White Raven

by J. L. Weil

  It was easier to pretend it never happened than face the reality that I saw things other people didn’t. Parker was the only one who believed me. But then again, Parker believed in aliens and Superman. He wasn’t exactly what I would call levelheaded.

  I awoke restless with the smell of sizzling bacon tickling my senses. Everything was always better with bacon. And chocolate. Better yet. Chocolate-covered bacon. Yum, now I was starving.

  Given the size of this house, I knew food had to be close. I narrowed down the smell to the mahogany tray on the dresser, a covered white plate on top. Sitting up, I pulled a hand through my hair, staring at the tray, willing it to magically float into my hands. When I finally gave up on my nonexistent superpowers, I padded across the room, the hardwood cool on the bottoms of my bare feet. There was a handwritten note cushioned between two prongs of what looked like a placeholder.

  Thought you might like breakfast in bed, since you missed actual breakfast.

  Rose.

  A small smile worked its way across my lips. I uncovered the plate and sighed at the same time my stomach growled. Blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, two strips of crispy bacon, and a side of ketchup. Eggs without ketchup were a crime in my house.

  I could so get accustomed to all this five-star food that wasn’t cooked my moi. Rose was going to ruin me. Spoil me so much that my life before this would be dull in comparison, and I refused to let that happen.

  Staring down at the plate of my favorite foods in a battle of wills, my belly and I both agreed that my act of rebellion could start tomorrow. I carried the tray to my bed, snuggled back under the covers, and dug in.

  A quiet knock sounded just as I licked the last crumb off the fork. “It’s open,” I called.

  Estelle peeked around the door, hazel eyes warm and sparkling. “You’re up.” Her envious auburn hair was swept up into a stylish, messy bun. When I attempted the style, it just looked like a bird’s nest.

  I set the empty tray on the nightstand. “It’s late, huh?” Not everyone was on owl-time as I was. Mornings were difficult for me. Understatement. I was downright inoperable. Parker swore I was part firefly. I only came out at night, and that was when I shined.

  Estelle grinned. “Depends on who you ask. If I didn’t have to work, I’d be sleeping too.”

  I stifled a yawn. “Do you like working for Rose?” I asked, curious if Rose treated her employees well.

  Her shoulders lifted in a one-sided shrug. “It pays. Actually, I’m really lucky to have this job. There aren’t a lot of opportunities available on an island this small. My father is acquainted with your grandma and helped me get the job.”

  I was glad she was feeling more relaxed around me.

  Soft freckles dusted either side of her nose. “It’s my second summer here. I’ve been saving to get off this blasted island. Go to college somewhere exciting, like Paris.”

  I could see the stars in her eyes. Estelle had big dreams. “Who doesn’t want to see Paris?”

  “Your dad is an artist, right? You seem so worldly.”

  “Me? This is the first time I’ve ever been outside Chicago.” But unlike Estelle, I hadn’t wanted to escape.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked underneath her. “Well, you would never guess it. You seem so sure of yourself. There’s this cool edge to you.”

  “Trust me. I’m anything but cool. I choke around hot guys. I have more bad hair days than good. And I have a slew of insecurities.” Did I ever. Apparently, I could put on a good front. I had body images like every teenage girl. Mostly, I lived in fear of be alone. Forever.

  Her smile brightened. “Thank God. I was beginning to think you weren’t human. Did you have a nice day yesterday at the boardwalk?”

  I kind of liked the way her mind bounced from one topic to the next. It was refreshing. “Interesting.” I shifted on the oversized bed, sitting crossed-legged. “What do you know about Zane Hunter?”

  Estelle stiffened, her eyes averting to her lap. “More than I care to. We grew up together.”

  “You did?” I didn’t know why I was surprised. Of course all the locals knew each other, and maybe Estelle could dish on the goods. “Was he always a prick?”

  If she was offended by my unfiltered mouth, she didn’t show it. “I’m guessing you had your first run in with Death Scythe?”

  “Death Scythe?” I repeated.

