But as the clank of the metal locks, I can only think of one thing.
“H-how did you find me?”
Bran moves toward a table and drags his pointer finger through a dusty white powder and inspects it.
“Raven. Brent and Sheriff Tate just messaged and said the ranger is on the hunt,” a random man says, coming up to him.
Damn it. I knew Paul was dirty, and Brent? Isn’t that the guy Noah said was his friend … what the hell?
Don’t,Noah, I say into the void of my mind. Not for me. Don’t risk it.
Bran shifts, looking at me. He tilts his head, eyes combing from my mud-stained shoes to the rumpled diner uniform. He pins me with a stare, looking at my chest. He doesn’t take his eyes away as he says, “Let him come. Doubt he finds us, but we’re prepared if he does.”
The other man retreats with a nod, and Bran steps forward. He’s wearing dark baggy jeans, and a tight black long sleeve. His hair is how I remember—black with a bluish tint and gelled into tiny spikes. Those soulless eyes remain focused on my chest as he raises his hand, using a finger to lift the raven necklace off my neck.
“Not too keen on keeping your name, Bran? Too afraid people would mistake you for the cereal.”
He allows the chain to tumble through his fingers, his expression working overtime as he studies it. “Did you know that the raven was thought to be a messenger in old myths. Watchers, guides between worlds. Bran is Celtic and means raven. My mother said it suited me.”
When he lets out a sigh, I assume he’s going to drop it, instead he twists. He hooks his fist around the raven and rotates, tightening the necklace like a noose and his fist like a garrote.
He snarls down at me.
The pressure tightens around my throat, cutting off my gasp and subsequent air.
“You took this yet ran from me.” He stares down at me. “Did you touch yourself wearing this, Lil? Did you think of me? You see … ravens watch, and they wait. It doesn’t matter how long has passed. I’ve waited.”
My lungs burn and my pulse hammers against the strangling gold. I strain against the weighted chains tying my hands, the urge to claw at my neck instinctual.
Black spots swarm the edges of my vision, my body wanting to go limp. I do my best, as the world blurs and sounds muffle, to scowl at him. The grittiness in my eyes is relieved as tears flood them, but still—I’ve worn this necklace every day since he took from me. I took from him this reminder that he doesn’t frighten me. It’s my way of taking back power.
Bran’s look, which has been distant and unfocused, suddenly blinks, as if coming back. The tension in his posture loosens, and his shoulders sag while the grip on the necklace lifts. He swallows and then drops his hand, fingers twitching at his side.
I suck in a breath of air.
“See what you made me do?” He smooths a palm down my face, and I jerk my head away. “Always driving me crazy, Lil.”
My lip curls at the nickname—from him. I was pissed when Noah used it at first. All it did was allow Bran’s disembodied voice purchase in my mind when I’d done the work to forget it. But then … then he used it again, maybe even pushed it, like maybe he didn’t want me to fear the name, and the seething voice in my head distorted some. Then he used it again, and again. Now when I hear Lil, it’s Noah’s affectionate timbre that crashes into my mind, and I’m angry anyone else but him would use it.
“What do you want?”
His stern expression softens. “I want my Lily back.”
“I’m not yours. You hurt me. Raped me. You’re delusional.”
“You wanted it, wanted me.” He sniffs, stepping back, and raises a hand at someone.
“No. I left because of you. What do you want?!” I scream it, annoyed and in pain. The last of my words echo among the towering trees, and the clings and clangs in the camp pause as everyone turns our direction.
Chest heaving, I say again. “Why did you take me? It’s been years, Bran.”
“The name is Raven.” He reaches up and lifts his shirt over his head, exposing a creamy pale chest. Over his chest is a large flower tattoo—a lily.
I can’t help it. As much as I want to turn away, to not look at him, I’m stuck staring. Eyes wide, I take in the tattoo that sprawls across his left pectoral. The petals are inked in intricate bold detail. Dark shading deepens the contours, glaring in contrast against his skin while thin lines trace the veins of each petal. The stem curves, following the natural plane of his chest.
This is …
“Amazing, isn’t it?” He steps closer to me, and I shift, the chains rattling around the stump.
