Conspiracy of Ravens

by J. C. McKenzie

  The dead bolt on her apartment’s door stared back at her. Useless. It hadn’t stopped Bane from gaining entry to her place the first time, she doubted it would be triumphant a second time. Bane could evade her measly defenses, and now he knew her little magic trick. The next time he came for her, he’d be prepared, and she’d be screwed.

  Should she go to her parents? Yes. Cole promised to protect them, so she should be safe there. One location was easier to protect than two, but it also created a giant all-encompassing target composed of her entire family.

  Her phone rang in her hand. She jumped and dropped it.

  “Odin’s scrotum!” she cursed. Swiftly scooping the phone from the floor, Cole’s name appeared across the undamaged screen. She sighed. She couldn’t afford a new phone.

  She answered. “Hello?”

  “I’m coming over.”

  Before she could reply, Cole hung up. Raven kept the phone to her ear and listened to the dial tone. Yeah, right. Like a magical voice would suddenly start explaining stuff to her over the airways. Her brain scrambled.

  The shadows around her darkened, pooling together. They lowered from the corners of the room and moved to the center where they twisted together. The bands kept streaming and twisting, like the ribbons from some demented May-Pole celebration. The tall shadowy pyre continued to grow until Cole materialized in her living room, large and imposing.

  Raven breathed out. Wow.

  Cole strode toward her, dark jeans clinging to powerful thighs, shirt stretched across his strong chest.

  She gulped. Her nipples tightened, her shirt now rough against the sensitive skin.

  Crap! She should’ve thrown on a sweatshirt or something. Better to drip sweat than let her bra-less state show Cole how his mere presence made her nipples ping. Her arm muscles twitched to fold across her chest.

  Cole’s gaze scanned her apartment, and then her. “You’re unharmed.”

  “Physically, yes.”

  He tilted his head. “Did he hurt you psychologically, somehow?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “No. I’m just freaking out. I’m not safe in my own home and I don’t know why Bane wants me.”

  Cole’s gaze darkened and roamed her body again. Unlike his calculating scan earlier, he took his time, letting his attention linger. “I have an idea.”

  “I don’t get that vibe from him.” Nope. The Lord of War wasn’t interested in playing hide the bologna with her...thank Odin!

  “No?”

  “No.”

  His jaw unclenched and his lips twitched. “What vibe do you get from me?”

  Predatory.

  She clamped her mouth shut. If he chose to actively seduce her, she’d resist for a solid two seconds before melting into a puddle of need.

  His gaze drifted to her lips. He took another step forward, within kissing distance.

  Her lungs constricted. Her stomach tightened. “You’re supposed to protect me,” she blurted.

  Cole straightened. “No, you asked me to protect your family.” He looked around the apartment. His attention snagged on something. His dark brows pinched in. He took a step toward her couch. There, on the armrest, lay a perfect glistening feather.

  Raven gulped.

  He plucked the feather from where it rested. His breath sucked in and he squeezed his eyes shut. When they reopened, the irises had bled out to cover the whites of his eyes. “Not a fox shifter like your family, then...”

  He never thought she was a fox shifter. She’d bet her last pair of pumps on that. He knew she was part Other the moment they met and asked her to take her contacts out, but the feather must’ve confirmed his suspicions. Whatever information he gleaned from it had affected him enough to make his eyes change. And for someone that exuded confidence and control, that said more than any words he uttered.

  She clenched her teeth and pulled her shoulders back. “You need to provide protection for me.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You don’t seem to need protection.”

  He must’ve drawn that conclusion from the lack of blood and guts splattered across the walls, but Raven had no way to prevent Bane from returning. Her stellar wits and fleeing skills would only get her so far. “I disagree.”

  “Oh, don’t worry.” His smouldering gaze held all sorts of suggestions. “I plan to keep a closer eye on you.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  “It wouldn’t be advantageous for Bane to gain you as leverage.” He continued to twirl the feather between his fingers.

