Watcher: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 1) (10 page)

I heard a thud. Startled, I looked up, feeling guilty for even thinking about reading the note. Behind the bathroom door, Chairman Meow howled about injustice. Cole walked out of the bedroom in his naked, human form.

“I can fly,” he said, pumping his fist in the air. “And my leg feels a lot better. You know your stuff, Nightingale.”

His leg
did
look a lot better. I stared at it in awe, trying hard not to allow my gaze to wander to other parts of him. It was strange, because a wound that deep and nasty shouldn’t have healed up so fast. I mentioned this to Cole, and he nodded.

“Bran heal faster than typical humans,” he explained. “It’s got something to do with the inherent energy required to sustain our ability to shapeshift. All shapeshifting species heal incredibly quickly.”

“Wow, that’s a pretty cool superpower,” I said, still avoiding looking at his body. “Are you immortal?”

Cole snorted. “That would be wonderful, wouldn’t it? All these aristocratic families with the same Bran serving them generation after generation. They wouldn’t even have to train a new butler. No, I’m not immortal, as I may well discover if I can’t find some way to get this damn ring off. By the way, I may have landed on your bed. It’s not very soft.”

I sighed. “Tell me about it. Are you going to put some clothes on?”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? All of this making you nervous?” Cole ran his hands over his taut chest and muscular thighs.
Damn.
I bit my lip. He was so cocky, so sure of himself. And he looked so good. I wondered what that chest would feel like pressed up against my back—

I pretended to be busy making a cup of tea, so he couldn’t see me blushing. “I just figured you’d be sick of walking around without them. Or at least you’d like to take a shower. You don’t want to end up like me, always smelling faintly of bread.”

“I like the way you smell. It reminds me of being in the kitchens at the castle before a big feast.” He yawned and stretched his arms above his head. “That shower sounds like a great idea.”

“Fine, but open that door at your peril. The Chairman is ready to go postal.”

“I think you’d better take care of that. If you could keep that cat in with you again, I’d appreciate it. I think he can smell raven on me.”

I pulled open the door and grabbed a scrabbling Chairman Meow by the scruff of the neck. As soon as I was cradling him in his arms like a baby, he calmed down and started purring, rubbing his cheeks against my arm as I rubbed his tummy the way he liked. He shot Cole a furious glance, as if to say, “Don’t you get comfortable here. This is
my
human.” Cole gave the cat’s tail an amused tweak, then went inside the bathroom and shut the door.

A few moments later, I heard the shower running. I fed Chairman Meow, and then dawdled in the kitchen, fixing myself a mug of tea. I tried to not tell myself it was so that I could see Cole’s body again when he came out.

He’d left all his clothes on the floor. I stared at that puddle of dark fabric, my heart hammering against my chest. I lifted the corner of his shirt and brought it to my face, and breathed in deeply. His rich, woody scent came off, making my stomach flip. I dropped the shirt again.
This is ridiculous. You’re just driving yourself crazy.

I glanced down at the jeans again. I could see the white corner of the note sticking out of the pocket. With a glance to the closed door of the bathroom, I reached down and pulled the note out. It was written on the back of an order pad. I could see the list of meals for the table next to our scrawled across the front. I unfolded it and glanced over the other side.

The message puzzled me:

Harry Morchard is dead.

Huh? Someone died? I recognised the name Morchard. It was someone related to Cole’s master. What did that mean? Did Cole have something to do with it?

I heard the shower shut off. Heart racing, I shoved the note back into Cole’s pocket and tossed his jeans on the floor. I grabbed my tea from the counter and was bringing it to my lips as he cracked open the door.

He stared at me, I stared at him. An awkward moment passed between us. My heart pounded against my chest as I wondered if he was going to ask me to spend the night with him, and what I might say to that.

Cole’s gaze lingered on my face, and my half-filled tea cup. “So … goodnight, I guess.” He scratched his head, and a long black ringlet flopped over his eye.

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Right,” he stepped aside.

He didn’t make any move to squeeze my arse as I moved past him. In fact, he didn’t even meet my eyes. I went into my bedroom to grab my things, my whole mood sinking. So he wasn’t interested in me after all. I mean, surely he would have made a move by now? It was the perfect time. I thought we had a chemistry, but maybe … I was just imagining it.

Guys like Cole love to flirt. It’s a game to them.
I reminded myself.
You can’t take everything he says at face value, or you’ll end up with a broken heart again. He’s just not into you, and that’s probably for the best.

I knew the annoying voice in my head was right, but I still felt bitter and disappointed. I finished my teeth and turned out the light. Cole had already settled himself on the couch with a blanket, Chairman Meow curled contentedly at his feet.

“Traitor,” I glowered at the Chairman. He opened one lazy eye and winked at me.

