Raven's Revenge: Paranormal Prison Romance (Paranormal Prison Series Book 2)

by Naomi Martin

  I want to be out there doing something to bring him home, because I know Gray would be doing the same for any of us. I’ve always felt a special bond with Gray. He was the first person in the Pit to be nice to me. He teased me a lot in the beginning. Gave me a hard time. But I realized it’s only because he cares about me. He only hassles the people he loves. And I do love him like a brother.

  It’s why I’m taking this all so hard, and why I’m so anxious to get out there and do something. I can’t stomach the thought of anything happening to him. Not that I’d be able to stomach anything happening to any one of my little tribe here, but with Gray, it’s different. He took me under his wing, protected me when nobody else would. I feel like I owe him. He’s like a big brother to me.

  “Zane, can you tell if he’s still close?” I ask.

  He closes his eyes and seems to draw inward. After a couple of moments, he opens his eyes again and nods.

  “He’s still close,” he confirms. “I just can’t tell where, exactly.”

  I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. Raven’s got a deep frown on her face, like she’s concentrating. The skin between her eyebrows bunches together like it does when she’s trying to figure something out. Whatever she’s working through in her head, it’s obviously important… and complicated. But then she lets out a deep breath, frustration painted across her face, as if the answer to whatever she was trying to figure out wriggled through her fingers.

  She runs a hand through her hair and slumps back in her chair, like a sail that’s lost its wind and hangs limp and defeated. I look at Zane and his expression is as inscrutable as ever. The man’s unreadable. He could be happy about what he found, he could be shrieking mad, and I’d never be able to tell which emotion he’s feeling. Goddamn vampires.

  I scrub my face with my hands and lean against the bed’s headboard. Okay, so this is a problem we need to solve. The first thing we need to do is figure out the whys of this all. We need to understand why Cook was killed in such a brutal and public fashion. To my mind, the answer is simple.

  “Villa is behind this,” I say.

  Raven looks up at me. “Duh.”

  I grin ruefully. “But the question is why?” I ask. “Why did he make a public spectacle of Cook’s death?”

  “Shock value?” Zane adds.

  “Yes. But why?” I ask. “Who is his audience and what is his endgame?”

  “And why Cook?” Raven adds. “Cook was his ally, was going to head up the committee that was going to just rubber stamps to whatever Villa wants. So why murder the guy who was giving him everything he wanted?”

  “Because maybe he didn’t want somebody else holding his leash,” I say. “Maybe he wants to be his own master.”

  I hadn’t known exactly what I was going to say until I opened my mouth, but thinking about it now, I see the logic in my words. It makes sense.

  “Okay, I’m listening,” Raven says. “Go on.”

  “Maybe he and this Cook were having some sort of power struggle,” I go on. “Maybe Villa wants to be the one making all the decisions. To be answerable to nobody.”

  “It would enable him to murder us more freely,” Zane posited. “And without any sort of oversight.”

  I put my finger to my lips, tapping it as I look off into the distance, turning the problem over and over in my mind. There are a couple of problems with the theory, though nothing that can’t be explained away.

  “He would still need to answer to somebody,” I say. “He couldn’t just take over this committee and start writing checks for this shadowy murder organization without permission.”

  “But who would give him permission?” Zane asks. “Who could he go to for that?”

  “Beats me,” Raven says. “According to Dora’s sources, nobody inside the Beltway even knows about Villa’s group. Not even the President. Hell, the vast majority of Congress doesn’t even believe in supernaturals, think they’re nothing but tabloid fodder.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” I say. “Maybe this is his endgame.”

  “What are you talking about?” Raven asks.

  “Two things. First, by having a super murder Senator Cook, they can expose us for all the world to see, turning non-believers into believers overnight,” I say. “Then, Villa positions himself as the only one who can beat this threat. These people, in their fear and desperation, grant him all the power and money he could ever want.”

  A silence descends over the room once more as Raven and Zane exchange glances before they both turn to me.

