Reaper: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 2) (6 page)

“She looked fine to me, but I couldn’t get too close, so I can’t be sure. She was walking around though, so her legs haven’t been hobbled.”

I shot him a filthy look. “That is a relief, thanks. But how is he keeping her there? Why doesn’t she just walk out the garden gate and leave?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out.” Byron said. “There’s no guard on her as far as I can tell. Not even Pax and Poe were watching her. They were both out on duty as normal. She’s not wearing any kind of cuff or restraint. I think he’s holding someone else there, as well. I saw shadows moving around on the second storey windows, as well.”

“Odd.”

“Yeah, I thought so, as well. The only other thing I did notice were all these ravens hanging around, perched all around the perimeter of the walled garden. Some were stationed in the trees nearest her window. But they weren’t doing anything, just sitting there, staring at the house.”

“Ravens? Not Bran?”

Byron shook his head. “Not a single one of them were Bran. Weird, huh?”

“Belinda wouldn’t know the difference.”

“I’d say she’d figure it out real quick.” Byron yawned. “I’m exhausted. Can I stay here tonight?”

“You’ll have to ask Ryan.”

“He’ll say it’s OK.” Byron stretched out across the bed, folding his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. “Everyone else is.”

“You’re getting your own room.” I growled, grabbing him under the shoulders and dragging him up.

“Hey. I am exhausted from being out all night and day looking out for
your
girl—”

“And I appreciate it, but you’re not sleeping in here. This room is mine. I’ve been sharing a roost with you my entire life, and I’m not giving up my one chance for privacy just because you’re feeling a little sleepy.”

“Fine.” Byron made for the door. “I see your new master’s Bentley has just pulled in the driveway again.”

“Oh, that’s probably Leonard, back from the local funeral home, where he’s been all day trying to procure a coffin for Sir Thomas. Ryan invited his Lordship to stay here before his wedding. It’s in a couple of weeks’ time. Apparently she’s the daughter of some local noble family, and the wedding’s going to be quite the affair.”

“I didn’t think there were any vampire families in Crookshollow.”

“There aren’t. He’s marrying a human girl.”

“Sir Thomas Gillespie, the oldest, most notorious vampire of them all, the long-reigning king of the paranormal snobs, is shacking up with a human girl? Does her vagina leak gold or something?”

“That’s disgusting.” I pushed him towards the door. “Go talk to Ryan.”

* * *

T
hat night
I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Twice I transformed into my raven form and tried to fly out the window, but Sir Thomas’s will was so intense, it stopped me as surely as if the open window were a solid wall. Realising sleep would never claim me as long as Belinda was still with Morchard, I decided to head downstairs. At Raynard Hall there were plenty of things one could do to distract oneself from one’s thoughts.

Down in the kitchen I pulled open the fridge to inspect the potential midnight snack options. I pulled out the remains of a leg of roast beef and carved myself off several slices. I was just about to start on a rather delicious-looking strawberry cheesecake when someone coughed from the doorway.

I whirled around, my hand closing around the beef bone, in case I needed it as some kind of rudimentary club. But it was no intruder. At least, no intruder whom Ryan hadn’t invited.

Sir Thomas regarded me with a faint expression of amusement. “I have been reading in the library, and I heard a noise. I thought I was the only one awake at this hour.”

“I missed dinner.” I snapped. “I was hungry, so I came to get a snack. Or do I need your permission to eat?”

“Of course not.”

“What about when I go for a shit? Do I need your permission every time I push out a turtle?”

“You will meet my fiancée, Libby, tomorrow. And you will not speak to her in this crass manner.” Sir Thomas said. It wasn’t a question, but an order. Even though I fought against it with every fibre of my body, I found myself nodding.

“That’s better.”

I grunted in reply, and shoved the fridge door shut with my foot. I’d lost my appetite.

“You bear such hatred towards me,” Sir Thomas said, his tone slightly amused. “I wonder why. I have never met you before.”

“You can read my mind,” I growled back, slamming the bone down on the counter. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Sir Thomas was silent for a few moments. Knowing he was in my mind, I pushed out all the evil thoughts of him I could muster, all the horrible things I’d heard about him over the years, all the hatred over my father’s senseless death bubbling up to the surface again. I pictured his poor body, prone on the grass as he bled out from the gunshot wound Sir Thomas had inflicted. I remembered how I’d screamed and fought when Morchard had him stuffed and mounted above the fireplace in his office, his most “favourite” bird. I dragged it all up again, so that Gillespie could see it, so that he could experience a little of the pain that he had caused me.

