Wayward Secrets: The Raven Brothers of Fallen Mountain

by KT Strange

  So I’m stuck.

  Kat, or Kyron?

  I might be able to measure my time left on this planet by the fingers on one hand, but- that doesn’t mean I want to let Kat down. And she did make me tea, which I never ended up drinking.

  “Hey, so,” I say to Kyron. He’s laying on the couch, breathing slowly, balancing a full bottle of beer on his chest, like he’s trying to… accomplish something by not letting it spill.

  Guys are weird. They’re strange as children, wild as teenagers, and sometimes they manage to grow up into half-decent human beings.

  Kyron seems to have grown-up half-wild. Must be all the time he spends in the forest.

  “So, so, so,” he replies, each word out threatening to topple the beer bottle. I take a breath, almost holding it in anticipation of the bottle tipping over. That’s when I notice the smooth, tense rise of his chest, and the hint of tight abs under his shirt. It… makes my body warm. I drag my gaze away.

  “There’s this bonfire,” I say, and that has him reacting to my presence more than before. His hand fists around the neck of the beer and he sits up, booted feet swinging off the couch and thudding onto the ground.

  “It’s fun,” he says, “if you like bar brawls with sand in your eyes.” Then he grins over at me, stretching his arms over his head. More smooth movements of his muscles under golden skin. He’s got an easy smile too, crisp white teeth that threaten to bite down hard and rip your heart out. “My kind of party.”

  “I am somehow not surprised.” He laughs at my words and claps his free hand over his chest, right above his heart.

  “Wounded, but not fatally. So, you want me to take you? Done deal. I haven’t had a good knuckle-buster in awhile.”

  “Do you really go to the motel and pick fights?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me as he gets to his feet. The sway of his hips has my eyes dragging down his body, but every bit of him screams baaaaaaad newwwwwwwws, so I try not to make it a habit. My gaze skips up the length of his back. He’s not shirtless, for once, maybe since all of them discovered I am a shameless accidental peeper, they’re going to be more inclined to keep their clothes on.

  My temperamental heart thanks them, in advance. It only has so many beats left in it before it goes belly-up.

  “That’s for me to know and you to witness at some point when I kidnap you and take you along on my shenanigans,” he calls to me, disappearing down the hall. I hesitate for a moment, then follow him, hovering at the entryway to the hall. He’s in his room, rustling around. “You’re not gonna wanna wear that,” he says, and I glance down at my clothing. It’s a skirt, long and loose enough that it tolerates the bike, and a long-sleeved shirt to brave against the wind when I ride.

  He emerges, true-to-Kat’s-promise, in plaid, and he throws something blurry and red at me. I catch it. Soft flannel, washed and dried many times, slips through my fingers as I hold it. It’s plaid too.

  “I-”

  “Keeps away the monsters,” he says with a wink, and I roll my eyes. “But put on jeans. And wear real shoes. It’s a lakeshore, not a holiday beach.”

  “I have my own clothes,” I reply, offering him his button-down shirt back. He doesn’t move, and his eyes are shaded in the darkness of the hall. He is so still. He’s barely breathing, and my spine tingles.

  It’s almost like being back at Kat’s cafe, Gato staring me down, ready to pounce.

  “You should be wearing my colors tonight,” he replies, “but if you really don’t want to-” His voice sounds so ominous that I can’t help but reply,

  “Okay.” And that’s that. I’ll wear the shirt. Over one of my own shirts. I’ll drown in his, it’s way too big in the shoulders.

  “Good,” he replies, turning and disappearing into his room. “Meet you outside at sun-down.”

  My heart gives a foreboding thump in my chest. I’ve just agreed to two things, that I’m not entirely sure about. Going to a crazy bonfire where apparently drugs and debauchery are the order of the day… and wearing Kyron’s ‘colors’, whatever that means.

  At least I can say I’m taking every opportunity to experience new things, in these final days.

  13

  Cordelia

  The heavy presence of his arm along the back of my seat makes me so aware of Kyron’s proximity in the truck that I try not to squirm. He’s twisted around, backing out to avoid a young tree at the edge of the clearing, and he sighs as he straightens up.

