Raven Born: An Urban Fantasy Shifter Series (Lost Souls Series Book 1)

by Bree Moore

  “I miss my land of snow.” She rocked in her chair, sadness written on her face. “My people were chased from the land, you know. Chased away with laws as sharp as knives.”

  Her phrasing struck him. Harper might have known what that felt like. Tyson didn’t feel like responding, so he sat and listened, knowing she’d continue.

  “If Raven’s children knew, they would not let us be driven so. But they are in hiding.” She whispered the last part like a child who thought they held a secret.

  Wait. Raven’s children? Like, Raven born? Violet’s vision had been about Harper being Raven born. So far Tyson hadn’t learned anything, except that Harper didn’t know anything about her heritage. And that death song she’d sung to knock out the rogues… remembering the sound of it made me shudder. James had said the Raven born were from the north. North, like Alaska.

  “What was that, Nana?”

  She muttered to herself, ignoring Tyson. He leaned closer to hear what she said.

  “Raven sent them, you know, to protect us.” She moaned. “Oh, to protect us. But we cannot reach them.”

  Tyson hesitated. “I met one, I think.”

  Her brown gaze sharpened, and she finally looked straight at him. “Met? One does not meet them. One worships them. Praises them.”

  “She’s a descendent, I think.” He considered Harper, her blunt manner and her rounded face. He snorted at the thought of Harper being considered sacred. “She’s not what you would expect.”

  “Are any of us?”

  So profound today. Tyson shook his head, not sure what to say.

  “Where is she?” He jumped at the harsh edge to Nana’s voice.

  “Uh, in the mountains. Oregon. Why?”

  “She is trapped.” Nana’s voice quaked. Tyson had never seen her so enraged. “The government. Their laws. Their terrible laws. Who could trap such a glorious creature? Cage her like an animal?” Her tone grew more upset with each question. He touched her arm, shushing like he was calming a baby, or an animal.

  “She’s not in a cage, Nana. It’s all right.”

  “You will rescue her.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Tyson stammered. “It’s…complicated. I tried helping her the way I knew how. She doesn’t want to be saved.”

  “Bah.” Nana blew a raspberry and brushed his words away with an irritated gesture. “She is used to taking care of others, not being taken care of. You must rescue her. She will be indebted to you, respect you. A woman with the soul of Raven living inside of her will always look after you.”

  “She’s guarded. With magic. If I try, I’ll end up in prison or worse.” Why did he defend himself to her? Nana would never know if he didn’t help Harper, as long as he didn’t tell her. But the guilt would eat him alive. He needed Nana to understand how impossible her directive was, then she’d agree that it couldn’t be done.

  Instead, she straightened to the full height of her curved back and jabbed her finger toward Tyson. “You carry the spirits of our shaman ancestors with you, Nukilik. How can you have such doubt?”

  She thought Tyson was his grandfather again. Maybe he should just leave, but he didn’t want to leave her so agitated. He hesitated, fingers tapping on the wooden arm of the chair. He was Nukilik’s grandson. Wouldn’t that mean the same ancestors watched over him? He rubbed the back of his neck. He’d never been sure what to think of those tribal beliefs in the ancestors. He grew up listening to Nana preach them. His Nana’s Alaskan heritage made her believe the ancestors were always around them, providing for them. Protection. Power. Guidance. Was there such power for humans to wield?

  Nana bent over on her hands and knees, hand sliding between the mattress of her bed and the frame.

  Tyson cried out and reached for her, moving halfway off the chair, but her hand came back holding a package wrapped in a dark, unfamiliar kind of cloth. She handed it toward him, panting from exertion.

  “Take it, Nukilik.”

  Tyson ignored the package. “Let me help you up.”

  She waved him off, sticking the package out toward him again. Hesitating, he took it from her. She pushed off the floor and back into her seat, rubbing her brow with her hand. “Open it.”

  The material was softer than anything Tyson had felt. Velvety and smooth. He carefully peeled the folds apart to reveal a strange, curved knife with a bone handle.