  “He’s lethal.”

  “That he is,” I mumbled.

  Estelle grinned. “A lively bunch, the Hunters. A word of warning, Zane is not boyfriend material. Don’t get swept away by that face of his. You would be better off flirting with Zander, less chance of getting burned, unless you’re just looking for a wham, bam, thank you ma’am.”

  I was never good at taking advice, but maybe this time I’d make an exception. I was no one’s bootie call. Then again, maybe I could learn a thing or two from the famous Zane. “What is it that makes bad boys so appealing?”

  “When it pertains to Zane, it would be a shorter list to name his redeeming qualities, if any.”

  “Yeah, I kind of got that feeling. Did you and he ever…?”

  She made a face. “Ewe. God no. He’s not my type.”

  That got me thinking. Did I have a type? Zane couldn’t possibly be my type, because then that would mean my type was douchbag. “And who is your type?” I asked.

  A dreamy smile lifted the corner of her lips. “Jensen. He’s a re—” She stopped midsentence, before starting over. “He’s the complete opposite of Zane. Do you have a boyfriend back home?”

  I got the feeling she was hiding something, and I vowed to get it out of her sooner or later. “Uh. No, not really.”

  She pursed her lips. “You don’t sound so sure about that.”

  Pulling my knees to my chest, I hugged my legs. “There is this guy, but we’ve been friends since diapers. It would be weird, you know? I’m not sure I want to cross that line.”

  “Maybe distance is just what you need. It might put things into perspective.” Standing, she reached for the empty tray on the nightstand. “I should get back to work. And you should take advantage of the sun. Go down to the beach, and work on that tan, pasty.”

  I laughed.

  That sounded like a good idea. “I just might.”

  I gazed at the rugged jag of cliffs jutting over the ocean, watching the waves swallow them. Tiny flowers fought their way through the cracks, blooming along the rough terrain, alongside small patches of wild grass. Twirling a dark gray colored pencil, I tipped back my head, deep in thought. Waves hurdled themselves against the sandy shore, slapping my feet, the deep, deep blue water going on forever.

  I nibbled my lower lip, staring down at the sketchpad in my lap, a pretty girl clutching a wicked looking scythe. My favorite kind of anime, a girl who could kick major ass and wasn’t afraid to get bloody. It was always the same sleek, deadly weapon, just a different heroine. Her face never really mattered, because the weapon always stole the show.

  Death’s weapon.

  A psychologist would probably tell me it was ironic, my mind projecting my mother’s death, a symbolism of her horrible murder. I would probably tell that shrink to stick to his bullshit analysis, and then I would be promptly asked to never come back.

  But today, the weapon made me think of Zane. It was wacky weird. What were the chances he had a nickname about my favorite anime accessory? I’ll tell you. A gazillion billion to one.

  I angled my head, using the natural light to shade in the shadows on her face. As the creative juices flowed, I envisioned her with bright purple hair, something punky, the colors not yet on paper working into my imagination.

  As my strokes flew over the paper, a shadow fell over my pad. I silently cursed the soul stupid enough to invade my peace and block my soon-to-be fading light. Lifting my pencil from the page, I glanced up. The silent curse became a mutter under my breath, and a body planted down in the sand beside me. Zane’s body.

  “Di
d you come to run me out of town, or just irritate me?” I huffed.

  One corner of his lips tipped as if he were secretly laughing. “Both.” He snatched the sketchpad from my lap, before I realized his intent.

  “Hey,” I protested, attempting to steal it back from his grubby fingers.

  He put up one of his python-sized arms as a roadblock. Ten seconds passed while his eyes scanned my drawing, exposing a piece of myself I wasn’t comfortable opening up to a jerk. Ten whole seconds. It felt like ten minutes. “This is really good.” He traced the outline of the scythe.

  Huh? A Compliment?

  “Hang on a minute. I think I might spontaneously combust,” I said dryly.

  As Zane stretched out his legs, and the dark material of his shirt pulled taut against his chest. “Are you always this much fun?”