  “How do I get a hold of you if I don’t have a phone, or you’re in the Other Realms?”

  “Summoning is simple.” He leaned in, dousing her with his mysterious forest scent. His voice rumbled. He ran the feather down her nose. “Just say my name.”

  Her thighs tensed. “Just your name?”

  He nodded and reached out with his free hand to gather a strand of her still-damp hair. He ran it between two of his fingers, staring hard, as if mesmerized. “My full fae name.”

  “That’s it?” She held her hand out for the feather.

  He shook his head. “While drawing your blood or the blood of another.”

  Said blood drained from her face. “Just draw and quarter myself while screaming your name.” She snapped her fingers. “Easy.”

  He chuckled. “Although the idea of you screaming my name is...delicious.” He paused and let her hair slip from his fingers. “It’s unnecessary. And although you need more blood than a pinprick or scratch, drawing and quartering is excessive. There’d be nothing left for me to protect once I arrive.”

  “Wouldn’t it be annoying and a little too easy for your name to be the key ingredient for a summoning? Like, anyone could do it and you’d be zinging all over the Mortal Realm to answer calls.” She ran her hands down the thin cotton of her pajama pants. Anything to keep from reaching out and touching Cole.

  “Not really. For instance, right now, the thirteen-year-old, pimple-faced brat across the road is dabbling in the occult. He’s using my name like a bad song stuck on repeat because he wants to be a badass assassin and thinks I can somehow transform him. He’s even learned to add the blood component.” He tucked the feather into the waist of his jeans, flashing a muscular torso.

  She licked her lips.

  He pulled his T-shirt over to cover the feather and pin it in place.

  “Blood component?” she asked. This conversation needed to get back on track before her mind went right off the rails and into the gutter.

  “Every spell has a price. For a summoning to be heard, you must feed your voice, and the chow of choice is your life essence.”

  “Blood.”

  He nodded. “Blood.”

  Yup, no amount of repeating this fact made it lose the ick factor. “Don't you have to go to him, then? He’s bleeding and crying your name.”

  Cole smirked. “No. Even this close, the tug is weak. He lacks any true power or the ability to compel me. I probably only feel it because I am so close in proximity.” He paused. “Summoning me might be easy but controlling me isn’t. I don’t need to answer a summons. Think of it as an invasive type of phone call. And if I do answer, I’m not some demon caged in a witch’s circle on a full moon. Most people fear my retribution too much to summon me callously. I could choose to show up and make your neighbour’s life miserable or I could stay here with much better company.”

  Her cheeks warmed.

  He stepped in closer. So close the warmth of his body pressed against her skin. The gentle draft of his breath fanned her cheek. If she stuck out her tongue, she’d learn whether he tasted as good as he looked.

  “You on the other hand,” he said. “My name on your lips is a siren’s call I couldn’t resist.”

  The shadow bands reached forward and ran along her skin. Cole’s large, capable hands cradled her face and his lips pressed against hers, hot and lush. His tongue slipped in and stroked hers. Time slowed along with her heart and the room disappeared. Only Cole
and his mouth on hers chased away any lingering fear from Bane’s visit. She melted into his lips and he gathered her in his strong, protective arms. His hands gripped her while shadows explored her body. Feather light, wisps of promised pleasure, they moved along and teased her skin.

  Cole deepened the kiss and pulled her into his body, hard where she was soft. He tasted of dark promises and scandalous nights. His chest pressed against her breasts. All the while, his shadows continued to move and explore. Emboldened, their touch increased their pressure.

  Raven’s head spun. Her limbs grew limp, her heart melted. Her hands clutched the soft fabric of his shirt. Cole offered unhindered passion and pleasure in his arms.

  The arms of a stranger.

  Raven stiffened. She knew almost nothing about this man. He might still plot to kill her own brother.

  Heck, even when she knew someone, she still managed to get burned.

  Cole withdrew, still holding her in his arms, his gaze searched hers. His lips twitched. “You think entirely too much, Einin.”

