Ravensong (Green Creek 2)

Tanner said, “My dad will kill me if we get caught.”

Chris said, “I gotta watch Jessie. Mom’s gotta work late.”

I said, “Yeah, sure. Okay.”

We got drunk. I had the third kiss of my life with a boy from a school two towns over. He tasted of cherries and beer, and I didn’t regret a single thing until I opened my eyes the next morning and promptly threw up over the side of the bed.

WE TOOK our time. What should have taken two days of straight driving, we stretched out and out and out.

On the fifth day, when we slept out under the stars because we couldn’t find a motel, Kelly asked me if I was nervous.

“About?” I asked, taking a deep drag off my cigarette. The tip flared brightly in the dark. It reminded me of wolf eyes.

He wasn’t fooled. He nudged his boot against mine.

“No,” I said.

“How did you do that?”

“What?”

“You just lied. But your heart didn’t give you away.”

“Then how do you know I lied?”

“Because I know you, Gordo.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, and that was that.

I WAITED for Thomas to call me and tell me he needed me, that the pack needed me with them and that he was sorry he’d ever left me behind.

The call never came.

I DREAMED sometimes. Of him. His broken body crawling toward me, his brown paws digging into the dirt, a low whine coming from his throat. I’d wake up gasping, and I’d reach for the wooden raven as if it meant something, as if it would help in any way.

It didn’t.

And then there were the nights I dreamed of Thomas Bennett, his son Joe crouched above him, begging him to get up, to just get up, my magic the only thing holding the beast back from taking what he so desperately wanted. I dreamed of that impulse I’d had, that tiny, miniscule impulse where I’d thought about dropping the barrier and letting Richard descend upon Thomas because he deserved it. He’d taken everything from me, and in that moment, when Joe lowered his claws to his father’s chest and the beast howled in anger, I’d understood Richard Collins.

I never told anyone about that.

I TURNED seventeen and lost my virginity. His name was Rick, and he was rough and unkind, his lips latching on to the back of my neck as he thrust into me, and I relished the pain because it meant I was alive, that I wasn’t numb to the way the world really worked. He came and slipped from me, the condom sliding from his dick and landing wetly on the pavement in the alleyway. He said thanks, I needed that, and I said, yeah, sure, my pants around my ankles. He walked away, and I laid my head against the cool brick, trying to breathe.

I SAID, “He’s circling.”

Joe looked at me, head cocked. He wasn’t the boy who’d left Green Creek three years before. He was harder now, and bigger. His head was shaved, his beard in need of a trim. He had filled out and was as big as his brothers. He wore the mantle of the Alpha well, and I thought if the boy that he’d once been wasn’t lost for good, he would do great things.

“Richard. He’s circling. Whatever he’s after. His endgame. You. Green Creek. I don’t know. But it’s coming, Joe. And you need to be ready.”

There was a song in my head, and it sang, PackBrotherWitch what makes you think i’m not and let him come let him come let him come.

I thought then the boy I’d known was gone.

I WAS seventeen when I graduated early. I wanted it done and over with.

Mark was there.

I looked for the others.