  “It makes sense,” Zane admits. “I don’t see a flaw in his logic.”

  Raven looks like she’s going to be sick. She leans forward, burying her face in her hands, and shakes her head.

  “It also means they probably did manage to find some way to use Spirit to rewire a person’s brain,” she says, her voice muffled by her hands. “I can’t believe that Gray would willingly do this on his own.”

  “We don’t know for certain this was Gray,” Zane cautions.

  Raven sits up again. “It’s like you said, there is no logical reason for Gray to be here instead of going back to Meridian,” she says. “There are just too many coincidences falling into place here for it to be feasible. Life doesn’t have that many coincidences.”

  “So, what are we going to do about it, then?” Zane asks.

  “Fuck if I know,” Raven says. “We don’t even know how to find him.”

  My eyes flash to the TV screen and I feel them widen as my mouth falls open. On the screen is a picture of Gray. The reporter’s lips are moving, and for a moment, my shock overrides common sense as I can’t figure out why I can’t hear her. I snap back to myself and grab the remote, hitting the mute button again to turn the volume on.

  “I told you to turn that off,” Raven snaps.

  “Look,” I tell them.

  Both of them turn to the TV and I see their expressions change. They stare at the screen, horror dawning on both of their faces.

  “If you’re just joining us, we’re on the scene of a brutal triple homicide in the upscale neighborhood of Georgetown. Though Metro PD isn’t releasing many details, they have released this photograph of a man named Gray Montrose for immediate distribution…”

  The picture of Gray flashes back up on the screen.

  “… though authorities are not going so far as to say this person is a suspect, they are calling him a person of extreme interest. They caution the public, though, if you see Gray Montrose, do not approach him. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. If you do happen to spot him, or know his whereabouts, you are encouraged to call the Metro PD tip line immediately…”

  I mute the television again and drop the remote, my entire body feeling numb all of a sudden. I look to Zane and Raven, both of them have the same expression of stunned disbelief on their faces I’m sure is on mine, as well.

  This just got a whole lot more real, and a whole lot more personal. The fact that they are all but branding Gray as the killer has put a target on his back. Every cop in the city, not to mention Villa’s men, and every damn do-gooder on the street is going to be looking for him. If we don’t find him soon, he’s going to either be killed, or captured and returned to the Pit… which is as good as death.

  “We need to find him,” I say.

  “I’m open to suggestions,” Raven replies.

  “I think I might have one, actually,” Zane offers coolly.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Raven

  “This is all theoretical speculation,” Zane says. “I have no idea if this will work. For all I know, this could be harmful to you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “If this is our only chance, then it has to be done.”

  Elliot frowns as he looks at me. “I can promise that Gray would not want you burning out your brain, or killing yourself, to save him,” he says. “We should try to find another way first.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t particularly care for him jump
ing into the middle of a gunfight to save me. And yet, he does. I didn’t particularly care for him racing off to catch Viv—especially given how this has all played out—and yet he did,” I say, wincing at the heat in my voice.

  Elliot turns away, looking like a puppy I’ve just kicked, and I feel like an asshole. He’s always been the most gentle and sensitive of my boys, and I usually try to take care when I speak to him. It’s just that we’ve never been in a position like this before. I’ve never truly feared that anything like this could ever happen. Especially not to Gray, who’s always been larger than life to me. The idea that he’s hurt, scared, maybe had his brain messed with, and is being hunted… it’s too much for me to bear. It makes me want to cry just thinking about it.

  “I’m sorry, Elliot,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “No, it’s an emotional time for all of us. And I want Gray back as much as you guys do,” he assures me. “I just don’t want to lose you—either of you—in the process.”

  Elliot is seated on the edge of the bed, so I stand and walk over to him. Pulling him into a warm embrace, I place a soft kiss on his lips. He gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  “I don’t plan on you losing anybody,” I tell him. “I’m looking forward to many, many, many more years of hearing him call you a ginger and you getting mad at him for it.”