Our eyes burned into each other as I fed more and more of my memories into my mind. Finally, Gillespie blinked, breaking the spell.

He said, “Your father. You believe I murdered him. But I did not.”

“My friend saw the whole thing. He watched you take the shot.”

“He was mistaken. It was an accident. Your father flew in front of the clay bird—”

“Bullshit. He would never do something so stupid. You shot him out of the sky. He didn’t deserve it. He’d done
nothing
to deserve that.”

“You and I are bound together for a very long time, Cole.” Sir Thomas said. “Even though you will belong to my wife, I will still have much influence over your actions. I suggest, for the moment, that you find a way to keep your hatred in check. It will make things much easier for you.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” I snapped, grabbing up the bone. “But I like to do things my own way.”

Before Gillespie could reply, I pushed past him and stormed from the room.

V
ictor kept
me confined in my room the whole night. At 7pm, a creepy butler with long jowls and tiny, beady eyes delivered a hot meal and a stack of books. I chose one at random, settled myself into the couch, and started reading, my brain never registering a single word. All I could think about was Cole.

Does he know I’m here? Will he try to rescue me? Has he already tried?

Damnit. I shouldn’t be thinking about Cole,
the sensible voice inside my head raged. Had I learned nothing from Ethan? I couldn’t trust a man to help me, to keep me safe, especially not one I hardly knew. I’d known Ethan for years and everything I’d thought had turned out to be wrong. I couldn’t trust my own judgement and I couldn’t trust Cole to get me out of this mess.

But Cole is different. He’s not Ethan.

No, he’s not. But you could make the same mistake you made with Ethan again. And this time, instead of costing your business, it could cost you your life.

I knew the voice was right. I barely knew Cole, and I had only a cursory understanding of what it was to be with a shifter, especially one who was a slave to someone else. I knew that Sunday was the day Cole officially became Sir Thomas Gillespie’s Bran, but I didn’t know what that would mean for his feelings for me.

I had to face reality. Cole wasn’t coming. He’d probably forgotten all about me.
He’s probably moved on to the next girl by now.
Tears sprung in my eyes at the thought, but I pushed them away. The only person who was going to get me out of this mess was me. But how?

I tossed the book down on the table. There was no point pretending I was paying attention to it. I wasn’t going to get out of the castle tonight, so I might as well try to get some sleep.

Someone had left a set of beautiful silk pyjamas under the pillow, and the bathroom was stocked with organic bath products. As far as prisons went, this place wasn’t half bad. I ran myself a bath and tossed in a rose-scented bath bomb. It fizzed and made the water all pink. I climbed inside and tried to relax, but all I could think about was how much I wished Cole was there with me.

I climbed into the huge, soft bed, sliding down between the Egyptian cotton sheets, and pulled the covers up, fluffing the pillows behind my head into a perfect headrest. The mattress seemed to mould to my shape, cocooning me in warmth. It was a far cry from the hard, lumpy mattress and threadbare sheets I had on the floor of my bare room back in the flat.

It’s a sad state of affairs when your prison is more luxurious than your own home.

Even though my stomach still twisted with apprehension, the bed was so comfortable, it wasn’t long until my eyes felt heavy. I thought about the way Cole’s body felt against mine, the softness of his lips as he kissed my neck, and before long I was fading into sleep ...

A sound startled me awake. I bolted upright, straining to hear it again. Had I imagined it?

There it was again. A scratching, or shuffling. It was coming from outside my window.

“Cole?” I cried out, my heart leaping. “Is that you?”

No reply, but there was more scratching.

I threw off the covers and raced to the window. I’d shut it in order to keep the warmth in the room. Now I pushed it open a crack and glanced down into the darkened garden below. I could see shapes moving around down there, darting between the flowerbeds, shuffling like zombies across the manicured lawn. At first I thought the shapes could be the birds that had brought me here, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw the shapes of the ravens lined up along the fences. Several glared at me from the branches of the nearest tree, the moonlight reflecting off their sinister eyes.

