Page 47 of Raven

"I’ll meet you later," she cut me off, squeezing my hand briefly before letting go and running off before I could say another word.

TWENTY

"You okay?"

Lachlan's words barely registered as I slumped back into the car. My eyes fixated on the empty space where Tia had stood just moments ago, her words replaying in my mind.

Pregnant.

How could that be?

I mean, I knew how it could be, of course, but what did that mean for us? The concept refused to take shape in my mind, Tia’s words still a jumble of nonsensical sounds. My consciousness drifted somewhere between reality and a surreal haze.

"Hey ..." Lachlan waved a hand in front of my face, his brow furrowed with concern. "You good?"

I managed a weak nod, the revelation having stolen my voice. If I opened my mouth to speak, I feared I'd betray Tia's secret.

"Raven ..." Lachlan hadn't even started the car. "Do you need to bail on this one?"

I blinked hard, trying to anchor myself to the present. "Sorry," I said, my voice hoarse. "I ..." A frown creased my forehead, but it wasn't directed at him. "That was just my girlfriend. I'm okay. We should go."

"Ah, girlfriend." He flashed a knowing grin. "That explains it. Women trouble, right? They sure know how to mess with a guy's head. The best thing to do is treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen."

My frown deepened, this time aimed squarely at Lachlan. "Does that even work? Isn't that like some outdated saying from fifty years ago?"

He shrugged and started the car, the engine's rumble matching the turmoil in my gut. "I dunno. It sounded good in my head, and it felt like you needed some advice. Women are a mystery to me. Hell, they're a mystery to any man from what I hear. Don't let whatever it is mess with your head. She'll go home, think about it, and come back saying she's sorry. Probably on her period or some shit like that. I swear, that time of the month comes around, and they just seem to go totally nuts. My real advice? Don't sweat it and let her come to you."

It was a good thing he didn't have the gift of telepathy, or I'd be in serious trouble. It was a pass on his advice.

Telepathy, though, is one of the rarer gifts. It's funny how shifters got gifts. I'm not even sure how it worked—if they're passed down genetically or just pure luck of the draw.

My mother didn’t have the same ability as me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure she had an ability at all. Not all shifters do, from what I knew. Maybe my gift came from my father. No one really talked about it. We learnt about abilities as we learnt about people. I wasn’t around anyone to ask them about theirs. I did try to ask my mother once, but she dismissed it, saying I was imagining things.

I only knew it was a thing because Stephen and Cade had talked about theirs. Cade could connect with people's minds, and Stephen could see things coming. I wasn’t sure if he was a seer, but something like that.

Lachlan dropped the topic of women when I didn't respond, for which I was grateful. The silence allowed me to stare out thewindow, lost in thought. I needed to clear my head, but Tia's words kept echoing. She'd only said she thought she might be pregnant, right? Not that she was pregnant. The distinction felt important, yet maddeningly unclear.

I tried to push the tumultuous thoughts from my mind, focusing on the task at hand. I just needed a couple of hours of peace to get through this.

When we neared our destination, I managed to drag my brain back into the game, at least partially. Malcolm had been right—this dock was different. We drove into an industrial estate unlike anything I'd seen before. I had a vague recollection of staying in Bolton briefly with my mother when I was younger, but the memory was hazy at best. Maybe we had used this dock?

Who knew?

Lachlan parked the car at the edge of the lot. Shipping containers, similar to those in the underground, littered the area, most with their doors knocked off. He led me to a section that looked more like a homeless camp than an actual shipping yard. It was empty, though.

We approached what appeared to be a house, though calling it that might have been generous. A door with intact windows stood out amidst the decay, its peeling paint showing the years of neglect. The roof sported a gaping hole, exposed rafters reaching towards the sky like skeletal fingers. The whole structure seemed one stiff breeze away from collapsing entirely.

Lachlan guided me to a small building adjacent to the dilapidated house. I was relieved; from what I could see through the windows, I wasn't eager to test my luck inside the main structure. The door frames looked to be the only things keeping it upright.

Fishing out a set of keys, Lachlan unlocked the door to the smaller building. He reached inside and pulled out two largepoles, each ending in a hook reminiscent of those used at fairground games where kids snag plastic ducks for prizes.

"Here," he said, handing one to me. "You're gonna need this." He bent down and grabbed a pair of waders. "And these."

I stared at the waders and pole, my stomach sinking. "Oh, great. We're going into the water. So glad I wore my best jeans."

Lachlan smirked. “You think you’d know better by now.”

As we approached the rocky shore, the stench made me gag—a putrid mix of seawater, rotting seaweed, and sun-baked fish. The odour clung to the back of my throat, threatening to make me gag. My heightened shifter senses only amplified the assault. Breathing through my mouth didn't help; I could practically taste the decay. At least it was a distraction from thoughts of ... the baby. The baby. What the hell did that mean for me?

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