“Goodnight, Nightingale.” Cole said, flashing me one of those killer smiles. But this time, it didn’t flip my stomach the way it usually did. Because I knew he didn’t really mean it. He was just being nice, the only way he knew how.

I picked up Chairman Meow, and moved toward my bedroom, my good mood from earlier deflating like a balloon. “Yeah, goodnight.”

I
waited an hour
, occasionally getting up and pressing my ear against Belinda’s door. Finally, I heard her deep, regular breathing. She was asleep.

She’d given me such a hurt look after I’d said goodnight to her. Clearly, she wanted me. All her blushing and turning away and covering her face with her hair made that pretty obvious. I wanted to say something, to let her know that I wanted her just as badly. I knew she was waiting for me to make the first move, and I was ready to tear all her clothes off.

But I was desperately trying to delay that move as long as possible. Hopefully so long it would never happen.

I’d made myself a promise, and damnit, I would keep it, even if it killed me. I wasn’t going to get involved with anyone emotionally while I was still a slave.

I’m no good for you.
I stared at Belinda’s shut door, willing the message to somehow enter her head so she wouldn’t have to look at me as though I’d just told her Christmas was cancelled.
You’ll figure that out pretty damn soon, and you’ll be glad we didn’t fuck.

Getting that note from Mikael had really freaked me out, and that had made me more cautious around Belinda than I might otherwise have been, especially with her wearing that slinky black dress. Unusually for me, my mind was too preoccupied for sex.

Almost
too preoccupied. That dress hugged her tiny body in
all
the right places.

No.
I had to focus. I needed to see for myself how Harry Morchard’s death had come to be. Mikael didn’t know, or he would have told me. I was supposed to be watching Harry, which meant that Victor would blame me for his death. And if it was in any way connected to my disappearance … I was in deep, deep trouble.

I needed to do what ravens did best – watch and listen and find out what I could.

The last thing I wanted to do was leave Belinda alone. But I didn’t know what else to do. As long as the Morchards still believed I was dead, I was perfectly safe. I hoped.

Belinda’s door creaked inward. I stepped back, heart pounding.
Just tell her you were getting a drink of water. Thank fuck you didn’t start shifting already.

But it was only Chairman Meow, pushing the door open with his nose. He saw me staring down at him and gave me a pleading look.

Meow?

“I’m not feeding you,” I whispered to the cat, waving my arms in a gesture that clearly implied I wanted him to go away. Of course, being a cat, this just made him climb up my leg and wail louder.

Meow! Meeeeeow!

“Under any other circumstances, you’d be trying to eat me,” I laughed, giving the little dude a scratch behind the ears. “Look after her for me.”

Against Chairman Meow’s protests, I went into the bathroom and closed the door.

I’d observed as I was flying around earlier that there were only three windows in Belinda’s flat, a tiny one overlooking the alley behind the shop, and two larger ones looking over the high street below. One was in her bedroom, and I wasn’t going in there. The other was here in the bathroom. I pulled the sash up, and a gust of crisp air blew in, knocking a bottle of hand cream off the edge of the sink, where it clattered loudly against the chipped enamel. I cringed at the noise and stood still, listening. But I didn’t hear Belinda stir, and her light stayed off.

I pushed the sash all the way open. Then, taking a deep breath, I forced a change.

Changing your shape is such a strange experience. You are you still, but everything
feels
different. Your nose is still attached to your face, but it’s no longer your nose. You still control your legs, but now they bend a completely different way. For the first ten minutes after you change, everything feels completely alien, you can’t remember which way your neck is supposed to turn. Even though I’d changed thousands of times in my life, I never got used to the sensation.

I grabbed the edge of the sink and gritted my teeth as my face shifted first, my skin stretching and becoming the long, hard beak. The feathers burst from my skin – they itched badly, and I longed to scratch the crawling sensation that covered my body. But I kept my hands against the sink, because the worst was coming.

My bones cracked and mutated, the sinews reconfiguring into new shapes. It freaked me out too much if I thought about it, so I tried to stare straight ahead and wait until it was over. My eyes wobbled and my vision blurred as the irises changed, becoming the predatory vision of the raven. I blinked, and suddenly the bathroom appeared completely different.

My eyes have ciliary muscles that can change the shape of my lens rapidly. Ravens also see in four colour spectrums, so now the previously drab bathroom came alive with brilliant ultraviolet colours. I flapped my wings, testing the strength and stability of my leg. It was one thing to fly around Belinda’s tiny flat, but quite another to soar over the countryside without being spotted.

Everything seemed fine. Time to move out.

I hopped up on the windowsill, unfurled my wings, and took off. The warm air rising from the streets below created the current on which I soared. I swooped down, my eyes searching around me for any sign that I was being followed. So far, so good.