  “What should I do, then?” she whispered, still catching her breath.

  “Feel.” He rubbed her arms.

  Oh, how she wanted to. How she wanted to throw caution to the curb and slap her naked body against his. How she wanted to forget all her troubles and let Cole fill her mind with pleasure.

  Cole’s gaze softened. He leaned forward and delivered a quick kiss before releasing her. The skin prickled where his shadows left her. She felt their absence keenly.

  “Go to sleep, Einin. I’ll take the couch.”

  She looked over at the apartment-sized abomination she purchased second-hand online. “You’re going to sleep on that?”

  His gaze smouldered. “I would rather sleep on, or with, something else.”

  Heat flooded her skin.

  He leaned in. “But not even my self-control is that good. I only take what’s freely given.”

  “Uhhh...”

  He shifted away from her, leaving cool air where heat had once been. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  Her brain clunked to switch gears. Her body was still slapping itself for missing out on great sex. What was wrong with her?

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Going to question an old friend.”

  “Yours or Bear’s?”

  She hesitated. “Both.” I think.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I’m not an early bird or a night owl. I am some form of permanently exhausted pigeon.”

  ~Unknown, but obviously Raven’s kindred spirit

  Raven and Cole stepped into the air-conditioned working area of Marcus Automotive, a concrete room adrift in car fumes. The cool air hit her bare arms and legs. The caustic, yet oddly comforting, mix of grease, gas, diesel and oil overwhelmed her senses. With a few deep breaths, the familiar smell washed over her. Marcus had always loved cars. She’d grown up playing in his dad’s garage while he tinkered with his latest project.

  Mr. Lamont had passed away five years ago. She’d attended his funeral, and Marcus Lamont had cried on her shoulder.

  Air-powered tools punctuated the tune of sparse voices, drills, clanking metal and the traffic from Boundary Street a few blocks over.

  Marcus had inherited his dad’s shop. They’d found the old man’s body in this room beside a dilapidated jeep. They said his heart just gave out.

  Raven walked toward a pickup truck with its hood popped open. Her flip flops slapped the concrete floor. “Hey, Marcus.”

  Every week, the trolls opened access on the Lion’s Gate Bridge. No fees, no favours, no death threats. The troll bridge toll-free Fridays. Last year, Bear had everyone over for a barbeque, including Marcus. She hadn’t seen him since.

  The man under the hood straightened and moved to the side of the truck. Grease streaked his face and painted his nails and fingertips black. Stubble accentuated the chiseled lines on his face. He’d grown out his dark brown hair since the last time she saw him. It fell in front of his face. He used his grease-stained hands to push it back.

  “Raven.” A smile spread across his face, white teeth contrasting with his tan skin and grime. “You still driving that piece of shit?”

  “Don’t talk about Jean Claude like that.”

  “He needs a checkup. You’re way overdue for a service.” He leaned against the side of the truck. “It’s almost as though you’re avoiding me.”

  “What? No.” Okay, she totally was. She couldn’t afford to pay for the service, and she wouldn’t let Marcus work for free, which is what he’d offer if he knew how bad things were financially for her. Just to prove him otherwise, she walked over and gave him a hug.

  His arms hesitated for a second before closing around her. He was warm, solid and smelled like car oil. He let her go when she pulled away and stepped back. His gaze shifted to Cole. His smile faltered. “Not a social call, I take it?”

  “Not really. I tried to call.” An elderly woman had answered his old cell phone number and Raven ended up talking to the woman about the weather and how fast technology changed these days for over half an hour. She’d also called the shop, but some rude technician hung up on her.

  “Changed my cell provider a while ago. New number.”

  “Ah.”

  They stared at each other.

  “Do you know where Bear is?” she asked.

  He grabbed a nearby rag and wiped his hands. “I had a few guys come into the shop yesterday and ask the exact same thing. What’s going on?”