I turned back to the garden, watching the shadows converge on each other. There were three in all, and they were humanoid. It couldn’t be a National Trust tour still going on at this hour, and Victor Morchard didn’t seem the type to skulk around his own garden in the pitch black night. So why were they out there? How had they got in past the birds?

The three figures bent their heads together, as though they were conversing. But I couldn’t hear any voices, just some strange hissing and gargling.

Could it be Cole and Ryan and Alex, come to rescue me? Maybe they don’t know where I am?

I tried to push open the window, but it was stuck tight. I checked the catch was open, but it still wouldn’t budge. Then I noticed a small steel circle on the window frame, that didn’t match the ancient frame. Closer inspection revealed it to be a screw. My stomach tightened in fear. While I had been taking the tour with Victor, he’d had someone – probably that creepy butler – come up here and screw the windows shut.

I tapped on the glass, waving my arms frantically.

“Hello?” I cried out, hoping my voice might carry though the still night. I rapped against the glass with my knuckles. “Have you come to help me? Please, I’m trapped here!”

One of the figures looked up. The light of my lamp caught his eyes, making them glow in the darkness like two strange orbs. I couldn’t make out his face, but he looked as though he had dark hair. Cole, it had to be! I reached over and grabbed the rose-painted bedside lamp, flicked it on, and aimed it at the window. No, that was no good. It just reflected against the glass.

The figures started to creep forward, the dark-haired one in front. There was a place where the wall dipped down a little, and the moon shone through it, creating a thin sliver of light on the courtyard below. The figure stepped into that light, his eyes meeting mine. I recognised his face.

I leapt back in fright, knocking over the lamp and sending it flying across the room. My heart hammered against my chest.

The man staring up at the window was Ethan.

It can’t be Ethan. That’s ridiculous. You’re just imagining things because the garden brings back painful memories of him.

But it had looked just like him. And after I’d thought I’d glimpsed him in town just the other day, seeing him again seemed like too much of a coincidence. I took a tentative step forward, not wanting to look again but knowing I had to. I needed to know.

I stepped close to the window and peered down into the garden. But all three of the figures had gone.

My chest tight, I yanked the curtain shut over the window, and slumped down on the bed.
Was I imagining things? Seeing Ethan twice in the same week couldn’t be a coincidence. But why was Ethan
here?
Was he mixed up in all this somehow? What was going on?

* * *

A
fter seeing Ethan
, there was no way I could get back to sleep. Every time I tried to sink back into the bed, I saw his face looming over me. After another hour of tossing and turning, I got up again.

Not wanting to spend my wakeful hours in vain, I conducted a complete inventory of the room, searching for something that might aid in my escape. I tossed the lamp and everything else on the bedside table on the floor, pulled out all the drawers, and hunted behind and under the bed. I found my clothes from the night before washed and folded on the chair. In the closet, stacked in front of the racks of ball gowns, were several bags of women’s clothing from H&M in a variety of sizes, the tags still on. The Morchards had clearly put a lot of thought into what would make me comfortable in my confinement.

Sometime in the early hours of the morning I must have collapsed on the settee, because I woke up to sunlight streaming in through the window, and a nasty crick in my neck from my head hanging over the side of the chair. I sat up and glanced around the room. All my chaos from the night before had been cleaned up, the lamp was sitting back on the nightstand, and a tray had been left for me on the table. I lifted the silver dish to inspect the offerings. Scrambled eggs on sourdough, roasted tomatoes, wilted spinach, and a glass of fresh, pulpy orange juice. My stomach rumbled. I didn’t want to give Morchard the satisfaction of acquiescing to his attempts at hospitality, but I was too hungry to protest. In minutes I’d cleared the plate.

There was a knock on the door.

It was the creepy butler. He lurched into the room without invitation, and picked up the tray. “Follow me,” he mumbled as he walked away.

Not wanting to be trapped in the room for another day, I did as he commanded. He didn’t speak or even turn around to check on me as he shuffled silently through the house. I followed him back downstairs to the empty ballroom. He led me to the far corner, opposite the French doors leading out to the courtyard. As the butler fiddled with something on the wall, I stared out into the garden, watching the ravens as they hopped along the high wall. I couldn’t see any figures out there. Had I imagined them last night?