  “You look as if you have never seen an ulu before.” Nana’s husky laugh barked from her like a cough. “I have saved it all these years. I knew we would need it, even here in the land where they have everything. They do not have proper ulu.”

  Tyson stroked the bone handle, his fingers itching to curl around it. He’d never held such a weapon before.

  “What would I use this for?”

  “To save Raven’s daughter. Use it, and the ancestors will be with you. Raven himself will guide you.”

  Save her. Tyson thought of Reya. Where was this knife when she needed someone to rescue her? An even more sobering thought hit him square in the chest. Could he sit back and watch the same fate fall on Harper? Or at least, a fate she considered worse than death?

  “Why do you hesitate, Nukilik? This is not like you. You are better than this.” Her eagle-eye glare seemed to pierce Tyson. If she could reach, she would have swatted his head.

  Tyson cleared his throat. Her words weren’t meant for him, and yet, they were exactly what he needed to hear.

  Nana’s face drew together, looking old again, as if the conversation had drained all the life out of her. She blinked, misty-eyed, and her hands started trembling. “Tyson?”

  He smiled. There she was. She remembered. He set the ulu aside and went to her, wrapping his arms around her. Somehow, despite not knowing him, she had helped him.

  “Thank you, Nana,” he said, voice muffled in her shawl.

  She patted my back. “You’re a good boy to come visit me. But I am tired. Can you come back tomorrow?”

  “I will soon,” Tyson promised, withdrawing his arms and standing. He picked up the package. “I have something to do first.”

  An orderly knocked on the door, drawing his attention away from Nana. “Time for lunch, Amka.”

  Nana smiled widely at the woman. “Have you met my grandson, Natalie? This is Tyson.”

  He recognized the tone in Nana’s voice and did a ring check on the girl: single. Probably about his age. Natalie smiled, and he noticed her gaze flickered down to his hand, then swept across his body. He stood up.

  “I need to get going, Nana. Thanks for the talk.” Tyson’s palms felt sweaty, and the girl hadn’t said a word to him yet. She was pretty with her strawberry blonde hair and bright face, but his life was complicated enough without adding a relationship in the mix. He gave Nana a quick hug and shot Natalie a smile as he passed her in the doorway, so he seemed human at least. No need to burn bridges.

  Tyson carried the ulu knife around his apartment, feeling a little lost. He placed it on his bedside table, but it looked awkward there, so he picked it up. Its weight seemed familiar, though he’d definitely never held it before. He unwrapped the material and gripped the handle, then set it bare of its wrapping on the bed. Its bone handle gleamed against the dark comforter. How could this knife help with Harper? He had no knowledge of how to use it, even if he could think of someone to use it against. Maybe Nana was more far gone than he gave her credit for. And yet, sitting there listening to her, it felt like her words were meant for him. In the comfort of his apartment, her words didn’t match up with reality.

  Tyson turned the ulu over and over in his hands, accidentally sliding a finger on the edge. A fine, red line opened along his left pointer finger from the tip to the end of the second joint. He sucked in his breath at the sting, watching the blood bead up. His head lightened and his pulse climbed from his hand to his ears, overwhelming everything.

  Greenish-blue light bloomed in Tyson’s vision. He shielded his eyes and sto
pped his hand halfway up, turning the gloved appendage over in the air. He glanced down and saw mukluks and caribou skin pants, barely visible in the ethereal light cast from the sky. There, dancing among the stars, a shimmering sheet. The Northern Lights.

  “Nukilik!” Someone yelled. “You are needed, Nukilik!”

  Tyson’s body turned towards the voice and a large black bird swooped up before him, wings and claws reaching for his face. He ducked, cowering to the ground, and heard a great rushing wind. The snow whipped up into the air, faster and faster until a blizzard surrounded him. The voice disappeared on the wind. Tyson stood up in the middle of a swirling white vortex.

  He was alone.

  Tyson came to, facedown on the bed, blood trailing down his palm, the knife clutched in his opposite hand. He dropped the blade and hurried to the bathroom down the hall. He had to do something about the bleeding.

