her. The light shifted and Miranda found herself blinking hard to clear her unsteady vision. The sounds of hospital activity continued in the hallway. Footsteps passed by quickly, as did squeaking carts and whispering voices. It all sounded so far away, so unimportant.
“Jessica?”
“You’re awake!”
Miranda moved her head more slowly this time, as she looked toward the door and the excited voice. Her friend and roommate, Autumn, rushed in, tears in her eyes…“Thank goodness. I was so worried!”
Miranda attempted a smile, which didn’t seem to work very well. “I’m fine, really. Just a bump on the head, I think.” She lifted the hand that didn’t have an IV connected to it and patted the thick bandage. “What are you doing here? Did Jessica call you?”
Autumn paled, and she bit her bottom lip. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh, honey.”
“What?” Miranda looked toward Jessica to ask what was going on, but there was no one standing in front of the sunny window. Miranda blinked hard, then craned her neck to see where Jessica might’ve gone.
“I didn’t want to be the one to tell you.” Autumn hiccupped and sniffled.
“Tell me what?” Miranda asked. There was a knot in her stomach. “Where’s Jessica?”
Autumn shook her head and wiped away a tear. “It was a truck…head-on, the state trooper said.” She took a deep breath and finally whispered, “Honey, I’m so sorry. Jessica didn’t make it. She died instantly, so there was no pain. She probably never even knew…” Autumn’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t go on.
Miranda tried to sit up but couldn’t. Every bone and muscle in her body ached. “What do you mean she didn’t make it? Jessica was just here. She was standing right over there!” She pointed at the window on the empty side of the stark hospital room. Autumn shook her head and more silent tears slipped from her eyes as a voice whispered in Miranda’s ear. I love you.
Chapter One
Four years later
There were those who could not be allowed to mingle with the innocent. Monsters, some would call them. Evil, the leaders of the Order of Cahir proclaimed. Or so she’d heard in her time in this dark, dank place.
Roxanna sat on a narrow cot, her knees drawn up, her chin down in an instinctively protective manner. She was hungry. The old man fed her now and then, biscuits and cookies and fried chicken, but she wasn’t hungry for food. In the past year she’d seduced a dozen men and taken their souls, strengthening herself, building an unimaginable power. But now she was hungry again. She was weaker than she’d been when they brought her here, which was likely just as they had planned. Even if she hadn’t been chained to the cot, she wouldn’t have been able to make it very far if she tried to run.
She’d be easier to kill now.
Roxanna lifted her head and looked at the redheaded one. At the moment they were alone, just one weakened sorceress and one guard. Even though he had taken part in her torture as they tried to discover if she was working alone or with a coven, there was a part of him that desired her. Another part was afraid of her and what she could do. If she could call him to her, if she could take his soul, she’d be strong enough to escape. This time she wouldn’t be so easily found.
“I could use some water,” she whispered.
“Later…” the redhead began.
“Please.”
He hesitated, scowled, then poured water from a jug into a paper cup and carried it to her. If their hands touched, if she could use all she had learned on him…
Their hands did touch; he did react, with a gasp and a widening of his eyes. She stared into those eyes and stroked with one finger. A moment more and he’d be hers.
“Kill her,” the old man said. She hadn’t heard him come down the stairs but he was there, behind the redhead. “She’s weakened enough now that it won’t be difficult.” The man before Roxanna didn’t immediately do as he was told; he was close to being hers. “Kill her now, or I kill you.”
At those words, the redhead reacted quickly. Water splashed over Roxanna’s dress, the same stained dress she’d been wearing for almost a month. He drew a knife from a leather sheath at his waist, and without hesitation he drove the blade into her chest. Once, and again, and then again.
Roxanna fell back on the cot, her chains rattling. She’d known she’d die a violent death, had dreamed of it, tried to