Below me, the streets were mostly empty. Houses glowed with lights from bedrooms and televisions. A lone pizza delivery van weaved down the narrow streets. A couple of drunk guys wandered out from the pub, holding each other around the shoulders and singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” at the top of their lungs.

I flew over the edge of the village, across the forest where I was less likely to be spotted. I headed along the edge of the trees, toward Morchard Castle. I could already see the dark shadow of it looming on the horizon, the four imposing turrets jutting toward the heavens. As I drew closer, the ring around my wing throbbed with impatience, pulling me back toward my master.

I’d sworn that I’d never go back there, and it was barely 48 hours later, and here I was again. But I had to see. I had to
know
.

The northern edge of Morchard’s estate bordered up against the Crookshollow forest. I figured if I stuck to that area, I should be safe from detection. Byron usually patrolled that stretch of the border, and if my hunch was right and he had lied to Pax about hearing me fall in the water, then he was at least protecting me.

I swooped lower as I neared the castle, hoping to hide my shape below the raised garden beds. I saw lights on toward the back of the western wing, where the family lived.
Odd,
usually Victor would be in the aviary or laboratory at this time of night, while Susan would be drinking in the drawing room. I moved around the edge of the house, flying between the garden beds, then hopping along the grass, trying to stay hidden from anyone who might be looking from the house. A cold breeze blew through my feathers. I could sense another raven’s presence, feel its eyes on me. Hopefully it was Byron. I guessed it was likely, since no one had attacked me yet.

At least I have one ally in this cursed place. It’s odd, I never would have predicted Byron would be an ally.

The ring surged with energy, tugging me toward the back patio, calling me to my master. I peered at the scene in the garden. A table had been set out on the back patio, beside the swimming pool. The servants bustled about, setting out platters of food and filling drinks. The family were gathered around, talking in low voices to each other, heads bowed. Every one of them wore black. Behind them, stretching out from one end of the house and covering nearly half of the expansive lawn, I could see the frame of the aviary, dark now, with no one inside. I heard no screeches or chirps from within the structure – all the specimens were probably asleep. Just seeing the dark outline of the trees and structures behind the aviary’s glass walls made my blood boil with rage. But I wasn’t there to spy on Victor’s experiments. I needed to find out what was going on.

I thought about moving closer to try and hear what they were saying (my hearing wasn’t as good as my sight), but then they started to move through the garden. I hopped around to the other side of the garden bed, and watched as the family drew closer, walking in a line across the lawn. Victor and his brothers carried a long, dark box, covered with a white floral arrangement.
A coffin.
They’d got his body back from the morgue awfully quick. Susan and Victor’s daughter Virginia carried tall silver candlesticks, the flickering light of the flames casting strange shadows along the paved path. Some of the extended family and three of Harry’s obnoxious Eton friends trailed at the rear.

I followed at a safe distance (or as safe as I could get in this place) as the procession moved slowly along the path toward the forest, heading to the small family graveyard at the back of the private garden. A tall mausoleum dominated the space, the classical facade making it look more like a shrine to a Greek woodland goddess than a house of the dead. The heavy wrought-iron gates were propped open.

They reached the mausoleum and fanned out into a lopsided half-circle. The men lowered the casket onto a stone plinth in the centre of the mausoleum’s single room, then stepped back from it as though it might bite them. I hopped over to the hedge on the edge of the path, heart pounding as I peered through the leaves.
Please don’t let Pax or Poe see me ...

Victor stood rigid in front of the family, his sandy hair almost glowing in the moonlight. In that deep, booming voice of his, he spoke about his son, all his ambitions, all his achievements. At one point, his strong voice cracked, and he had to stop a moment to compose himself. I’d known it was true as soon as I’d seen Mikael’s note, of course. Mikael had no reason to lie to me. But now, seeing them all here, their usually cruel faces wracked with grief, the reality of what this meant became terrifyingly clear.

I only heard snatches of Victor’s speech, but his last words came through loud and clear, his voice dripping with vengeance. “... my son, who was brutally set upon by vampire thugs just as he got off the train … his blood drained ... taken in the prime of his life ... Those who are responsible for my son’s murder will pay for what they’ve done.”

My blood turned cold. The ring tightened so hard, I struggled for breath. He was talking about me.

Victor stepped aside and put his arms around the shoulders of his ice-queen of a wife. They both bowed their heads as Victor’s younger brothers pushed Harry’s coffin into its niche in the mausoleum. Virginia blew out the candles. They shut and locked the doors, and returned to the patio, where the servants waited with champagne, whisky and all kinds of illicit drugs to help the family drown their pain.

So it was true. Harry Morchard was dead, and he’d been killed by a vampire. That could only mean one thing: Thomas Gillespie knew I was gone, and he’s sending a message to the Morchards.
Bring me my property, or else.

I was dead meat.