  He ran cool water over his finger and rummaged through the cupboard above the sink until he found the bent cardboard box with the bandages. His mind was too scattered with fear to consider everything he just saw, or why he saw it. All he could think about was the blood. He didn’t think he needed stitches, as the bleeding was already slowing.

  Patting the wound dry, Tyson used his teeth and free hand to open three smaller bandages, applying them over the cut on his finger. The appendage throbbed as if all his blood was going to gush out from a single two-inch cut.

  Leaving the bathroom, Tyson passed his bedroom doorway and stared at the ulu knife, which sat on the bed as if nothing had happened.

  Where had that dream come from? Was it a vision of the past or the future? He’d never been to Alaska, but now he felt a hollow place inside him, yearning to be filled with the sights of that land. Was the knife enchanted, or had it been triggered by something inside him, some dormant ability? Tyson swallowed, running his hands down his shirt front as if to make sure his body was solid. It had to be the knife. He had never shown any propensity towards magic, and he wasn’t about to start.

  Tyson shook himself and headed for the kitchen. Something to eat. Yes, that would fix it.

  Three bowls of cold cereal and a scrambled egg didn’t touch that spot in his chest. Heat rose in his head, making him feel feverish. He turned off the lights and crawled into bed without touching the knife again. He left it at the end of his bed on top of the covers as he curled up, wide awake and trembling. His injured hand pulsed in the dark as his eyes drifted closed.

  Tyson was nearly asleep when a shock of arctic air blew across the nape of his neck, and a female voice whispered in his ear.

  Nukilik!

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harper

  Harper took advantage of her free afternoon and had a nap. Getting extra sleep was glorious. She wasn’t sure what time it was when Fletcher knocked, but she answered the door with a sleepy stretch, feathers rustling. She closed the door behind her and let Fletcher chatter as they navigated downstairs, without saying much in reply.

  The kitchen was packed. To Harper’s surprise, none of the residents were cooking. Instead, Violet, James, and Lilith worked the stoves while the familiar woman whose name Harper still didn’t know tossed salad beside them. Her milk-white eyes contrasted against her dark skin.

  Harper nudged Fletcher. “Who is that?”

  He followed her gaze. “Oh, that’s Mandi. She’s training under Violet to take over the camp when she retires.”

  “And she’s…?”

  “A witch? Yeah.” Fletcher blinked several times before he realized what Harper meant to ask. “Oh! Yes, she’s blind. But don’t underestimate her. She can sense a lot of things other people are oblivious to.”

  Harper glanced back to the woman, Mandi, and wondered why she had given her that stone. Was Mandi fond of Tyson? She seemed to spend a lot of her time around the other witches, and Zeke too. Witches were people Harper usually avoided, and yet, the red amethyst Mandi gave her seemed to help when she needed a boost of courage to save Tyson. Maybe they weren’t all bad, but it would take a lot more to convince Harper of that.

  Violet called for everyone to be quiet, raising her hands so her flowing sleeves fell down to her elbows. The room slowly settled down. It was filled to the brim with the ragged assortment of paranormals currently residing in the camp.

  “As some of you are aware,” Violet began, “we’ve been working hard for the past year to change the legislature around some of the restrictions placed on Naturalized individuals.”

  Murmurs of agreement waved through the crowd, and a lot of heads nodded.

  “Most specifically, the restriction of a two hundred-mile radius from the city of settlement after Naturalization. Through the efforts of several individuals here and in other camps like ours across the United States, I’m thrilled to announce that new technology has been implemented to enable an extension on the original travel radius.” Violet raised her voice to speak over the cheers breaking out. “Naturalized citizens now have a radius that extends anywhere in the continental United States!”

  The room erupted into exclamations, feet stomping and clapping. Harper simply watched the commotion, stunned by the response. Fletcher hugged her, picking her feet off the floor and squeezing her until she could hardly breathe. He set her down, his face flushed and eyes sparkling with joy.

