Page 69 of Raven

My father had a guard stationed outside my cage. I couldn't see them, but I could feel them. When I sent out my ability and let the tendrils of it slither across the cold floor, I'd feel them there. Sometimes I played with them. Sending my ability out and pushing it into them, seeing if I could do it without them realising.

Last night—or maybe it was morning, who the hell knew when there was no window to tell me the time of day—I sent out my ability to a guard and slowly, oh so slowly, I filled him with dread and panic. I pushed into him, letting him feel my grief. I knew I'd done it when sobbing came from the other side.

I didn't feel bad for it either. They were helping my father. They were keeping me here. Screw them.

I was sitting on the floor, my back to the cold wall, my hands resting on my legs as if in some kind of meditative state. Perhaps I was. Who knew. I was just sitting there, thinking about life. That was all I had to do. My mind constantly going from my mother, to Tia, and even to Malcolm. I thought about Anika, too and her life. I thought about the people in the underground.

Had someone found my mother's body now? Maybe. Malcolm would have noticed me missing, right? Tia would? Maybe she'd have gone to him.

The thoughts swirled in my head, a constant loop of worry and hope. I tried to imagine what they might be doing. Malcolm, with his connections, surely he'd be asking questions. Tia, pregnant and alone, would she be safe? And my mother... the image of her lying there, discarded like she meant nothing, made my stomach churn.

And I could do nothing. All I had was me. I reached out with my ability again, pushing it further this time. I sensed the guard outside, his emotions a jumble of boredom and unease. Beyond him, I found others. The pack, I supposed. Their emotionswashed over me—contentment, excitement, worry. I pushed them away, focusing instead on extending my reach.

My heart jumped when the door somewhere opened. It was a sound I'd grown used to. I could pick out the doors, and their sounds and what they meant. That door was a heavy one, it pushed hard and scraped across the floor. It was the door that came down to here, or into here. I'm not sure if I was up or down. The gloominess said that I was in a basement, but then I could be in something that was purpose-built for keeping people against their will—stolen sons who didn't want to be there.

It was a woman. I'd not seen her before, and she was older than me. She smelt like my father, though. His scent was thick on her. She must have been his mate.

She rounded the corner. She was the opposite of my mother. Long, honey-blonde hair cascading past her shoulders in perfectly styled waves, framing a face that could have graced any magazine cover. Her eyes, a warm green, held a mixture of curiosity and wariness as they locked onto mine. High cheekbones and a defined jawline gave her face a sculpted quality, whilst her nose, small and slightly upturned, added a touch of youthfulness to her features.

Her lean, toned body suggested hours spent keeping fit. She moved with the grace of a predator, each step calculated and purposeful. Her legs seemed to go on forever, accentuated by the fitted jeans she wore. A simple white t-shirt hugged her curves, somehow managing to look both casual and effortlessly stylish.

Despite her beauty, a hardness underpinned her features. It was in the set of her jaw, the slight furrow between her brows, the way her eyes seemed to assess and analyse everything they saw. This was a woman used to power, used to being in control. And right now, all that focus was trained on me.

I sat motionless, eyes fixed on the woman as she approached my cage. The hatch creaked open, the same one they usuallydropped animals through. This time, she pushed a small bag inside.

"It's moon night tonight," she said, her voice soft but firm.

My muscles tensed involuntarily. Even locked and chained in this hellhole, I could feel the moon's pull. My panther stirred restlessly beneath my skin, anticipating the best shift of the cycle. The air seemed to crackle with energy, as if nature itself was calling to us, urging us to embrace the magic that brought us to life. Sometimes, I swear I could see it—gossamer threads of silver and gold, shimmering just at the edge of my vision. They danced and swirled, weaving through the air like living things, connecting everything around me. In those moments, the world seemed more alive, more vibrant, as if a veil had been lifted and I could finally see the true nature of reality. But then I'd blink, and it would be gone, leaving me wondering if it had been real or just a trick of my desperate mind.

"Your father says you're to run with the pack."

I clenched my jaw; the words tasted bitter on my tongue. "He is not my father."

Her eyes raked over me, assessing. She didn't argue, just continued as if I hadn't spoken. "He wanted you to look at these, too." She tossed an envelope through the bars, the paper hitting the floor with a soft thud.

My heart raced as I reached for it, dread pooling in my stomach.

"It's a preventive measure. For your compliance."

My fingers trembled as I tore open the envelope, though part of me already knew what I'd find. I pulled out the photographs, my breath catching in my throat.

Tia.

Three images. One of her at a library table, lost in thought. Another of her reading outside, the sunlight catching her hair.The last showed her walking to her dorm, unaware of the camera's intrusion.

My chest tightened. She was safe, for now. But the message was clear: my father knew exactly where she was, what she was doing. If I ran, she'd be the one to suffer.

I shoved the pictures back into the envelope, my hands shaking as I hurled it back at the woman, turning away as it hit the bars.

THIRTY-ONE

I felt the moon beginning to rise. That was the only indicator of time I had. It made my skin prickle and tingle as if the magic itself danced unseen around the room, touching my flesh. I inhaled, sucking it in, calming my panther, because he was so desperate for a good shift and a run, and he'd given up on all of this. He didn't care about my father and what he'd done. He was primal need and instinct, and right then, his instinct was to answer the call.

The heavy door beyond opened, and footsteps followed it. This wasn't just one person.

I was sitting in the middle of my cage, cross-legged again, and I stared at the spot where the owners of those steps appeared.

Five of them.

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