Night of the Raven by Jenna Ryan

Author:Jenna Ryan [Ryan, Jenna]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780373697991
Google: ZA6eoAEACAAJ
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 22309783
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“This isn’t your fight, Annalee....”

The words wound through Amara’s head like bright silver threads that tangled into a ball and eventually turned black. She saw a pot—a cauldron?—and smelled coffee, but no way did she plan to drink it.

The scene shifted. Where was she now?

A raven with a pink beak sat in a duct-taped chair, filing its talons.

“You’re so naive, Amara,” it rasped. “I told you McVey was mine. Why didn’t you listen? You never listen. You’re headstrong. Just like Uncle Lazarus said.” One of the talons snaked out to snare her wrist. “How hard did you make him laugh...?”

Another shift, and in the swirl of thoughts flooding her mind Amara saw a woman covered in black feathers. She had Hannah’s waxen features—and her lifeless green eyes. Only her mouth, thin-lipped, chalky and trembling, moved.

“Why am I in this part of the manor? Why didn’t I die in my own bed?”

Like a scenery screen yanked sideways on a stage, everything changed again. The black pot that had nothing to do with Hannah popped back in. Thick red liquid bubbled up, spilled over. A woman’s hand reached inside, pulled something out, held it up to look.

Amara’s breath stalled. Her heart gave a single hard thump.

The hand was hers. So was the face that stared in fascination at the...whatever it was. Some kind of dripping black root.

Lips that were hers, yet not hers, moved. A voice that was definitely not hers emerged.

“Evil spirit, good spirit—no and no. Man becomes raven, yes, but the spirits that bring this transformation about are human, in action and in form. You will remember nothing of this night, Annalee...”

Amara woke with a suppressed hiss and every muscle in her body clenched like a fist. Who the hell was Annalee, and why did the name sound so familiar?

Falling back on Brigham’s lumpy mattress, she regarded the dented ceiling and tried to decide if she was feeling the aftereffects of the raven’s blood wine she’d consumed last night or reacting to the dream it must have spawned.

“Did you scream?”

The unexpected question had her wincing before she levered up onto her elbow.

Well, hell, her bleary mind sighed. McVey, wearing jeans and nothing else, filled the doorway of what could only be called a bedroom by virtue of the fact that there was a bed in it. One bed, four thin walls and now an überhot cop on the threshold.

“I’m, um...”

She’d seen a half-dressed man before, right? Maybe not one who was quite so sleek and sexy, who wore his hair too long and whose sleepy eyes didn’t look entirely awake, but still...

“Did you see something?” he asked. “Someone? A pink elephant?”

Amara wondered vaguely if she was wearing anything. “I think I’m good.” She glanced down. Nope, not a stitch. “I had a dream. A very bizarre dream.”

“Doesn’t everyone who drinks devil’s blood?”

“Raven’s blood.”

“Devil’s whiskey, then.”

Holding the sheet to her breasts, she regarded him with a blend of surprise and amusement. “You drank their whiskey, too—and you can walk?”

“Not especially well right now, but it’ll come back to me.

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