  Violet’s hands went up again and Mr. Petrov delivered a piercing whistle until the chaos dulled to loud whispering.

  “New trackers should arrive by the end of the month and will replace the ones you currently have. The radius will not go into effect until you’ve completed your individualized Naturalization program.” Some booing came through the crowd, but it was quickly hushed.

  Harper itched thinking of the device implanted somewhere beneath her skin.

  “To celebrate this momentous occasion,” Petrov said. “Classes are cancelled the rest of today and tomorrow, to give you a little taste of the freedom you’ll soon be able to enjoy.”

  Harper’s eardrums nearly burst with the reception that statement received. She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, but she tucked her wings closer around her instead.

  “Can we eat now?” someone—Harper thought it was Keith—shouted from the breakfast nook. Petrov laughed and filled a plate in response. Steak strips, rice, veggies, a salad for the vegetarians, and some fruit mix. It smelled delicious, but Harper wasn’t feeling particularly hungry after that announcement. So much cheering over such a small change.

  Fletcher ushered her forward.

  “Can you believe it, Harper? Out of state! We can go anywhere now!” He handed her a plate piled with a bit of everything except the vegetables, giving her a huge smile.

  She forced a small grin onto her face, not wanting to ruin this moment for him.

  “I can’t believe it’s happened right before my Naturalization comes up. What luck, eh?”

  “Yeah.” Harper robotically followed him to a table filled with people. He pulled out her chair, but she just stared at it for a moment.

  “Uh, Harper? You okay?” Fletcher looked concerned.

  “Oh, yeah. Yeah.” She sat down, setting her plate on the table and staring at her food. Fletcher handed her a fork, still giving her an odd look. He was too discerning for his own good. Fortunately, he was distracted as the others started talking about the new development, the places and people they would visit. He was drawn into the excited discussion, freeing Harper from his scrutiny. She picked up the fork and pushed meat around her plate, snagging a place and chewing it without tasting it.

  Ian and Kamri sat across the table with their elbows touching, listening but not participating in the conversation. Thinking of what Ian said to her that morning in Petrov’s class, Harper wondered if they felt the way she did—that it was too little, too late. Fletcher and the others might have been satisfied with this consolation prize of extra travel mileage, but why did they have to sacrifice who they were to get it?

  A hand
landed on Harper’s shoulder, and she dropped the fork to her plate with a clatter. The chatter at the table paused, then picked up again. Harper looked up into Violet’s smiling face.

  “Harper, you’ve come to us at such an exciting time. I’m sure it’s overwhelming, but the changes you get to witness are monumental. Perhaps you’ll even be part of them. Some of our students have been fundamental in bringing this about. How do you feel about it?”

  Harper blinked. Violet was asking her? As if their last encounter hadn’t ended in disaster? And in front of all these other people? Luckily, no one paid them much attention, except for Fletcher who grinned up at Violet with such a look of adoration in his eyes, Harper wanted to punch him.

  Harper’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table, restraining the urge to swat Violet’s hand from her shoulder and storm from the room. “Honestly, I don’t give a damn. At the end of the day, I still have to lose my wings to get these little perks you’re fighting so hard for. So, you’ll excuse me if I’m not thrilled.”

  Fletcher’s eyes widened as he dropped his gaze to Harper.

  Violet’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “That’s exactly what we need more of, Harper. Passion, motivation, vision.” Was this her way of making up with Harper? Because it wasn’t working. Violet gave Harper one last squeeze and drifted to the next table without waiting for a response.

  Harper stared at the witch’s back. Her hands ached, so she released them, flexing her fingers. She stared at the crescent marks left in her palms by her nails and thought about what Lilith had said.

  We need to stand up for ourselves, not cower in our corner and take orders. Why didn’t more of the others believe that kind of future was possible? They’re begging for scraps…and they like it. The excited buzz of conversation filled the room—people talking about who they hadn’t seen for years, family that could finally welcome them home once they’d been Naturalized. It was all part of a move to get more of them to comply, Harper realized.

  They should be accepted for who they are. That’s what we all deserve, isn’t it?