Page 38 of Raven

“No. But it secures us in Society.”

She put her hand up. “I told you, you are not responsible for me.” She got up out of her seat, and I thought this was all about to flip. I braced myself for it, even though I was so tired, but I was ready. Maybe. Instead, she changed the subject. “What time is class tomorrow?”

“Early,” I said.

She exhaled slowly. “You should go to bed. It’s late.” She walked over to the counter, put her hands flat on it, and let her head bow. There was nothing else for us to say. That was it. Over. And she was right. We hadn’t argued.

Still, I got up and went to her, standing beside her. “I’m sorry I let you down,” I said.

She shook her head, looked at me over her shoulder. “No. You have never let me down. Go and get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”

SEVENTEEN

I think I slept well. Or maybe I just passed out from the sheer exhaustion of it all. My mind was a whirlwind, and that was putting it lightly. It was filled with everything from Tia to my mother to what the hell I was going to do about the humans, and I couldn’t piece any of it together in a way that made sense. I thought I was going to lie there forever, unable to sleep, all the shit going over and over in my head. But then I closed my eyes, and boom, I was gone. Turns out, exhaustion trumps a crazy fucking day.

A beep vibrated under my head. It took me a moment to realise that it was the phone Malcolm had given me. Nothing flashy. Honestly, I didn’t know many people with mobiles. Only business execs, pompous humans, and members of the council had them. Otherwise? Nope. Malcolm had given this to me so we could set up meetings. Or rather, he could.

I lit up the screen. "6pm. Hogarth's Quarry," it said, and that was it. But it was all I needed. Time and place. It didn’t need to say "today" because it was always the next one. It meant six tonight.

I flopped back on my bed and sent Malcolm the word "okay." I didn’t want him to assume I’d just be there—which of course Iwould be. He was the alpha. Even on my deathbed, I’d get myself there. But it crossed my mind ages ago that if I didn’t reply, he might assume I wasn’t coming or didn’t get his message. How would he know if I didn’t tell him? He’d never told me not to say "okay," so I did it. My head was a complicated mess sometimes.

Yawning, I rolled out of bed, my mind feeling like it needed another week of sleep. I made it to the end of my bed, where I sat with my head in my hands until I registered that I was awake enough to get on with things, like going to class and then my job. They all seemed pointless now.

I dragged myself through the motions, my body moving on autopilot while my mind felt like it was sinking into quicksand. The weight of everything pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. Each step felt heavier than the last, and the thought of facing the day seemed insurmountable. Why bother? The question echoed in my mind, persistent and nagging. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The spark that once drove me was extinguished, leaving a hollow void in its place. But I made myself move.

My mother was sleeping on the sofa. I didn’t want to wake her. I didn’t want another talk. Not that it was bad. My head just wasn't up for it. She had at least put the door key back on the hook so I could get out. Maybe our talk last night had done some good. Our bags were still on the table, though, filled with our things. She hadn’t added more. Maybe that was a sign of hope. But then I thought about the move. Was I really going to stay here and let her leave? In my head, I wanted to. If my mother wanted to go, then she could. I didn’t have to go with her. I was an adult, free to make my own choices, just as she was. But she was my mother, and this wasn’t some weird mummy’s boy kind of thing. She was all I’d ever had in the world. It had been me and her for a long time, and the idea of her going somewherewithout me felt strange and wrong. I knew I had Malcolm, but it wasn’t the same.

"Your bike isn't in the garage," my mother said from under the arm she had draped across her face. She moved it so she could look at me.

I stopped and turned. "No, I know."

She angled her head, squinting. Not that it was light—I’d moved around our flat in darkness. "You took it with you when you went to the cafe?"

I gripped my bag for college, my mind instantly going to the lie, but we needed honesty, right? So I nodded.

She nodded too but gave me silence instead of shouting. She took a deep breath and put her arm down. "Do you have work today?"

"Only a short shift. Max has me scheduled from two till six, but Malcolm wants me to meet him, so I have to get out early." I knew Max wouldn’t mind. She knew I did stuff for Malcolm, and she wouldn’t ask.

"What time are you meeting him?"

"Six."

She nodded again and closed her eyes. I thought maybe she’d gone back to sleep, but then she opened them. "You're in demand. When you're done with Malcolm, come home and we'll go and get your bike. I don’t start work until eleven."

You know, I hated when she said "work." My mind always went to what she did, even though she didn’t say it out loud. There was no, "I’m heading in at eleven to sell my body to strangers and clients." It was an unsaid thing. When I came in at night and she wasn’t here, I didn’t have to think about what my mother did or with whom, but when she said "work," it jarred in my head. I don’t even know why it bothered me so much recently. I mean, she’d done this my entire life. Back when I was little, she’d done it in our home and had me hide in the closet.

Of course, she’d always made it an adventure. I was "going camping" in the closet in the hallway. She’d decked it out for me. I had books and a torch, some cars, and things like that. She’d installed a little light in there with me. If that light was lit, I wasn’t to come out.

So I knew, I always knew what she did, but lately... sometimes, when she slept on the sofa and the blankets fell away, I saw the bites on her thighs where the vamps had taken their fill. I saw the handprints and the marks. Compartmentalised, I think is what it’s called. She was my mother. She was not a service woman. But the two were blending together.

The idea of going to get my bike, though, surprised me. I was expecting more of a telling-off or a shouting match. "It's okay," I said. "It probably isn’t there anyway." The thought of my bike being stolen pissed me off, but I imagined the humans had taken it already. They’d either kept it for themselves or destroyed it just because it belonged to a shifter.

"Maybe we can check anyway. You never know."

There was something in her voice that said this wasn't about me or the bike. This was maybe her trying to make amends. She’d meant it yesterday when she’d said about us always fighting. What I felt was that this was something she needed to prove she was trying. So I agreed. "Sure. We can have a look." I wasn’t hopeful, and I’m sure she wasn’t either, but we’d do this, if not for anything else, then for her. "I'll see you tonight."

She wished me a good day, smiled, and closed her eyes. I let myself out and headed to college. I had two classes on Tuesdays—easy days, which was probably why Malcolm had messaged me. It was easy on both fronts of my life, and I used to try to have them as study days, but life always got in the way.

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