  The constant staccato of machinery lightened. She glanced around the shop. Some of the other mechanics had straightened and now watched Raven and Cole. The few she recognized nodded at her and went back to work. The rest continued to stare. “Can we talk in your office?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  Raven followed Marcus to the back room. He still looked good in jeans. Cole trailed behind, a dark, looming hulk of a man as her shadow. At least, he hadn’t tried to butt in or take over the conversation. When they reached his office, Marcus closed the door behind them.

  Stuffy, his office appeared as the dumping ground for all things paper. An uncovered light bulb with low wattage dangled from the ceiling. Dust lined the frames of a family photo and his automotive service technician red seal certificate. Grease smudges decorated the walls. A small fan whirled in the corner, making a little dent in the heat and teasing the corners of the papers. The room smelled like a combination of car oil and male sweat.

  Marcus stood a couple feet from Cole. The men sized each other up. Neither seemed impressed with what they saw.

  Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “Who’s your...friend?”

  “Marcus, this is Cole. Cole, Marcus.” She waved her hands at each of them.

  They nodded at each other. Neither offered a hand to shake. Marcus pulled his gaze from the Lord of Shadows and focused on her. His eyebrows relaxed and the creases around his eyes smoothed away. “Why didn’t you call the shop?”

  “I did. Some guy hung up on me.”

  Marcus’ gaze darkened. “Who?”

  “Brian, maybe?”

  Marcus nodded, his expression closed off. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Thanks.”

  A paused stretched into awkward silence.

  “What’s going on, Wenny?”

  Only Marcus called her that. Well, only Marcus called her that and lived. She’d take up martial arts to kill anyone else who dared. Cole’s head snapped to her. His shoulders tensed.

  “Bear’s in trouble,” she said.

  Marcus frowned. “What else is new?”

  “Real trouble, Marcus.”

  He hesitated. With another glance at Cole, he walked around his desk and sat. He waved at the other two empty plastic patio chairs, circa 1990.

  Raven plunked down. The chair wobbled but held. Her bare skin slid along the smooth surface until it stuck. The coffee she’d consumed hours ago had turned her mouth stale. She dug into her purse and pulled out some gum.
The vanilla mint flavour danced along her taste buds. She glanced over her shoulder and held up the gum package. Cole, maintaining his position by the door with folded arms, shook his head.

  She turned to Marcus and he shook his head as well. She put the gum away.

  “Does this trouble of Bear’s have anything to do with your dark fae entourage?” Marcus asked.

  She didn’t bother asking him how he knew Cole was dark fae instead of light. The man dripped midnight liaisons from his pores.

  “We’re working together.”

  “Uh-huh.” His lip curled like the times Bear offered to trade him their mom’s leftover meatloaf for lunch. “Can’t trust the fae, Wenny.”

  Cole growled.

  Marcus ignored him.

  “I’m fae, Marcus.” Raven reminded him. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

  “Half fae.” The tension released from Marcus’ shoulders and he sat back. “And you’re different.”

  Raven dug her phone out and read the text from Mike: Need you at home. NE.

  NE stood for non-emergency. Raven sighed. Last time Mike needed her to help with computer research, she had to sit by one of his computers with code scrolling up the screen while he went to the bathroom. If he used her for a potty break again, cast or no cast, she’d hurt him.

  Cole stepped forward. “Can you describe the men who came by yesterday?”

  Marcus scowled. For a moment, he looked as though he’d refuse to answer. His gaze flicked to Raven.

  She nodded.

  Marcus’ lips flattened into a firm line. “Dark fae, like you. Hired thugs, most likely. Didn’t like being told no and didn’t want to leave.”

  “Yet, you and your establishment are unscathed from the altercation,” Cole observed.

  Marcus flashed his teeth at the fae lord. He flipped his hand in the air and made the dust in the room dance. Despite acting like an alpha werewolf, ready to dominate and piss on things, Marcus was a witch, or a warlock, as he preferred to be called. He wasn’t super powerful, but witches and warlocks excelled in protecting their hearth, regardless of personal strength. She’d be surprised if Marcus considered anywhere other than this shop his home.