Watcher: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 1) (2 page)

… Ahem. Focus, Belinda.

Clearly, I was more than ready for a sexual memory that didn’t involve Ethan.

I gulped, straining to think of something intelligent to say. I’d always been attracted to bad boys, but I’d never had one, unless you counted Ethan: the skinny, petulant, thieving bastard. He didn’t have a single tattoo, and he was too afraid of driving to even get his license. I had to drive him everywhere. So he didn’t really count.

What was this
particular
bad boy doing in my bakery? He didn’t seem the type to go in for my caramel whips.

The window for appropriate store-owner–customer interaction came and passed, and still my tongue was glued to the top of my mouth. Hot Biker Dude met my gaze, those smouldering eyes burning into mine. His whole face broke out into a startling, brilliant grin, the kind of smile that melted glaciers and left girls like me in puddles on the floor. I could feel my cheeks burning with heat.
Say something.

“Wh-wh-what can I get you, sir?” I managed to stammer out. Across from me, Elinor giggled. I shot her a filthy look.

“What can you get me?” Hot Biker rubbed the stubble on his chin; his eyes darted over my face and across my body. “You can get me off with those pretty lips, if you like.”

Did he just say …?
Behind me, Finn cracked up laughing. As his words registered, I felt my whole body blush. From the tips of my toes right up to the ends of my hair, my body coursed with heat. As much as his crass attitude annoyed me, I couldn’t help but wish I had the guts to say, “Sure. Your place or mine?”

Hot Biker’s line hung in the air between us, an open invitation to respond, to crush him with my unbelievable wit, to impress him with my ability to rise to his challenge. I swallowed.
Nothing.
My mind was a blank slate.

“Excuse me,” Elinor cut in. “You shouldn’t talk to her like that.”
Great, now I look so weak I need to have my friend stick up for me.

“Why not?” Hot Biker leaned over the counter and studied my face with those dark eyes. I don’t know how it was possible, but my cheeks flared with even
more
heat. “She looks as if she’s enjoying it.”

“I—” I stammered, finally managing to croak out a sound. Unfortunately, I was too late. Elinor was in full no-bullshit mode.

“Well, for starters, Belinda is the
baker.
If you piss her off, she might put something unsavoury in your cupcakes.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Hot Biker grinned at me; that wild, carefree grin that made my knees go weak. “Besides, your friend can talk for herself, can’t you, gorgeous?”

“I …” I cleared my throat. “Yes, I can, thank you. Do you want to order something?”

Good, that’s good. Let’s just get down to business. That should help you stop thinking about how hot he is. There’s nothing sexy about pastries.

Unless he was feeding you a cupcake, pulling off small bites with his fingers and placing them on your tongue, licking his lips in anticipation as he imagined running his tongue over yours, smearing the icing around your—

Urgh.
Who
was
this person thinking this stuff? My whole body pulsed with heat. I needed to get this guy out of here so I could go stick my head under the cold tap.

But Hot Biker wasn’t in a rush. He leaned across the counter, his leather jacket creaking as he stooped to admire all the slices and sweets in the display. “You’ve got angel food cake,” he grinned. “That’s one of my favourites. Innocent on the outside, but full of naughtiness inside.”

“Um …”

“Is that like you, gorgeous?”

“I … er …” Scratch that, I think I needed a cold
shower
.

Elinor shot Hot Biker another filthy look. He rolled his eyes at her, then gave me a conspiratorial smile that made my heart hammer against my chest.

“Look at her!” Elinor jabbed a perfectly manicured finger in my direction, making my blush glow deeper. “You’re making her really uncomfortable. Why don’t you just place your order without being a fuckwit and then you can leave.”

Hot Biker looked taken aback for a moment, but then he nodded. He leaned across the counter, his brown eyes wide now, kinder.

“Listen,” he said, his voice low. “I’m just teasing. The truth is, I came in to get something for brunch, but then I saw you behind the counter and that first line just came out. You looked so gorgeously flustered, I just wanted to see how long I could keep going. I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”

“That’s OK,” I said, my face still burning.