  He’s quiet.

  He’d been waiting for me outside the truck when I rounded the corner of the main cabin, leaning against it, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling toward the branches overhead.

  The long shadows on the ground haunted my footsteps as I crossed the open space toward him, and he glanced at me. For just a second I thought he did a double-take, but it must’ve been a trick of the quickly darkening forest, because he popped open the passenger door for me, before going and getting in the other side.

  And then other than a gruff greeting, he didn’t say much of anything.

  Which brought us to now, truck rolling out onto the gravel road at the edge of the property, the outfitter sign hanging thick and stalwart above us as we left Raven Brothers behind.

  “Radio?” I ask, because it’s not polite to touch someone else’s equipment without asking. Right now he’s just a straight profile, staring right ahead at the road, and I tug his shirt tighter around me. I’d put on jeans for the occasion, although they’re not exactly beach-adventure worthy given that they’re tight and have a few of those artfully placed worn patches where the threads cling desperately like spiderweb, and a white tank-top under his flannel.

  I have to admit, the flannel is warm, and it smells, hmm, spicy, almost, like clove, and cinnamon. Like burnt coffee, and something deeper under it that I can’t quite place. I want to bury my nose in the collar, because the fabric is thick and combed-soft.

  “Mmm,” Kyron says as the truck rocks over a pot-hole the size of a small dog, and my finger slips on the knob. The radio blares on, and Kyron winces, reaching for the volume to turn it down. “Hell,” he says.

  “Sorry,” I reply, turning to look out the window as the scrub and brush hugs up against the truck.

  “Not your fault,” he replies, before clearing his throat. “So is this BYOB?”

  “Kat didn’t say,” I answer, shifting my weight before peeking at him from behind the curtain of my hair.

  “They’ll have something for the ladies,” he muses. “Something sweet and syrupy to get your joints lubed, and-” His gaze sweeps to me, and the corner of his mouth pulls up in a smirk. “Other things lubed too.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “I’m not seventeen,” I say easily, because I’m not going to be flustered by that implication.

  “Oh yeah, you know how it all works? I pegged you for an innocent.”

  I’m suddenly brave, spurred on by this challenge, this insult to my maturity.

  “I get why you’d think that,” I reply, words liquid-fast, “it takes a virgin to know a virgin, after all.” Kyron lets out an undignified squawk, and his fingers fist over the wheel before he smiles and shakes his head.

  “I walked into that.”

  “More like ran,” I add, salt in the wound. He lets out low whistle.

  “Alright, alright, I concede.” He ducks his head and grins at me out of the side of his mouth while keeping his eyes on the road. I’m grateful for his attention to our safety. The headlights cut through the misty forest, lighting up hazy particles that are half-blinding me. How he’s seeing through it, I have no idea.

  But he drives steadily, his body-language relaxed. I settle down into my seat, my nerves fizzing in my stomach. Our little parry was fun, and my limbs are warm, my body aching to move, to do something, nervous energy threatening to eat me up from the inside out.

  “You look good in my shirt,” he comments, and when I raise my eyebrows at him, he clears his throat. “Not like that… not,
it’s just, you look good, that’s all.” He shifts his weight, leaning into me in a way that’s barely perceptible, and I find my breath catching in the back of my throat.

  “Yeah, plaid really suits me. It sets off my eyes,” I say drily and he laughs. “I think I was a lumberjack in my past life.”

  “You’ll meet a few of your people tonight, then,” he says, “you wouldn’t know it from the kitschy little town, but lumber felling employs half the degenerates in this goddamn place. Oh, hey, there they are.” I look up as we turn the corner and pull up to the beach. A scatter of cars are parked, and bikes lean up against them. I really hope people aren’t planning on driving, or biking, after drinking, especially in the thick darkness that shrouds the lakeshores.

  The point of light is the bonfire, and as Kyron throws the truck into park, I slip out the door, my feet landing on the soft sand with quiet thuds. Silhouettes of bodies standing around the fire block it out from fully blinding us, but it’s huge. The flames lick skyward, peaking and curving, sensuous and it’s burning so hot that there’s barely any smoke, just a few sparks in the wind as the breeze carries them to die out over the lake. There’s at least thirty people around it, the burble of conversation loud.

