Chapter Nine

Moonlight on a raven’s wing

T he full moon was upon them. All the shifters took the day off the day before and the day after to answer the call of the moon. They could change at will or not change any day or night of the month, but during the full moon it was impossible for a wolf to ignore the moon’s beckoning.

On the one hand, Ravyn didn’t have to face an awkward day after, trying to figure out how, if at all, last night affected her relationship with Sebastian. Bash had left during an unexpected bout of blissful sleep during the sun’s zenith. His side of the bed was still warm but no longer held the intense heat of the wolf. For a moment, Ravyn allowed herself to imagine a spot of warmth on her lips where he’d kissed her a final time before he left to follow the moon.

On the other hand? Ravyn didn’t like to think that he’d crept out after she’d fallen asleep. She could even admit to herself that if he had, doing so was a bit childish and a lot hurtful.

So, she simply imagined that when he saw the time, he hadn’t wanted to disturb her sunlight slumber. Surely, he needed to prepare and leave immediately with the rest of the shifters to chase the moon for the next few days. Besides, he had a teenager to get moving too. Bash had taken the time to scrawl a quick note, simply saying “Full moon,” but he signed off “X Thor,” so that had to mean something good, didn’t it? Ravyn was a bit embarrassed to admit she’d held the note much longer than necessary to read it, before smoothing it flat and placing it in her side table, closing it regretfully in the drawer.

Her ever silent and oh-so-efficient housekeeper had stripped her bed and had her sheets in the wash before Ravyn had even returned from her shower in a bathroom with the mirror still tightly covered to keep out prying eyes. This time, she tried to shove down the feelings of loss and hint of annoyance. There went her plans for the day. Clean sheets ensured she wouldn’t languish in bed, reliving the night they’d just shared. Or smelling the pillow he’d lain on while imagining he hadn’t left her.

She was wrong. One night wasn’t enough. Every time she touched him, she wanted to touch him more. Each time he touched her sex, she wanted him back inside of her deeper and deeper.

Before the sun dragged her under to sleep, Bash had held her and whispered to her all the things he still wanted to do. Promised her that she wouldn’t be able to see a cock without thinking of him. Promises.

The vampires currently on duty wouldn’t be likely to engage her in idle chit-chat like the wolves did, and they certainly wouldn’t hang out drinking coffee with their feet on her furniture like young Toby liked to do. The best she could hope for was that they would fix themselves a cup of black coffee and station themselves outside whatever room she was in. Both species took their job seriously, but sometimes the vamps just seemed a hair too serious about it all, although the entire group of them would take insult to that particular observation for different reasons.

The wolves knew she was considered important, and despite the fact that Sebastian liked to jokingly call her “Princess,” it was a bit too close to the truth. She was important to the vampires. Important, intimidating, untouchable royalty due to her creation and even if they didn’t understand the process, they revered it deeply. They were each several generations removed from whichever original vampire had sired their line, so for them, Ravyn was possibly the only vampire they knew who had been created without a master. Despite the fact that there were few vampires in the world, there was little to no record, keeping many ignorant of their direct sire. It made sense in theory that they idealized any potential esteemed sire they came across. Hand in hand with that reverence came the inability to engage in casual conversation with her, let alone—gasp—joke around.

No matter how often she requested that they relax or call her by her first name, they would simply smile politely, nod in agreement, and still address her formally. “Yes, Ms. Ravyn Sinclair; no, Ms. Ravyn Sinclair.” Their idea of relaxing the formality toward her was addressing her as Ms. Sinclair and, unfortunately, even that made them very uncomfortable. Ravyn hoped they didn’t have a title for her outside of their interactions with her. If Bash found out she had a title, he would most likely use it every chance he got. Imagining him bowing deeply to her, kissing the back of her hand, and calling her “Your Highness” in his low, mocking tone made her stomach flutter. Although the idea had merits under certain circumstances, Ravyn blushed faintly at the thought.

Toby, on the other hand, had no cares for formalities or hierarchies. Just the other morning, he’d come in with both food and coffee and tossed her a casual, “What’s up, Sis?” It earned him an eye roll as well as a cuff on the back of his head by his uncle, but she carried the pleasure his simple, three-word question gave her all day long.

Last night, she’d been Ravyn to Bash, and many other terms of endearment that made her blush a bit from the pleasure of the memories. Her favorite might have been when he called her “mine” while deep inside her as she screamed in agreement.

Love sick? Love struck? She was definitely feeling more struck than sick. Reluctantly, Ravyn admitted that today might be a day to work uninterrupted, since the shifters would be gone. Because no matter what, this threat would be gone soon. If it wasn’t it didn’t matter; she would still be returning to work. No longer would she put her life on hold for some maniac who may or may not still be fixated on her. A small part of her hated to admit that if she didn’t keep her mind busy focusing on other things, she might become that girl sitting by the phone wondering when he would call. And worse was feeling that way while knowing that Bash’s shifter form clearly didn’t have the appendages needed for using a cell phone.

Still, when her phone rang, she jumped in an excitement that nearly embarrassed her. Clicking Accept on the video call, Ravyn forced herself to hide the disappoint that it wasn’t Bash somehow figuring out a way to call her without opposable thumbs.