“It’s
hardly
OK.” Elinor snapped. I shot her a frantic look, and she nodded, finally understanding that I was actually keen on the biker. She took a few steps back and hid her face in one of the newspapers I kept stacked by the door.

“Your friend is right.” Hot Biker pulled out a fat leather wallet and started to flip through it. I noticed he was carrying a huge wad of cash. “I was acting like a dick. I’ll tell you what, I’ll take a box of the most expensive, most impressive treat you have. If you have to endure my sense of humour, than you should at least be fairly compensated for it.”

“Really sir, that’s OK—”

“Sir?” He gave me that killer grin again. “I like that. I don’t usually get called Sir. You could definitely keep calling me that.”

“So um ... anyway,” I directed my gaze down at the display counter so he couldn’t see the fresh glow on my cheeks. I pointed to a cake on the bottom shelf. “If you want the most impressive thing, that would definitely be the Heaven and Hell cake.”

“That sounds like my kind of cake. Tell me about it.”

“Well um, it’s layers of Angel food cake and Devil’s food cake, sandwiched with peanut butter mousse and covered with chocolate whisky ganache.”

I’d made that cake last night to replace another that hadn’t sold for three days – the full cakes didn’t sell as well as individual slices, but I needed them on display to get the catering and birthday orders. I’d decorated it perfectly, with curls of dark chocolate and a sprinkling of gold dust. And I knew it was delicious, because I’d eaten a quarter of the other Heaven and Hell cake for dinner, since I couldn’t afford groceries.

“Looks great.” He wet his lower lip in a way that made my stomach flutter.

“I can cut you off a slice—” I reached for the cake knife.

“No, just box the whole thing up. I’ll take it all.”

“But …” I spluttered. “That cake is 75 quid …”

“That was more than I was planning on spending on our first date, but sure.” He shrugged. “Wrap it up.”

Barely able to hide my grin, I fitted together one of our larger cake boxes. I slid the cake out from the counter and had to turn around to fit it inside the box. As I did, I imagined Hot Biker staring at my arse, and my whole body coursed with nervous energy at the thought. When I turned around to give him the cake, I half expected to drop it. Thankfully, I maintained my composure.

He paid by credit card, and as I handed him the pen to sign his name, I found myself hoping he’d leave his number. If this were a movie, and I were the plucky, down-on-her-luck heroine, that’s exactly what would happen.

Hot Biker grinned at me as he pushed the slip of paper back across the counter. This time, I grinned back. “That’s a lot of cake,” I managed to say. “I hope you have someone to share it with.”

“Why? Are you free tonight?”

“Er … um …” My heart pounded. Was he asking me out? This guy was going to give me a serious heart condition.

He leaned forward, his nose just inches from mine. I could smell him, the scent of motor oil and leather and something else, something woody and earthy and familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. His eyes burned into mine.

“On second thought, you’d better not,” he whispered, his voice suddenly cold. Disappointment surged through me. Where had that dark stare come from? Emotion flared in his eyes, and for a moment his face crumpled into an expression of impossible sadness. I blinked, but in an instant his smug, dangerous expression was back.

“You’ve been hurt badly.” His husky voice reverberated in my skull. “You need something sweet, and I’m not just talking about cake. I am not sweet, not even close. You wouldn’t want to get messed up with a guy like me.”

He grabbed his cake off the counter, and stormed outside, the bakery door slamming shut behind him.

“Woah,” Elinor slapped down her magazine. “Who the hell was
that?
”

“I don’t know. He’s never been in here before.” I stared down at the slip where he had scrawled his unreadable signature. No name. No phone number.

Elinor marched over to the counter and waved her hand in front of my face. “Hello? Are you in there?”

“I’m sorry,” I blinked. “I just … I was hoping he’d ask me out.”

“Belinda,” Elinor looked me in the eyes, her voice stern. “Don’t go getting all doe-eyed for Mr. Smooth-Talking-Biker. You are clearly not over Ethan, and that guy would
not
help. He’s bad news. In fact, he even
told
you he was bad news. And the last thing you need is to date another criminal.”