  “C’mon,” Kyron says as he steps in to stand beside me. Warm shock pours over me as his arm curls around my shoulders, resting heavy on the tops of them, and he urges me forward. We’re not near close enough to the fire for me to blame the heat in them on the flames, but if anyone asks, that’s what I’m going to claim. I try not to look up at him to figure out what he’s playing at, because he’s moving different, a certain swagger to his steps that’s all him… but exaggerated.

  “Cordelia!” Kat shrieks from on the other side of the fire, and she tosses her beer at someone before diving around the edge of the pit. The guy catches it, beer splashing on his hand, and he shouts after her, some pejorative about ‘dumb women’ or something. She’s laughing at him though, just as she reaches me, out of breath from stepping hard though the loose sand. Kyron’s arm stays, stock-still and firm, on me, especially when Kat throws her own arms wide, like she wants to hug me.

  Instead, Kyron tugs me against his chest, and my chin jerks up, as I stare at him for a moment. Kat laughs again, this time the sound wilts and falters at the edges, and she turns, shifting slightly, wrapping her arms around both of us in a barrel hug that feels awkward and forced.

  “Heeeeeey,” she drawls, the spicy-sour scent of beer on her breath as she pulls away. “You made it.” She punches Kyron in the shoulder before stumbling back. “And you brought along Grumpy.”

  True to the nickname, he stiffens against me, and I make absolutely zero effort to squirm out of his grip. It’s not true though. Kyron is never grumpy. Kat just thinks he is because- I look up at him. He’s glaring at her like she’s a bug and he wants to stomp on her.

  “Well, it’s dark, and I didn’t want to bike here,” I explain. “Ky was nice enough to bring me.”

  Kat flaps a hand at me, as if waving off my concerns of pitching off my bike in the dead of night.

  Little does she know I’ve already been there, done that. I really don’t want to repeat it.

  “C’mon, let her go,” Kat complains at Kyron, “she’s new, and needs to meet people so she can start socializing and not be stuck in your weird little mountaineering circle.”

  Ky snorts, but lets her pull at me, his fingers dragging along my spine, almost like a reminder, remember, you’re in my colors. That touch makes me shiver.

  I’m in his colors. Whatever that means. They confer some sort of mystical protection, or something. I glance at him as she tugs at my arm, hauling me around the bonfire. It’s ten feet across, maybe bigger, some kind of giant metal dish sunk into the sand, with wood piled high-high-high in the center. It’s so hot that I’m almost sweating in my over-shirt, and it warms me right through.

  “This is Gil,” Kat says, wobbling on the sand and I grab her arm to keep her upright. The guy she’s introducing me to is built, but with a bit of a gut pressing against his shirt, like he really likes working out and pastries.

  Same, guy, same.

  He grins at me, lifting his beer, and the blonde beside him with ratty, frizzy braids curls her upper lip at me instead of smiling.

  “Jaylee,” she says, by way of greeting, and Kat laughs.

  “Cordelia’s staying with the Raven brothers,” she says, and that gets me a few raised eyebrows, and Jaylee doubles down on her angry sneer-pout.

  There’s a few more people around us, talking to each other, but I can feel they’re looking at me out of the corners of their eyes, pupils glittering in the firelight. Kat disappears for a second, as someone calls her name, and Gil clears his throat.

  “Aren’t you a little, uh, city to be staying out there?” He asks, and I glance down. I’m wearing the plaid, which I’m slightly relieved to see not everyone is wearing, which means this isn’t a cult meet-up. These people just really like flannel.

  Which, with that breeze picking up, I understand. I pull the shirt tighter around me, grateful for Kyron’s borrowed warmth.

  “I heard you just moved here,” says girl name, staring at me, breathing through her mouth. She takes a swig of beer from her boyfriend, a droplet begging to fall from her lower lip. It’s all I can focus on for a moment, and it’s like the sound of her breathing surrounds me, heavy and insistent, crowding into my ears, pushing every other sound out-

  Snap-crack!

