Page 49 of White Raven (Nevermore Duet #2)

Knowing him now, made it easier for her to put those pieces together.

He’d told her his mother’s body was found in a river, and no one had ever found out who’d killed her and dumped her there.

Had that not been brutal enough, that sadistic bitch had killed him all over again, and had her way with his body for centuries.

She never in her life wished harder to be able to watch someone burn twice.

Losing her own mother made it easy to understand his anguish, but it also reminded her that nothing anyone could say—no matter how much they loved you—would ease that kind of pain.

Even if they both had lost their mothers to murder.

Maybe that was why he chose to become a detective of all things.

To solve murders because he could never solve hers.

Sarah wiped the stray tear from her cheek, something sharp scratching her wrist as she raised her hand from the blanket.

She closed the book and set it back on the nightstand and brought the blanket closer to inspect the menace that scraped her.

There was something sticking out…plastic?

She tugged on it, having never experienced an issue like this with the blanket being as old and useless as it was.

Her pestering was causing a small hole in the fabric, and she winced at it, scared to make it any worse. If she could just get—

“What the fu—” One smooth tug, and a long feather was freed from the quilt. Black. Old. Nearly blue in the dim light.

That’s a fucking raven feather. What the actual hell?

Now that she was thoroughly racked with curiosity, she pulled the hole open a little more and stuck a fingertip into it.

There’s another one!

The quilt was padded with raven down. There was absolutely no way this was a fucking coincidence.

Before she could reel back her shock, Athan’s footsteps charged up the stairs outside the apartment door.

She hadn’t even registered hearing his bike pull up outside the gallery.

His key slid into the knob, and it turned, the door easing open and his eyes seeming desperately heavy before he noticed the expression on her face.

“Hey, you.” He turned, closing and locking the door behind him, and concern was evident on his face, though she was sure she heard it in his voice too, when he called to let her know he was on the way home.

Everything she’d just thought about telling him seemed insignificant.

Sarah piled the blanket to her side and slid off the bed.

“You okay?” she asked, watching him toss his keys and cigarettes on the counter. His eyes went straight for the steaming pots on the stove, and when they trailed back to hers, a slow grin crept across his mouth.

“We’re not about to have communion, are we?” he jabbed, starting to grin.

“You’re an asshole,” she snorted, approaching him as he shrugged his jacket off. “No, I think you’ll like this. And it’s not charred…like every other morsel of food in this house.”

“Solid burn, St. James.” He brought his arms around her, and his skin was freezing. He didn’t tremble with cold, and his heart seemed steady. The only sign that anyone could overlook at his immortality. “Sorry. It was a cold ride.” Any other human would have their teeth chattering.

“Well, come warm up. I made coffee…and I’ve been doing very wifely shit.”

“Smells like it,” he smiled, following her to the stove. When she lifted the lid to the sauce, he breathed in the steam, and his eyes slightly darkened. “I know what you did.”

“Damn, really?” She parked her hands on her hips, and he snatched the wooden spoon from the pot handle, blowing while he nodded and carefully tasting it.

“Fuck, that’s good.” He had another spoonful, dropping it to the counter and showing his palms. “I forfeit. The pans and the spatula are yours. How much blood is in this sauce?”

“A pint and a half,” Sarah giggled, stirring the pot and turning off the heat. “What gave it away?”

“I’m older than half of what Nell has in that back room downtown, Sarah. I know blood when I scent it.”

“Well,” she shrugged, opening the fridge and pulling out two wine glasses full of O-negative. “Cheers, then.” She handed him a glass and they clinked them before sipping.

“What’s the occasion?” he smiled, sliding that tongue over his bottom lip and making her thighs press together from the sight of blood on his mouth. God, he was breathtaking.

“We are,” Sarah smiled, sipping from her glass again.

“We’re celebrating an eternity of more boring nights in, and basking in the ambiance of our very…

normal… abnormal life.” She turned, setting down the glass and pulling two plates from the cabinet before looking over her shoulder.

He was watching every move and looking at her like he always does.

That smoldering stare that said he’d rather feast on every inch of her rather than partake at anything in that pot. “That, and a possible new lead.”

His concentration broke, and he sat his glass down. “A lead?”

