Read Online Night of the Raven by Jenna Ryan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jenna Ryan
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neither of us can see a frigging thing. Tree could fall and kill us both. Still, it might be worth dying to know I’d be taking you with me.”
“Always a possibility,” McVey agreed. “But I think you missed your opportunity with the trees.”
“Are you kid—?” In the process of tossing his head, Westor stopped struggling and let his gaze roll skyward. “What happened to the wind?”
“It died.”
“Just like that?” Westor made a scoffing sound. “Wind’s not alive. It can’t die as fast as a person. One of which your tasty lady is.”
McVey set his mouth menacingly close to Westor’s ear. “I’m only going to say this once, old friend, so you want to listen. If anything—” he cinched Westor’s arm for emphasis “—I mean anything at all happens to Amara, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you.”
Westor craned his neck for more air. “That’s not fair. Way I heard it, there’s a strong chance the lady has a truckload of heavy looking to squash her.”
“Yeah? Who’s your little bird, Westor?”
“Woman at the bar where the fight went down doesn’t like your lady much. Told someone on the phone a nasty dude named Sparks could be looking to do her.”
“In that case, you might want to think seriously about leaving town.”
“I’ll leave when I’m ready, and not before. I didn’t come all this way to tip my hat at you, McVey. I want to watch you squirm, knowing I’m here, knowing I know how it used to be, how you used to live and who you stepped on to get out.” His teeth gleamed in profile. “It’s not as if the tasty lady’s hard to look at.”
With a warning squeeze, McVey released his prisoner and shoved him forward. “Did the woman in the bar happen to mention that my tasty lady’s got the blood of a three-hundred-year-old witch in her veins?”
On his knees and coughing, Westor rubbed his throat. “Come on, man, you don’t believe that spooked-up crap, do you?”
McVey slung the rifle over his shoulder. “I believe what I see. Amara wanted the wind gone and, what do you know, it is. So here’s the really intriguing question.” His grin fell just short of evil. “What do you think would happen if she wanted you gone, too?”
Chapter Seven
Amara woke to find a raven staring at her from the ledge outside her window. Now, there was an interesting start to her first full day in Maine. On the upside, there’d been no spiders in her bed last night, and ravens, for all the local superstitions about them, had never frightened her.
McVey was another matter. She’d dreamed about him—hot, vivid dreams that had culminated with the two of them having sex in a north woods clearing filled with pointy boulders. The location might have been questionable, but the sex had been spectacular.
She replayed the highlights while she showered and dressed in a pair of faded jeans, black boots and a charcoal sweater the same color as her eyes. As far as Lieutenant Michaels’s death, Willy Sparks’s mission and the come-and-go man with the big knife and the creep-show leer went, she shut those thoughts away for examination later. That being after she’d poured at least two cups of coffee into her system.
The raven watched while she tidied the room but flew off with a noisy caw when she turned for the door. Very odd.
There was no sign of McVey on the second floor and no sound of him in the kitchen. At 8:15 a.m. on a misty Thursday morning, she imagined he was busy processing the handful of hungover brawlers who’d smashed up her uncle’s bar last night.
Better for the brawlers that McVey should mete out the punishment than her uncle. She was chuckling at that thought as she pushed through the swinging door. Two steps in, the chuckle gave way to stunned silence.
“Uncle Lazarus.” She made herself smile. “What a...nice surprise.” She raised her hands, palms out. “For the record, I didn’t throw a single punch at the Red Eye.”
“Never crossed my mind you did, niece.
“Always a possibility,” McVey agreed. “But I think you missed your opportunity with the trees.”
“Are you kid—?” In the process of tossing his head, Westor stopped struggling and let his gaze roll skyward. “What happened to the wind?”
“It died.”
“Just like that?” Westor made a scoffing sound. “Wind’s not alive. It can’t die as fast as a person. One of which your tasty lady is.”
McVey set his mouth menacingly close to Westor’s ear. “I’m only going to say this once, old friend, so you want to listen. If anything—” he cinched Westor’s arm for emphasis “—I mean anything at all happens to Amara, I’ll find you and I’ll kill you.”
Westor craned his neck for more air. “That’s not fair. Way I heard it, there’s a strong chance the lady has a truckload of heavy looking to squash her.”
“Yeah? Who’s your little bird, Westor?”
“Woman at the bar where the fight went down doesn’t like your lady much. Told someone on the phone a nasty dude named Sparks could be looking to do her.”
“In that case, you might want to think seriously about leaving town.”
“I’ll leave when I’m ready, and not before. I didn’t come all this way to tip my hat at you, McVey. I want to watch you squirm, knowing I’m here, knowing I know how it used to be, how you used to live and who you stepped on to get out.” His teeth gleamed in profile. “It’s not as if the tasty lady’s hard to look at.”
With a warning squeeze, McVey released his prisoner and shoved him forward. “Did the woman in the bar happen to mention that my tasty lady’s got the blood of a three-hundred-year-old witch in her veins?”
On his knees and coughing, Westor rubbed his throat. “Come on, man, you don’t believe that spooked-up crap, do you?”
McVey slung the rifle over his shoulder. “I believe what I see. Amara wanted the wind gone and, what do you know, it is. So here’s the really intriguing question.” His grin fell just short of evil. “What do you think would happen if she wanted you gone, too?”
Chapter Seven
Amara woke to find a raven staring at her from the ledge outside her window. Now, there was an interesting start to her first full day in Maine. On the upside, there’d been no spiders in her bed last night, and ravens, for all the local superstitions about them, had never frightened her.
McVey was another matter. She’d dreamed about him—hot, vivid dreams that had culminated with the two of them having sex in a north woods clearing filled with pointy boulders. The location might have been questionable, but the sex had been spectacular.
She replayed the highlights while she showered and dressed in a pair of faded jeans, black boots and a charcoal sweater the same color as her eyes. As far as Lieutenant Michaels’s death, Willy Sparks’s mission and the come-and-go man with the big knife and the creep-show leer went, she shut those thoughts away for examination later. That being after she’d poured at least two cups of coffee into her system.
The raven watched while she tidied the room but flew off with a noisy caw when she turned for the door. Very odd.
There was no sign of McVey on the second floor and no sound of him in the kitchen. At 8:15 a.m. on a misty Thursday morning, she imagined he was busy processing the handful of hungover brawlers who’d smashed up her uncle’s bar last night.
Better for the brawlers that McVey should mete out the punishment than her uncle. She was chuckling at that thought as she pushed through the swinging door. Two steps in, the chuckle gave way to stunned silence.
“Uncle Lazarus.” She made herself smile. “What a...nice surprise.” She raised her hands, palms out. “For the record, I didn’t throw a single punch at the Red Eye.”
“Never crossed my mind you did, niece.
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