Page 76 of Woods of the Raven

Exhaling deeply, I said, “I turn into a flock of ravens.”

“You turn into a flock of ravens?”

Clearly, he was having trouble with this. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

We stood there, me feeling awkward and unsure, and him… I couldn’t tell what he was feeling at all.

After several moments he cleared his throat. “May I see?”

“Certainly,” I replied, walking toward the sunroom.

Once I was at the back door, realizing he was right behind me, I stripped fast, opened the door, and rushed outside. Thinking the word fly, I took a running leap.

Instantly, I was soaring over the house, circling it once, and again, and since I was already shifted, I flew to check on the rift. It took only moments. I flew low, landed on the ground, which I never did—I was far too vulnerable that way—and then hopped closer, inspecting the land, the trees, the very air.

Wanting to make sure everything was solid and safe, I called out to the land and was answered that all was well. Rushing away, I was airborne in seconds, flying home.

Lorne must have moved because he was holding my clothes, but he was still staring up at the sky when I returned. I dropped down and landed, as myself, and he was there to wrap an arm around me and rush me inside.

Pulling on my clothes and shivering, the second I was dressed, he swept me off my feet, literally, and rushed me over to the hearth, where he gently put me down but didn’t leave me. It was really amazing to have him there, worried, caring for me, and I was both thrilled and terrified at the same time. Already, that fast, he would leave a hole in my heart when he left. And he would leave, because who in their right mind wanted to be wrapped up in my world?

But then my brain kicked in that perhaps I did not have my priorities straight. I needed answers, and I didn’t have time to find them alone.

He was still holding me, standing with his chest pressed against my back, his heavy arms draped around my neck, and though I was loath to move, I had to. “Hey,” I murmured, “I need to lean out the front door and yell for a moment, all right?”

“What?”

“One second,” I said, then dashed to the front door and stepped out onto my porch, into the chilled morning air. “I need help,” I pleaded to the wind. “Things are happening, and I have no idea how to seal our side. I could use some guidance.”

Closing the door, I faced Lorne again.

“You’re a real witch,” he told me.

“Didn’t… I’m confused. Weren’t you convinced of this yesterday?”

He opened his mouth to say something, stopped, and then abruptly went to the kitchen. I followed, watching as he picked up his coffee mug, took a sip, inhaled deeply, closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them and exhaled. Only then did he look at me. “Okay, so…I’m gonna need time to wrap my brain around all this.”

My heart sank. “Yes. Of course,” I said sadly. “You go, and when you’re—”

“No.” He moved closer, sliding his big, hard hand around the side of my neck and drawing me close. “Sorry. That wasn’t clear. What I mean is, we need to concentrate on taking care of whatever you’re needing help with right now, which will allow me not to freak out.”

I was stunned.

“What?” He was rubbing over my jaw with his thumb, and then he leaned in and kissed me. It was soft and tender, and I whimpered in the back of my throat in relief and happiness. “It’s gonna be okay,” he assured me, smiling. “So tell me what’s going on.”

Really, I couldn’t be more pleased with him. “You’re amazing.”

“Yes, I know,” he said like that was not up for debate. “But really, you need to tell me what’s happening so we can deal with it. One crisis at a time. That’s what my training officer always told me.”

“Okay.” I took a breath, already feeling so much better just being able to share. I explained about the bodies and what I thought the minions of Threun were trying to do.

“A pile of bodies this Threun can step on like planks on a bridge. This is what you’re saying.”

Planks on a bridge was a much better simile than a raft. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He took my hand and squeezed, then let go and went to the counter, where the French press Amanda had bought me ages ago sat next to a bag of whole beans she’d brought back from a trip to Brazil, and a hand-crank grinder. All these things had been put away somewhere in the house, certainly not in the kitchen, as I didn’t drink coffee, but were now, somehow, easily accessible for Lorne.