She had a very good point. Hot Biker was gorgeous, sure. He was probably an amazing shag. And the way he looked at me made me feel fluttery all over, like I was actually attractive and desirable and not just a colossal fuck-up. I hadn’t felt like that for a long time, not since I’d first started dating Ethan. But, what would I even talk about with a guy like that? I didn’t have any tattoos. I’d never ridden a motorbike. All I had going for me was the fact that I always smelled like warm bread.

Elinor was right, that guy was bad news. Guys like him always were. I was glad he didn’t ask me out or leave his number.

I
was
glad. Wasn’t I?

W
oah
.

I shook my head as I jammed the cake box into the pillion, and fitted my helmet over my head. She was
something else.
That wispy black hair, that creamy skin, those huge, sad eyes, the way she blushed adorably every time I said something dirty … she was like an anime character, come to life. She wasn’t just entirely fuckable, she was
intriguing
. And I hadn’t been intrigued by a woman in such a long time. I glanced back through the window of the store, where the black-haired beauty was deep in conversation with her buxom friend. I had the overwhelming urge to run back in there, grab her over the counter, pull her face to mine, and kiss her.

You did the right thing,
I reminded myself, as the ring on my finger brushed against the handlebar with a metallic CLINK.
No more women, no more distractions, especially not distractions you might actually be interested in talking to. You have nothing to offer a woman like that until you are free.

I gunned the engine, kicked up the stand, and pulled out into the street. I dared one last look back at the Bewitching Bites bakery, just in time to see the buxom friend leaving with a huge cake box under her arm. That meant my black-haired beauty was alone. Maybe I could head back and—

Someone honked. I stomped on the brake and slammed my foot down before the bike fell over, just as a car sped past and the driver pulled the finger at me. I’d drifted over the white line.
Fuck, that was close.

Keep your eyes on the road. You wouldn’t want to crash now, it might spoil your master’s dinner.

As I pulled away again, I glanced wistfully in the direction of the Tir Na Nog pub, where I knew Mikael would be working the afternoon shift. It was too risky to go there now, when I knew Pax and Poe were nearby, also doing chores in the village for the master. If they saw me talking to Mikael, they might guess what we were doing, and I couldn’t let anything jeopardise our plan. Not when we were so close.

I zipped through the quiet Crookshollow streets, keen to put some distance between me and the pub and the bakery. I needed to clear my head a bit. After a few minutes, the village died away, and I sped through winding country roads, the wind whipping my long hair against the collar of my jacket. The cold brushed my skin even through my leathers, momentarily blasting away my rage.

Out on my bike, I felt like myself. The wind tearing at my body, the road falling away beneath me, that powerful engine humming away between my legs … it was the closest thing to flying in my human form. On the back of that bike, I felt almost free.

Almost.

All too soon, my ride came to an end. I saw the castle long before I reached the gate. It towered over the picturesque landscape like a tacky Hollywood mansion. Just like Victor Morchard himself, I thought snidely, grinning at the comparison.

I pressed the button on the handlebars, and the iron gates swung open. I entered the long gravel drive leading up to the main house, but turned off down a small track on the left, winding through rows of grapevines and maple trees. Our roost was located on the edge of the private forest that bordered the Morchards’ estate, well hidden from the eyes of wandering National Trust visitors touring the castle.

I parked my bike in the lean-to at the base of the roost, then held my index finger up to the small electronic pad. It read the energy signature on my ring, and beeped twice to signal my return had been recorded. I checked the blinking symbols on the left of the screen. None of the others were back yet.

I didn’t bother going up into the roost. There was only enough room up there for the four of us to sleep, and even then, only in our raven forms. Victor didn’t like us to spend any more time than necessary in our human forms. I think he found us intimidating.

The ring on my finger grew warm. Morchard’s call. He wanted to see me, immediately. Well, the bastard could wait. I took my time removing the cake from the pillion, and buffing out some imaginary scratches from the chrome on my bike. I slung my jacket over my shoulder, and ran my fingers through my hair, deliberately messing it up. The ring glowed hotter, and my whole hand stung with pain, but still I dawdled in the gardens, stopping to peel a grape from the vines and crush a small cluster of daisies under my boot.