  Even Zane cracks a smile at that. I inhale a long, trembling breath, then slowly exhale, fear rippling through both my heart and my belly. If what Zane is suggesting doesn’t work, I could very well do something bad to myself. It would probably be a lot like laying in a bathtub and dropping a toaster into the water. Maybe worse. If it didn’t kill me, it certainly could leave me somehow disabled. Perhaps permanently.

  But this is Gray. He’s worth it. I would take any risk, any chance, to keep my boys from harm. Just as I know they would do the same for me. That’s how this all works. We’re all bonded and, to me, that means I am willing to walk through the gates of hell and challenge the Devil himself to keep my boys safe.

  “Are you ready?” Zane asks.

  I nod. “About as ready as I can be.”

  I walk over and sit in the chair before him and count to ten in my head, trying to calm my jangling nerves. Elliot moves back onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and pulls a pillow onto his lap, wrapping his arms around it. His expression is tight. Pensive.

  “Okay, so run this by me again,” I say.

  Zane nods. “Again, this is simply theory.”

  “I’m aware,” I reply. “I’ll sign a waiver if you want me to.”

  He chuckles. “Smartass.”

  “I try.”

  His smile slips and his expression grows serious. “You once said we appear to you through our bond as bright lights, yes?”

  I nod. “Yes. When I tap into our bond, everything is black. But when I focus on you boys, I see bright lights,” I reply. “Beacons, I call them. I see your beacons in the dark.”

  “Good. It is the same for me,” he says. “Now, I want you to do an experiment with me before we go into this full bore.”

  “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

  Zane sighs and blots his hands on his jeans. It strikes me as an oddly human gesture, and I wonder if it’s habit from his past life—his human life. My understanding is that vampires don’t suffer from sweaty palms. That he’s resorting to habits from his life before he was a vampire tells me how nervous he is about this. It sends another, stronger ripple of fear through me.

  Control yourself, Raven. You got this. Don’t be scared.

  “First, I want you to close your eyes and tap into the bond,” he says. “Specifically, I want you to find my beacon.”

  I’m not sure what he’s up to, but I close my eyes and do as he says. And when I find his beacon, it’s as bright as the sun. Obviously, because he’s sitting a foot away from me.

  “Okay, I’m seeing your beacon,” I tell him.

  “Good. Now channel your Spirit,” he says. “Just do a thin weave, and put it into the beacon.”

  “I-I’m not sure if that’s physically possible,” I reply.

  “It might not be. And if not, my idea isn’t going to work,” he tells me. “But let’s find out. Channel a weave and visualize sliding it into my beacon.”

  I close my eyes and focus on my breath, trying to control my wildly fluttering heart. I do as he says and draw upon my power, conjuring a thread of Spirit, then slide the weave into my own head. A sharp hiss bursts from my mouth as the thread slips into my mind. It feels like a cold snake wriggling through my brain. The sensation is disconcerting, to say the least.

  “Are you all right?” Zane asks.

  I nod. “I’m fine. It just feels weird.”

  “Can you slide it into the beacon?”

  “Give me a minute.”

  As that cold snake sensation spreads through my whole head, I feel queasy. Nauseous. I’m not sure if it’s a result of putting a weave of Spirit into my own head, or my nerves.

  This is for Gray. I’m doing this for Gray. He’s endured far worse for me; I can tolerate a little discomfort for him.

  I blow out a breath and focus. Keeping the beacon in my mind, I concentrate on sliding the weave into the part of my brain that holds the image. I visualize the thin thread coiling through my mind, see it sliding into the ball of light, becoming one with Zane’s beacon.

  I grimace, my body tensing and all of my muscles constricting. My back arches in the chair and I hear the low, stuttering whimpers coming from my throat.

  “That’s enough,” Elliot says, climbing off the bed, his face contorted with fear.

  “Wait,” Zane’s voice replies calmly.

