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“Turn over.” Raven’s command is gentle, but no less authoritative than usual. When I do so, he murmurs something to himself.
“What is it?” My voice is a hoarse whisper.
“When we get back, I’ll give you something to put on that.” He’s not touching the hot, punished flesh, but I sense every lingering moment of his visual inspection all the same. “I didn’t think I broke the skin, but it was worth checking, just in case.”
I curl onto my side, instead of sitting, and Raven moves back over toward the fire.
More silence stretches between us as the small space begins to warm. It’s not an uncomfortable quiet, though. More pensive than anything. Thoughtful even.
“You’re not afraid of me.” He doesn’t look in my direction, so I take the opportunity to soak in the sight of his profile. Dark features and lines of ink illuminated by the flicker of orange light.
“Not exactly.” I tuck the blanket a little tighter beneath my chin.
He grunts. “That’s not an answer.”
How do I explain it, when none of this even makes sense to me.
“No, I’m not afraid of you as such…but I am terrified of what you represent. I am terrified of the things inside me you call to, and I absolutely know that you might be dangerous to my health.”
Raven continues to poke at the fire, absorbing my words. Or maybe he’s ignoring me.
“But unfortunately, it would seem that I like whatever this strange kind of madness is that you draw out in me.”
Kindling cracks and pops as it burns.
“Raven,” I say his name a little hesitantly.
“Mmm?” He drags a hand through his hair, tousling it.
“Will you tell me something about yourself?” Anything. I don’t care what it is, really. He could talk to me about oil filters or crushing windpipes. All I want is to hear his voice and be soothed by the sounds that will hopefully keep my mind at bay for a little longer.
“You don’t want to know my shit.”
Readjusting my position a little, I curl my fingers in the blanket. “Maybe I do.”
“Nothing good comes from looking too hard. You’re liable to get burned.”
“I’m right here, aren’t I? I’m willing to look.” The slope of his strong nose and angle of his jaw seem so impenetrable. Honed by years of fighting men and monsters. “Besides, I’ve already stuck my hand in the flame more than once.”
Larger pieces of wood begin to flare and crackle as the fire grows, and he’s got his back turned to me, still crouched in front of the amber glow. In all honesty, it’s impossible to tell if he’ll concede to this. Would Raven be willing to share more than the fractured shards I’ve been permitted to glimpse so far.
This time when he starts to speak, his voice is low, almost as if he’s talking to the fire rather than me.
“Cara developed faster than I did. Even though we were only a year apart in age, she looked older. I guess that’s why your father chose her.”
Oh, god. His sister.
“I was only a scrawny little kid, with a bad attitude, but they saw something in my scrappiness. The way I used to try to fight anyone and anything, no matter the size or age of my opponent. So, instead of keeping me at the mansion like they did with her, they sold me off. Separated us, and gave me to people who would teach me to become a weapon they could use for the Anguis. I don’t even think I was still in the same country, but every day for years, I tried to figure out how to get back to her and rescue her.”
One by one, he prods another stack of split kindling into the mouth of the firebox.
“I found out she was dead about a year after she hung herself. Thorne and Ky, well, we had just crossed paths for the first time within the Anguis…with his contacts, Thorne helped me track her down. Or at least, found out what had happened to her. I don’t even know what they did with the body.”
My knees are tucked against my chest as I rest my cheek on one hand and watch his silhouetted form. Witnessing this complex man dredge up terrible memories and speak them into the flames.
“You have every right to be disgusted with me.” I can’t stand me right now. Here I am, still living and breathing, and there are people like his sister who had their entire future ripped away by my parents.
He stands up and crosses the space to where I’m lying. In his expression I expect to find fury and hatred framed by a row of snarling teeth. But instead, his face is almost serene. There’s a calmness flowing off him, and I can’t even begin to imagine the torture he’s put himself through for years knowing that he didn’t manage to save her despite his best efforts.