  I thought about jabbing him with my pencil. “Do you always treat people like they have no feelings?”

  “Not usually.”

  I snorted. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  He handed over my sketchbook, his bright blues on mine. “That’s because you’re different.”

  “Different how?”

  Unruly dark hair fell over his forehead. “You being here causes a whole lot of problems for me, and I don’t like it.”

  His words went right through my flesh like a cold wind. What I heard was, I don’t like you, and it was a blow to my womanhood. “Screw you.” I grabbed my stuff and started to push to my feet.

  “Piper, wait.” He reached out, placing a hand on my arm, neither of us prepared for the static tremor of his touch. Quickly, he snatched his hand back. “That came out harsher than I intended.”

  I paused, my back to him.

  “Don’t leave.”

  Holy cow. I never imagined that two words, said in just the way he had, could have such a powerful effect on me. They reached deep inside me. Maybe it was the accent. Yep. It had to be the accent. A few heartbeats passed, as I collected myself, before I turned to face him.

  Surprise and bewilderment burrowed in his brows. “You really don’t know,” he said.

  I squinted, wondering if I had set myself up for another trap. “Know what?” I asked.

  Curious eyes roamed my face. “Who you are?”

  Hugging the sketchpad to my chest, I asked, “And just who do you think I am?” If this was his idea of a twisted game… But his dark expression appeared so sincere.

  He shook his head. “You confuse me.” Lifting his hand, he froze midair, stopping just short of stroking my face, second-guessing whether he should touch me again. He looked at me without a trace of irritation or loathing.

  “Me?” I stated, feeling a rise in my blood pressure. “You’re the one who is speaking in circles. You’re the one who has been nothing but rude. And now you are telling me I confuse you. You’re joking, right?”

  He leaned in, the scent of him a sensory overload. I wanted to press my nose to his neck and inhale a deep, drugging breath. “I wish things were different,” he murmured.

  My heart pranced. What was he doing to me? Just a few minutes ago, I had been ready to punch him in the nose. He had done nothing but insult me since we met, but here I was drifting toward him, captured by his crystal eyes and the warmth of his nearness. It didn’t matter that nothing he said made sense. I couldn’t comprehend anyway.

  The pad of paper slipped from my grasp, and I bit my lip.

  Sweet baby Jesus.

  Was he going to kiss me? Was I going to let him kiss me? Did I want Zane to kiss me? The kiss I would never forget. The mere thought of his lips on mine, of him kissing me brainless, because boys like him definitely kissed with fervor, his hands wrapped around my waist…

  My gut twisted in a wild need I’d never felt before. He hadn’t even touched me, but his eyes caressed every part of my skin. I held my breath, waiting, poised on the edge of reckless stupidity. I barely knew Zane, yet here I was. He stirred a dark passion I never knew lay inside me, opened my body to world I had never explored, but desperately wanted to. Right here. Right now.

  I wanted to close the small distance between us. I wanted to feel the craziness his lips promised. I wanted…

  A dog barked.

  At first, I thought I’d imagined the sound. It was so faint, hardly heard above the pounding of my heart and the waves lapping and foaming on the shore. Then it came again. And again. Louder. Clearer.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A fluffy, white pup nuzzled its way between us, yapping in excitement.

  I blinked.

  The spell was broken.

  Shit.

  I shook my hair, letting the breeze pick the loose strands off my face. The pooch, oblivious to what she’d interrupted, licked Zane’s face and I about lost it, until I saw the scowl. I was getting quite acquainted with that particular look. He shot to his feet as if he couldn’t wait to get away from me. Standing, I brushed the sand off my shorts and mumbled, “Thanks for the hand, dillweed.”

  Zane’s lips curled menacingly. It was infuriating that he constantly seemed to be laughing at me. “I think we can both agree that bad things happen when we touch, Princess.”

  What did that even mean? How harmful could the simple gesture of a hand be? It wasn’t like I was asking him to bang me on the beach, well not in words at least. What my body had been begging for moments before was another story. What the hell was wrong with me?