  A log near us pops with a mini-explosion and we all jerk away from it out of instinct. The weird moment is broken, and sound resumes, rushing into the void that had bubbled around me.

  “Yeah,” I say, “came in from Twocities.”

  “I heard you drove in with a taxi,” she says, and I squint at her.

  “Awful lot of talk about me,” I say, “I’m nobody important.” I shrug and she eyes me up like she thinks I might be some kind of famous recluse, here escaping the scrutiny of Twocities.

  “Hmm,” is all she replies with.

  “C’mon,” Gil nudges her with one shoulder and a grin on his face. “You two should hang out.” He turns his head to me. “My girl’s been itching to get into the city. I think she’d make it big on the stages there, don’t you?”

  Oh.

  “Uh, I don’t know much about the theater,” I say weakly, and Jaylee turns her head. I’m not interesting anymore. Not shiny and threatening. That’s fine. Gil is still watching me.

  “Those wolf-boys are wild,” he says to me, his voice low under the crackle of the fire, and the chatter around us. I must give him a weird look because he nods, across the flames. Kyron’s standing there, being talked at by three women, one nearly hanging off of his arm.

  But he’s staring at me, his eyes dark this far away. I can’t make out pupil from iris.

  “Wolf-boys?” I ask, and Gil sneers, but winks at me in a way his girlfriend hates.

  “They run with the wolves. Wild, filthy, like animals.” He hates Kyron. I can tell that much. A chill rolls up my spine.

  “Well, thanks for the warning,” I reply, not interested in continuing this conversation for a second longer. I scoot around him, ignoring the burn of his eyes into the back of my neck as I find Kat again. She’s leaning over a guy, pressing her breasts into his face, and when he pulls away to look at me, I swallow hard.

  It’s her fucking cousin. Derrick.

  “Kat,” I say, taking her by the arm. She is just so drunk she has no idea who he is, I’m sure of it. She whines at me, and tries to shrug off my grip.

  “Stop,” she warbles.

  “No, seriously,” I say, as her cousin grabs her by the hips, and my eyebrows jack up nearly past my hairline.

  Is this really Kyron’s kind of party? Is this what he meant? Is he… I look up, to find him in the crowd, and he’s disappeared from where I last saw him. Something is in the air, something sickly, just under the burning snap and crack of the fire. It slithers down my throat
and clings there.

  Kat claws at me, true to her name, and hisses.

  “Fine, fine,” I snap, stepping away.

  Coming here was a mistake.

  These are not my people. I don’t recognize anyone other than Kat, and I have to wonder where they’ve all come from. I don’t know the faces from my walks up and down the main street in town, or from my grocery store trips. My gaze slides over these people, that I don’t know, and are starting to make my skin crawl. Crowds and knots of people get in my way, as I weave through them.

  “Hey baby, want a drink?” Someone asks into my ear, and a plastic cup is shoved in my face, the smell of it so boozy I could probably light the fumes on fire. I duck away.

  “Kyron,” I call out, although my throat half-croaks through the words. I want to be at his side, so I can ask him to take me home.

  This is my kind of party. His words thump in my ears along with my heartbeat, echoey and magnified a billion times larger than life. I squeeze between two men, grabbing each other by the arms and arguing loudly. Someone’s playing guitar, the notes off-key every so often, from a bad string. The sound is grating over my nerves, and the jabber of talking voices is building, building, building. It’s like I can’t breathe, and there’s too many people everywhere. My face is hot from the fire, and everything blurs after I circle the fire, once, twice, trying not to step on anyone or be stepped on.

  Kyron isn’t anywhere in sight.

  “Hey, hey!” I bump into someone who yells in my ear, and the hand burns my skin. I jerk away, staring up at the giant of a man, who towers over me. “Who the fuck are you?” His words are whiskey-soaked and I step back, my foot hitting the leg of a beach-chair. I nearly go ass over tea-kettle, as the whiskey man laughs, throwing his head up to the sky to howl at it.

  A puff of wind blows smoke toward me just as I inhale and get a hard lungful of it. I choke, my eyes watering, and the explosions in my chest nearly cause me to bend over. Spots start to aura in my vision.