I entered the castle through the servant’s entrance, and left the Heaven and Hell cake on the counter in the kitchen. Two chefs clattered away over the stoves, yelling instructions at each other as they cooked for the meal the family were preparing to celebrate the arrival of their favourite son. Harry Morchard, the great hope of the family, was due home from university tomorrow. He was reading chemistry at Oxford, and he would no doubt take over his father’s sadistic business.

At the thought of Harry, I almost swiped the cake box off the table and smashed it against the floor. He didn’t deserve a cake like that. I didn’t want that haughty git anywhere near
her
handiwork.

But I gritted my teeth, and walked through the kitchen, leaving the cake behind. Neither of the chefs bothered to look up. Who would acknowledge a slave?

My whole hand ached with pain now. Despite myself, I walked faster, cursing my weakness.

I knew where I would find my master. I stomped through the immaculate receiving rooms, the elaborately inlaid walls and painted frescos passing in a blur. At the back of the empty ballroom – the one decorated with wax figures dressed in pseudo-regency garb for the tourists – I pressed the hoof of a prancing horse inlaid on the wall panel, and the secret door swung open. I stepped inside.

Instantly, the heat in my hand faded, although it would take some time before the pain would also fade. I was in my master’s abode.

Victor was hunched over his work table, filling a syringe with some kind of clear liquid. In front of him on the table were three glass cages, each one housing a different bird. The first held a beautiful white dove, her eyes dilated, struggling to focus on me. The second, a common pigeon crying for release, and the third, a black raven, his hooked beak tapping nervously on the glass. Their cries wrenched my soul, but there was nothing I could do to save them. I nodded at Victor, keeping my composure, trying not to let him know how much I hated him.

“Ah, Cole. I’m glad you could join me. You certainly took your time getting here.”

“I had to drop off the cake in the kitchens,” I replied, keeping my voice even.

“Yes, good.” He didn’t look at me, his dark grey eyes concentrating on his work. His long, gaunt body hunched forward, his back curved like a geriatric as he filled two more syringes. I shifted my weight to my other foot, my whole body screaming to run away. This room, the sterile white walls, the ammonia smell that couldn’t quite disguise the acrid stench of blood, the memories that flooded me every time I came in here … it was as if Morchard knew how I felt, as if he was trying to keep the upper hand.

“You have some other task for me?” I asked, desperate to find out what he wanted so I could leave.

“You don’t like me, Cole. And I’ve never been able to figure out why. I’ve done nothing but care for you as a part of my family. I’ve paid for your schooling, given you free reign over my grounds and the village, allowed you every privilege. I’ve provided a home for you and your brother. But you are ungrateful. You seek to defy me at every turn. I can sense your rebellious spirit under your skin every time I speak to you.”

“You’re my master. I obey your commands.” My words came out as a rasp. My throat was closing up. The smell … I couldn’t take it much longer.

“I don’t only demand obedience from my Bran. I demand devotion. Your mother understood that.”

“Don’t you speak of her,” I growled, my hands balled into fists. The ring on my finger flared with heat.

“I’ll not tolerate this insubordination any longer.” As he talked, Victor lifted the lids to each of the cages, and injected each bird with one of the syringes. The dove fluttered her wings, and toppled on to her side, her eyes lolling sadly. The pigeon grew stiff, and flopped over with a THUD. And the raven folded its wings and sat down, its beak drooping against the glass. I was so focused on those poor birds that it took several moments for me to even register what Victor was saying.

“—and therefore, I have made the decision that you are to no longer stay here as a Bran of mine. I have sold you to another master. He has paid a fair price for you, enough that I’ve been able to wipe some of the debt my little laboratory has incurred. He will come for you on Sunday, and the bond will pass from me to him at midday. This way, you won’t be my problem any longer.”

He
sold
me? He sold me like a piece of fucking property. Like I was a Chesterfield sofa or an ornamental urn.

Rage consumed me. I saw red. I wanted to scream at him, pulverise his thin face into pulp, fill one of those syringes and jab it directly into his eye, tip his stupid laboratory table on top of his head and stomp on it until he stopped screaming. But the ring on my finger surged with energy, sending slivers of pain up through the veins in my arm. My body went rigid. I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t disobey him.

