“What things?”
Instead of answering, he reaches over and drops something into my hands.
A small hand-carved raven, no bigger than my thumb. Bone, of course.
Again, that shiver rolls through me.
Again, my traitorous core throbs.
“Did you make this?” I ask.
“From the same fella your ring came from.”
“Fella?”
“Oh, he won’t be missed, trust me. One less bastard harassing girls in the park.”
My eyes widen. “You mean—”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t really want the answers to, darling. Now, do you like the gift, or do I need to take it back?”
“It’s… it’s actually really beautiful.” And it is, too. Every feature is exquisitely detailed, from its beak to its feathers and feet.
“Boys told me you’re still talking to your birds.”
I set the bone raven on the nightstand, giving it a place of honor next to my favorite Tarot deck and my blue calcite dreaming stone. Maybe it should horrify me, but it actually brings me comfort, just like the ring.
“We made a pact when I was younger,” I say. “The ravens and I look out for each other.”
“You made a pact,” he says. “With birds.”
“Yes.”
“You know they lock people up for that sort of thing.”
“Says the man who carves up people’s bones?”
“Not people’s bones.Terriblepeople’s bones. I have principals, you know.”
“Well, it may sound weird toyou, bone collector, but the birds are my friends. They’re also the only living souls in my life who’ve never let me down.”
“Now that’s hardly fair. We haven’t known each other long enough for me to let you down yet.”
“Fair point.” I laugh, finally turning to look at him again.
Mistake.
His eyes are fierce, the blue so intense I feel like I’m falling right into them. His soft, full lips are curved in that mischievous grin, dark stubble shadowing his strong gargoyle jaw. My hands curl into fists in my lap, fingers itching to run through his hair, to feel the rough texture of his horns, to run along the edge of his wings and make him shudder…
“Are you all right, scarecrow?” he asks with a soft snicker. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re blushing.”
“I saw you,” I whisper, finally giving voice to the thing we’ve been tiptoeing around. Rather, the thingI’vebeen tiptoeing around. Jude doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to let anything get under his skin. In fact, he seems to be enjoying this torture.
“Outside my window,” I continue, as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “In Brooklyn.”
“Did you?” His tone is light and teasing, his eyes sparkling.
“You followed me home from the park that night. At first, I couldn’t be sure, but then I kept feeling… something. I don’t know how to explain it. I just knew it was you.”