“Miss?” I whirled around. The butler held out his long fingers, gesturing to a low door that had opened up behind one of the elaborate carvings. A secret door? That was kind of cool.

“Come in, Miss Wu.” Victor’s voice boomed out from inside the door. Curious, I lowered my head and peered into the room, not sure what I expected to see.

It certainly wasn’t the sterile white laboratory that greeted me. Along one wall were large machines: some kind of oven, a centrifuge, different kinds of scales, some devices – I had no idea what they did. Another wall housed open shelves containing a huge variety of glassware – banks of beakers, test tubes and funnels. One the floor sat two cages; one contained three glossy white doves, the other held two yellow parakeets, who chirped loudly in greeting. Behind a long stainless steel bench stood Victor, placing test tubes into a rack and lining up a series of chemicals.

“What is this place?” I asked, taking a second step into the room.

“This is the laboratory I spoke about yesterday. I conduct my research in here, in addition to teaching labs on avian anatomy and working with grad students on viral research. It is a fascinating field.” Victor nudged the cage of doves with his toe. None of the birds even reacted. “These little guys are helping me to make the world a better place.”

“You’re experimenting on them?” I asked, horrified.

“Of course. That’s how we learn. Don’t look so shocked. I am not doing anything that every makeup company and pharmaceutical lab isn’t also doing.”

I didn’t know how to reply. Victor reached into the cage and pulled out one of the doves. It sat quietly in his thin fingers, and let out a soft
cooo
as Morchard injected it with something, then placed it in a smaller glass cage on the bench.

A horrified shudder rippled through my body. I didn’t want to see what would happen to those birds. What must it have been like for Cole to be the servant of this man, to watch him experiment on birds while he could do nothing to stop it?

“Why did you ask me here?” I turned towards the wall, pretending to examine the various machines. In reality, I was trying to glimpse the garden again, searching for a way Ethan and his two friends might have got in or out last night.

“I thought you might find your rooms a bit stifling. Barry tells me you’re not sleeping well.”

Barry? I guess he meant the butler. He’d probably heard me rattling around in my room last night. “I’m being held prisoner against my will. That’s not exactly conducive to a good night’s rest.”

“That cannot be helped, unfortunately. But, if you’re lucky, you won’t be here for much longer.”

“Let me guess – You’re planning to kill me and feed me to those ravens out there?” It was an attempt at humour, but as the fear was real, I tripped over the words.

Morchard sniggered. “Oh no. I gave my demands to your boy. As soon as he completes them, I will let you go.”

“You spoke to Cole?”
When? Does that mean Cole came here?

“I simply relayed my message. He is to kill Sir Thomas Gillespie.”

What? Is he serious?
“But Gillespie is a centuries-old vampire who can read minds! How is Cole even going to get close to him?”

“How he completes the task is not my concern.” Morchard was cutting some of the feathers from the second dove’s wing. He didn’t look up from his work.

“Can I ask you something?” I peered out into the garden again, but everything was still and silent. “Did you know there were people walking around the garden late last night? They were acting peculiar.”

After a pause, Morchard said. “Oh, yes. The National Trust wanted to conduct a ghost tour. It is a new initiative they’re trying, getting in paranormal investigators to call up the ghosts of my ancestors, to entice the tourists to come back for another visit. I apologise for not telling you. I didn’t think it important, and they weren’t supposed to disturb you.”

All three birds were now in the glass box. Morchard placed a lid containing several air holes on top, peeled off his gloves, then washed his hands in the sink.

“It’s fine.” I glanced back to the door. “Can I go now? I’d like to walk in the garden.”

“Not just yet.” He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. “I’d like you to come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Victor gave me a thin smile and extended his hand to me, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch it. I shook my head. He continued to smile as he gestured for me to exit the room. He followed me, and pulled the leg of one of the carved horses to slide the door shut behind him. I followed Victor across the empty ballroom, my shoes clicking loudly against the marble floor. I walked behind Victor as he wound his way through the long hallways of the main wing. On each side of us, high doors stood open, leading into spacious, opulent rooms where wax figurines conducted their affairs. Some were roped off with velvet tape, and large placards with the National Trust logo explained the historical importance of the furniture and tapestries. I tried to take note of the locations of large windows and French doors, in case I ever had the opportunity to escape.