And so I’d stood there, silent as stone, as Victor informed me of my fate. And I hated myself for my weakness, for my inability to stand up to him, to fight through the pain. But at that moment, I hated Victor more.

“Who?” I managed to choke out. “Who will be my master?”

“I have sold you to Sir Thomas Gillespie,” Victor looked up at me then, his cold hard eyes dancing with glee. “I think you will find him a much stricter, much more cruel master than I have ever been.”

The very mention of that name filled me with a sudden, cold fear. Sir Thomas Gillespie wasn’t just one of the most powerful men in all of England, the last in an ancient noble family. He was also one of the few remaining vampires in the country, notorious for his cruelty and indifference. He was the man who had killed my father. I would no longer be ruled by a man of flesh and blood, but an immortal being of infinite cruelty.

“But you … how could … you hate Sir Thomas.”

“I wanted to be rid of you, and he offered a fair price. My personal feelings for the man did not enter into it. You will perform your usual duties and watches until the end of the week, but you are forbidden to leave the castle grounds until Gillespie arrives to collect you, unless I give you permission. I won’t have you trying anything desperate. Is that understood?”

Despite every muscle and sinew in my body struggling to prevent it, I nodded slowly, the words rushing from my mouth before I could stop them. “Yes, master.”

“In the meantime, I want you to finish your watch for today and then head down to Oxford to escort my son home. I’d like for someone to watch him, make sure he doesn’t get himself into any trouble. And don’t think this is your chance to escape, for Harry is expecting you. He will hold you to your bond.”

“Yes, master.” Harry had learned cruelty from his father. He would make certain I knew my place.

“You may leave,” Victor turned away from me. “Shut the door on the way out.”

And just like that, I had been thrown from the only home I had ever known. I turned on my heel and strode away, slamming the door shut with such force the entire wall shuddered in protest. A piece of the horse’s mane broke off and clattered on the marble floor. What did it matter? What could Victor do to me now?

I raced through the castle, barely registering anything around me. My whole body surged with anger – my mind replaying the whole conversation over and over. How
dare
he?

By the time I got back to the roost, I was a ball of rage. The black panel beeped angrily at me, letting me know the others were on their way home, and that I was past due to start my journey down to Oxford to meet Harry. I balled my hand into a fist and punched the panel with all the force I could muster.

I yanked my hand back, wincing at the pain in my knuckles. A long, jagged crack appeared across the screen, trailing out to the edges in an impressive spider-web pattern. The panel beeped angrily, but the lights continued to glow.

My ring hummed against my skin, reminding me again that I should be on watch. Fine, if Morchard wanted me to
watch
, then that’s just what I’d do.

I leapt on the bike again, jammed the helmet on my head, and steered the machine out of the grounds. I sped toward the edge of the county, toward the line of trees on the horizon.
The forest.
The one part of Morchard’s estate that he could not entirely control, the only place in my tiny world that had some semblance of wildness.

I found my usual hiding spot out on the edge of Crookshollow forest – a small, overgrown parking lot marking the start of one of the less-frequented hiking tracks. I parked up and turned off my bike, then wheeled it into the bushes and hid it underneath the shrubs. Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, I pulled off my clothes, and stashed them in the pillion. My hands shook. Whether it was with anger, or with fear, I couldn’t tell.

I closed my eyes, and I forced myself to change.

It is said that a process of changing forms is a highly individual experience. No two shapeshifters will have the same sensations, nor will they change in exactly the same way. My mother used to describe hers as a sensation of sinking into the ground, collapsing in upon herself like a toppling house of cards. For me, it was as if I were some living statue made of clay, unable to move or cry out as my maker rearranged my pieces and cut away at my limbs. The sounds disturbed me more than anything – the scrape and crunch of my bones recasting themselves, the hiss as my pores opened up to allow my feathers to grow through, the crinkle of my skin folding away to be rolled out again later. Ever since I was a child those sounds haunted my dreams.

Even in my raven form, I was still a prisoner. This body – built for stealth, for hunting – kept me a slave.

I opened my eyes again, and the world became new and strange once more. I saw more than just colour and light, the energy of the world bounced back at me, a wild cacophony of new sounds and sensations resonated within my skull.