  As I watch the scene playing out before me, I realize something is terribly wrong. Something about the view of the room around me has changed. It’s different. It’s… wrong. I look from Elliot to Zane, but it’s not Zane I’m seeing. It’s me. I’m looking at… myself.

  “What in the actual fuck?” I gasp.

  “Tell me what you’re seeing,” Zane says.

  “I’m seeing… me. I’m like seeing through your eyes or something, Zane,” I croak. “What in the hell is happening?”

  Fear is contorting my face and there’s a rigid set to my body. I tremble and see my field of vision turn to Elliot, who’s gone from looking scared and confused to looking utterly fascinated.

  “How is this possible?” Elliot says.

  My vision goes from left to right and back again as Zane shakes his head. “That I don’t know,” he replies. “But I remembered reading something back in the Pit about the possibility of this, Spirit combined with our bond. The book I read implied that when people are Joined, it opens up vast new vistas of power. This is one of those abilities.”

  “Jesus,” I whisper. “Can you feel me?”

  “I feel a slight pressure in my head, but nothing more,” he replies. “You can cut the weave.”

  I do as he says and, suddenly, I’m back in my own body, seeing through my own eyes. I feel my stomach roiling and know that I’m going to throw up. I lunge for the trash can but don’t make it in time, splashing the cheap shag carpet and the side of the can before I manage to get most of it inside.

  “Sorry,” I groan.

  Then Elliot is there, kneeling beside me with a cold cloth and a glass of water. First, he wipes my face, cleaning my sick off of me, then helps me to drink from the glass. The cool water feels wonderful on my throat and, thankfully, helps wash away the foul, bitter taste in my mouth.

  When I feel like I can stand, I move back to the chair and drop down into it. My stomach is still churning, but less so. I no longer feel like I’m on the verge of puking. My entire body is shaky, though, and I feel like a diabetic whose blood sugar is tanking.

  It takes a little bit, but I finally manage to get myself under control. The waves of nausea have passed, and I feel a little more solid. Steady. I look up at Zane, awed by what just happened. Not underst
anding what just happened.

  “I can’t believe it worked,” Zane says, his voice carrying a strong hint of amazement. “That is incredible.”

  “Tell me what just happened,” Elliot asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. When I tapped into Zane’s beacon with Spirit, I was seeing through his eyes,” I say, still stunned. “It was like I was in his head or something.”

  Zane smiles wide. “I think we have our way to find Gray.”

  I nod eagerly. “I do, too.”

  “But it makes you sick,” Elliot argues, looking pointedly at the trash can.

  I shrug. “A little nausea’s worth it.”

  “What if it’s a symptom of something worse?” he presses.

  I shake my head. “It’s already passed. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll go and get some Pepto,” Zane adds with a chuckle.

  “I will never, ever make fun of you and Elliot for reading so much again,” I say. “I promise.”

  Elliot sighs. “Hang on. Let me get some water and damp cloths ready.”

  I swallow down the rest of the water and stand. I feel shaky, like my blood pressure just dropped or something, and I sway on my feet. Zane is there beside me in an instant, holding me up. I take a minute to get my head straight, then I give him a nod when my legs feel solid beneath me again.

  “That’s such a weird feeling,” I say.

  “Yeah, I imagine poking around in your own brain would feel pretty weird,” Elliot remarks as he sets some towels and cloths down on the table. “I’ll be honest, though, I’m really worried about you slipping up. I mean, what happens if you scramble your own brain? I’m not sure you should be doing this.”

  “Tell me something,” I start, “would you risk your life to save me? I mean, would you plunge into the heat of battle, risking life and limb, to save my life.”

  He shrugs. “You know I would.”

  “Good, then shut up,” I say and flash him a grin. “This is the same thing.”

  “Not really.”

  “Totally the same.”

  “You can either be helpful or you can get out,” Zane finally says. “If Raven is going to do this, I don’t want her to have to listen to you and your negativity.”