“Hey, girl.” Pulling from her acting ability, she pasted a full smile on as Eva’s face filled the screen. “Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying a honeymoon of sorts?”

Eva flushed. So cute , Ravyn thought with a hint of jealousy, not for the first time, at what Oliver had found.

“Taking a break from all the sight-seeing and stuff,” Eva replied pertly. “And something just compelled me to give you a call.” Eyeing her strangely, Eva continued, “Although I don’t know why I felt worried. You’re the one glowing this time. Is house arrest over or at least looking better?”

“Ugh, no, definitely not over. Just quiet,” Ravyn quickly amended, knowing that anything she said to Eva was as good as telling Oliver. She definitely didn’t want to be responsible for ending their trip early. “It feels like all we do is wait for their next move.”

“They’ll make another mistake.” Eva’s words were serious. “And when they do…”

As Eva drew a finger across her throat to emphasize the plan to destroy Ravyn’s stalker, a couple of tiny marks on her neck caught Ravyn’s notice.

“What is that?” she screeched, feeling like a teenager’s mother. “Why is Ollie marking you like that? He can heal those marks.”

Wide-eyed, Eva covered the aforementioned dots with the slap of her hand to her neck. “It was a game”—her voice went up a strange, high notch—“it was a game, we were playing a game!”

Ravyn snorted and attempted to cover it with a choked cough before settling a serene look back over her face. “I can imagine,” she finally responded dryly, dragging out each word while Eva squirmed. And she could—imagine, that was. Imagine that Bash might agree to play such a game with her. He would, but would he be the prey or the predator? Both were intriguing options.

“But in all seriousness…” Eva’s voice took a solemn note. “Are there any updates at all?”

Shaking her head, Ravyn couldn’t keep the note of annoyance out of her voice. “Nothing, nothing at all is different. I almost wish something would happen so we had a clue if he’s given up and moved on or if he’s just waiting.” Only a tiny white lie; nothing had been proven about the growing crack in the window. It could simply be as it appeared, and a poorly constructed frame placed pressure on the wrong side in the wrong conditions. And nothing had been proven either way that anyone was watching them through reflective surfaces. A trick of the light, a reflection of one’s own eye; frustrating, yes, but still nothing concrete. And nothing to worry Eva or Oliver about during their time away.

Promises were made to get together after Eva and Oliver’s extended vacation. And empty assurances that Ravyn would let the two know if anything changed in California.

The call ended too quickly, leaving a hollow feeling in her chest. The connection to her unusual prodigy, although previously unknown, now seemed to vibrate as a reminder of what once was. How could you miss what you never knew you had? It was silly.

The quietness of the apartments settled in quickly as well as the boredom. Fixing her eyes on the crack in the window, Ravyn tried to determine if it had grown larger in the last hour. She squinted, tilting her head up at it before closing the drapes once again. The witches had specifically shorn up the area with their wards but couldn’t give a valid reason for the crack.

Ravyn refused to accept scripts from her agency via email. Give her hard copy of five hundred pages, if necessary, but skip the digital version. She enjoyed flipping through the pages, reading at leisure, marking it up, adding sticky notes, and making it her own. Call her old-fashioned, but she simply hadn’t gotten the hang of reading through works on her laptop or Kindle. Eva devoured books that way, but she still liked the feel of paper. Three scripts awaited her attention; her manager weeded out the ones that wouldn’t make the cut, saving them both time in the long run. Ravyn trusted her manager to only bring her the stories that she might be compelled to be a part of.

One had a couple of highlighted sticky notes attached to the outside of the envelope:

“Sort of different choice for you to consider.”

“Producer insists it’s written for you. Calls daily.”

“Insists” and “daily” had both been underlined multiple times; so many that it looked like there was a danger of it ripping through the paper. Clearly someone had been overly persistent but at the same time, also important enough to not immediately put off her manager.

The cover sheet listed the production company, and Ravyn immediately understood why her people hadn’t just ignored an overzealous, hopeful producer. If they didn’t at least have Ravyn look over the work and consider it, this man could and would black ball all their clients—future and present—due to the insult. The mere ego of the man made her want to trash the entire script without even considering it.

He was a bully. But he was brilliant. Ravyn could never work again and still be fine, but she enjoyed her work and didn’t want to close any doors because of her own pride. Besides, it was a tough market out there, and she didn’t like the idea of being responsible for others losing opportunities due to her choices.

She did, however, decide with a self-satisfied smirk that it could wait for last. The small act of rebellion gave her a tiny bit of satisfaction as she began reading through the other scripts. And for the next day and a half she read… and read… and read. She made notes of things to check on, considered potential casting choices and each director’s production vision.

Her housekeeper kept her fed, discreetly setting glasses of warmed liquid near her; no matter if she sprawled across the sofa or lay on the bed, they appeared and disappeared when she finished. It felt so good to be normal again. Considering work and the excitement that accompanied filming left her vibrating in happiness. In the end, Ravyn wasn’t sold on the idea of either works yet and penned a few questions to ask. Ultimately, at this point, she decided that one had enough possibilities that if she could fit it into her wide-open schedule she would take it, but better works could easily replace it.