  “Oh, I’ll show you bad,” I snapped.

  “You should be careful what you say. I wouldn’t want to misconstrue your words.”

  “Blow me.”

  A single brow arched. “If you knew what was good for you, you would turn around, walk off the beach, and never look back. You would get off this island before…”

  Before what?

  At this point I was too furious to care. Emotions were high, and mine swiftly turned to rage. Oh, I’ll show him my back all right. “Kiss ass, Zane. And stay the hell off my beach.”

  I thought that was a heck of an exit. Score one for Piper. I gave myself a mental high five as I stomped in the sand. Zane Hunter didn’t have the first clue who he was messing with.

  Chapter 7

  Not even the walk from the beach to the manor did the slightest to cool my temper. Zane Hunter was the most infuriating guy I’d ever met. Just like the million other moments in my life, I wished my mom were here to listen to me vent, offer me advice, or at the very least, make me laugh. I may not be able to make a lick of sense of out guys like Zane, but a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream loaded with all the fixings might help ease my wrath.

  It was what Mom would have done, stuffed our faces and made horrible jokes until whatever was bothering me no longer seemed important.

  I sighed and made my way down one of the hallways I hoped led to the kitchen. My hunt had barely begun when Rose found me. I cursed under my breath.

  To say I wasn’t in the mood was an understatement.

  “Piper,” she said. “Just who I was looking for.”

  “Oh, goodie,” I mumbled tartly. My rumbling belly was pissed, seeing my calorie indulgence fade from existence.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I know things have been hard…” she started until I slumped against the wall.

  Ugh. I didn’t want to have this conversation, not while my emotions were high and close to the surface. It wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge. As silly as it was, I did not want to cry in front of her.

  Rose sensed my hesitation and overall indifference to sharing my feelings. I was making it overly obvious. You would have had to be dumb as a rock to not get the message my body was conveying, and Rose struck me as anything but dumb. The old bag was as sharp as a razor. What did she expect? That I just pour my soul out to someone who suddenly decided to pop into my life? If that was the case, she should be talking with TJ. He had inherited my dad’s blabbermouth and sensitive genes; they kind of went hand-in-hand.

  I was cautious, guarded, and
cynical. “We really don’t have to do this now. Or ever,” I added, pushing off the wall, hoping she would let me go.

  Rats. No such luck.

  “Since you’ve been here, we haven’t spent any time together,” she said. “I wanted to give you a few days to get settled and explore the island. Now that you have…why don’t we have ourselves a woman-to-woman chat?”

  Joy.

  My favorite kind.

  Spinning back around to face her, I dragged my butt, following her into the yellow room. I liked to color code each room. It was the only way to keep them straight. The room itself had soft sunny walls and was more of an enclosed porch than a room. Windows lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Transparent white curtains fluttered in the breeze, and the room smelled like sand dollars and seashells.

  “Were you just coming in from the beach?” she asked, taking a seat on one of the distressed wicker rockers.

  I slunk into its twin, a little square glass table between us. “Yeah. I was hungry.”

  She folded her delicate hands in her lap. “Great. I’ll have Annette whip us up something. I’m a little hungry myself.”

  Fan-freaking-tastic. Tea and crustless cucumber sandwiches. Just what I wanted. I kissed my ice cream good-bye.

  As if her employees had a sick sense about them, Annette walked in carrying a tray of lemonade. She carefully set it down on the table, and Rose asked her to bring in something for us to nibble on. Annette nodded.

  Did she just do a small curtsy?

  I felt like I was living in the 1940s.

  Rose crossed her legs. “How was your trip into town the other day? Did you enjoy the boardwalk?”

  I left my lemonade untouched and stared at my sandy feet. “Are you spying on me?”

  She reached for one of the clear glasses, her blush-colored nails tapping on the glass. “Now why would you think that?”

  I expected her to flinch at my snotty tone. She didn’t. Eventually, I was going to get a rise out of this woman. She was not as easily provoked as Zane, and not nearly as fun.