Ravensong (Green Creek 2)

“He can’t,” Osmond interrupted. “He has a responsibility to—”

“I don’t give a fuck about responsibility,” I snapped. “I don’t care about who he is to you, to everyone else. He’s my Alpha, and I am asking him to choose me.”

My mother’s heart had been broken long before I knew what to look for.

My father’s heart had been broken by the death of his tether, but I never saw it before he exploded in a furious burst of rage and magic.

This was the first time I’d ever witnessed a heart breaking up close.

And the fact that it was my Alpha’s heart made it that much worse.

I could see it, the moment it happened.

His hands shook and his mouth tightened into a thin line. His breath stuttered in his throat, and he blinked rapidly. In my head, I heard whispers of pack and brother and love, but there was also a song of mourning, and it ached so bitterly that I thought I would fall apart at the midnight-blue weight of it.

I knew then that nothing I could say would change anything.

Mark must have too, because there was the telltale sound of clothes tearing as muscles and bones popped and shifted. I turned in time to see a flash of brown as he fled, lost to his wolf.

The raven fluttered on my arm, its talons digging into the thorns of the roses. It hurt, but I welcomed the pain.

“Leave us,” Thomas said, never looking away from me.

“But—”

“Osmond. Leave us before you’ll have no choice but to crawl from this house.”

For a moment I thought Osmond was going to defy him. But in the end, he nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

Somewhere in the house, I could hear Kelly crying.

Thomas said, “I love you. Always. You must remember that.”

I said, “I don’t believe you.”

“You will be taken care of. I’ve asked Marty to—”

“Marty,” I said with a hollow laugh. “Of course.”

“I’m trying,” Thomas said, voice breaking. “Gordo, I will do everything in my power to return to you, or to have you with us. But I cannot ignore what my position asks of me. I must do what I have to. There are people depending on me to—”

“And what about me?” I asked, wiping my eyes. “Don’t I matter at all?”

He stood swiftly. He moved around his desk, but I took a step back. He said, “Gordo, you—” and I said, “Don’t touch me, please don’t touch me, I want to hurt you and I don’t know if I can control it, so please don’t touch me.”

He didn’t.

“You’ll see,” he begged. “I promise it won’t be long. Soon we’ll come home to you, or you’ll come with us. You will always be our witch, Gordo. You will always be my pack.”

He reached for me again.

I let him.

He hugged me close, his nose buried in my hair.

My arms stayed at my sides.

IT TOOK two weeks.