Finally pulling out the script that she’d originally set aside, she attempted to look past the pushy yet widely successful producer who’d sent it to her. A bird immediately hit the window when she pulled it out, but this time she no longer jumped from the impact.

Bertrando Roland. Mr. Roland of Land and Sea Cinema, founder, producer, and apparently, a force to be reckoned with if you hoped to stay in Hollywood’s good graces. An industry powerhouse, and for him to be sending out a script with her specifically in mind was actually damn exciting and almost guaranteed to be another box office hit. Still, it irritated her that he’d been aggressive with her manager, even if his works were amazing.

Holding the binder, Ravyn contemplated what sort of script it could contain. Tapping it against her chin, she allowed herself to briefly consider what a movie deal with Land and Sea could do for her career. Admittedly, she was already popular and wealthy beyond imagination, but a movie of Roland’s caliber could catapult her to the next level of fame. Beautiful actresses were replaceable; interchangeable, really. Every season a new young scarlet waited in the wings, ready to claw her way in to replace those who stumbled even slightly. And the fickle public didn’t even blink, eagerly embracing whichever beauty they were told was the next big thing. They followed, imitated, and secretly wanted to be whomever they were told to watch. But the right movie, the right script, the right role, could make one a legend. A role that years from now, even when Ravyn retired and hid from the public eye, they would talk about and reminisce about how stars these days weren’t the same as the old days. She could be that star. If she could deal with him, of course.

A single short, handwritten note lay on the front, loose from the binder: R. Thanks for considering. B.R.

B.R. was clearly Bertrando Roland, but they were also the initials on two separate floral arrangements she’d received on set several months ago, as well as another, enormous arrangement that had arrived at her apartment before her last movie premiere with congratulations as well as the initials. She simply hadn’t realized or even considered that Mr. Roland was the sender. Had he been considering her for a role for a long time? Ravyn had no doubt that her agency would have notified her directly if he’d expressed interest. Certainly, she received flowers and gift baskets regularly and quite often didn’t know the sender, but Ravyn was certain her agency sent thank you letters to every sender when possible. Had the flowers been an attempt to reach out to her and gauge interest early on? Thankfully, he didn’t seem to hold that possible oversight against her and was still willing to chance her interest in working with the man.

Setting his note carefully aside, she wrapped up in a soft blanket that still lingered with Bash’s soothing scent before making herself comfortable once again on the sofa. Then began the story of legendary Giulia Tofana, a skilled seventeenth-century poisoner who invented a colorless liquid called Aqua Tofana to help subjugated women gain their freedom from oppression.

The Catholic Church had painted her as an evil, villainous woman, a witch who murdered for money, killing good, decent men and ripping families apart. While Ravyn herself had never met the woman, she knew through the hushed whispers during those years that Giulia only helped those who were helpless and punished only those who were evil and preyed on the helplessness. A heroine lost in history by the men who wrote it.

Amazing. Sitting back on the couch, she wiped away the tears, still clutching the script in her hands, unable to let it go quite yet. This would be amazing.

Ding .

Her phone interrupted her revelry. It was her agency with a text and contact info.

“Mr. Roland asks for you to reach out at your leisure to discuss.”

It was almost as if he knew she’d just eagerly finished reading the project script.

Quickly, Ravyn typed off a message, caught up in the moment. This was the project she’d dreamed of since starting this life in Hollywood. Nothing superficial, but something worth doing and sharing. A mark on the world; a legacy of sorts, to live long after she left the glitz and glamor. A mark of herself and a legendary woman who deserved to be showcased and remembered for her deeds as well.

An equally quick response dinged back at her with a pinned location. Sighing, she stretched, moving her neck side to side as it popped gently, easing the tension.

If only Bash was back to talk this over with. He was the one she wanted to share this with and not just because she entrusted her security to him, but because the news, the possibilities, were exciting.

What to do? What to do?

A flash of guilt rippled through her, knowing that Bash would want her to wait. Want her to wait for the background checks, the security detail prep, the location checks. He would definitely hate the idea of her meeting at a location that someone else had chosen. He would hate everything about the situation. But this was Bertrando Roland, giving her the chance to tell Giulia Tofana’s story.

One, two, three, four, five, six. Six lines on the last page. Six lines. Ravyn considered. Dipping a finger in the dredges of her wine, she began flipping and counting through the pages despite the fact that they were numbered. Reaching page seventy-five, she stopped. Her decision was made.

Standing up with a stretch, she pushed open the drapes on the window. Hesitantly, she stood directly in front of the window. No eye—imaginary or not—twinkled at her. Surely that was a positive sign.

Feeling a tinge of guilt as she once again examined the window, she noticed that the crack had grown. At nearly twelve inches long, it was well past time to call in a window expert. Magical examination had proven futile and it had to be assumed the integrity of the glass had been compromised and a replacement needed. Unfortunately, no one had called for a repair.

After this meeting , she promised herself. If no one else remembered, she could do it herself.