Sarah filled their plates as she spoke. “You know…I’ve had that blanket on my bed since I was a baby. It’s quite literally a security blanket, and I’ve never been ashamed to cling to that shit. I’ve taken it everywhere ever since I was little. It just…makes me feel better.”

“I gathered as much,” Athan smirked, pressing against her back and trailing his mouth over her neck. It was distracting, but she continued.

“I don’t know where it came from. I never asked. It was just always something I had. I never knew my grandparents. I figured maybe a great granny made it or something. Maybe it was something from my mom’s childhood that she passed down. I dunno,” she shrugged.

“Mmhmm…” he hummed, nuzzling her earlobe with his nose and breathing her in. She paused momentarily, closing her eyes and slowly losing herself in how good he felt, and the chill of the tip of his nose against her warm skin.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, ma’am…” he whispered, taking the lobe between his teeth. Sarah turned around to face him, caged between both his arms while she held both plates. Red sauce dripped from one of them, landing on the swell of her breast. It was hot, but…not as hot as the way his eyes looked as he stared at it.

“If you do it, I’ll fucking—”

“Love it…” he purred, lowering his mouth to her chest and slowly licking off the sauce. His mouth closed around that spot, sucking it harshly before he kissed over it. “You’re an excellent cook.”

Dammit, this was important. And she stuck her foot in this meal.

As bad as she wanted to drop the plates, and violate these countertops again, deep down she knew there was something heavy on his mind too…and he was trying his best to forget about whatever it was.

“My blanket is quilted with raven feathers.”

His abrupt pause let her know she got his attention. Athan’s face shot up and his eyebrows lowered. “What?”

“Yeah. Something was pricking me from the blanket, and I pulled out a couple of raven feathers. I know that back in the day, people stuffed pillows, and quilted with down…but…I just didn’t expect…”

“Your mom never told you where the blanket came from?”

“No, and she’s not here for me to ask. So, I’m calling it a lead.” She slipped past his arm and took the plates to the coffee table. She wasn’t surprised to see him head straight for the blanket and start inspecting it.

“Are you okay with me giving a couple of these to Jenkins to send to the lab?” he asked, twirling one of the old feathers between his fingers.

“Absolutely.” She walked back to the kitchen, grabbing their glasses, and motioned for him to join her at the table. He finally did, and she let him get through half his plate before she asked another question. “Athan…what happened to your mom?” He paused, mid-chew, and stared at her.

“I told you…she was murdered.”

“I know…but did they ever figure out how? You said she washed up. Did she drown?”

He pushed the pasta around the plate with his fork and cleared his throat.

“No, she—the constable determined that she’d been bludgeoned in the head.

Something big and had to be harder than wood…

but back then…you know. There wasn’t a great deal to help investigate.

” He dropped the fork and sat straighter. “Why do you ask?”

“I was reading your journal before I got poked with the feather. I read one page that seemed like it might have been about her. Is that why you decided to become a detective?”

He swallowed and stared at his plate. “I—maybe it is. I never really thought about it that way. At the time, it just seemed like the logical way to cover the coven’s misdeeds.”

“But you enjoy it. You’re good at it.”

He smiled softly to himself. “I do enjoy it. Feels like a part of me now, I guess.”

“Where did you bury her?”

He was quiet for a moment but seemed more relaxed.

He started eating again. “There was a burial plot next to an old church that she always said was beautiful. I spent just about everything we had to make sure she rested there. Her grave isn’t unmarked, but there’s no writing on the stone.

Our front stoop had this odd-shaped block, and she used to say it looked like a dove.

I carried it to the plot and used it as her headstone. ”

Sarah sipped from her glass, listening intently. “What was her name?”

“…Mary.” His mouth tilted up in the corner, and he tossed the hair from his brow. “I haven’t visited her since I placed that stone. I couldn’t. I wonder if she’s still there.”

That was odd. Sarah drew her brows and sat her glass down. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Back then, plague and sickness caused a lot of funeral traffic. There weren’t many places to bury loved ones, and the price of a good spot only got steeper.

Sometimes bodies were buried on top of old graves.

Sometimes spots were dug up, and their occupants tossed to rot in the woods to make room for somebody more deserving. ”

“That’s fucking terrible!” Sarah frowned, feeling anger bubble up.

“It is, but it’s not uncommon for that time period. That happened all over the world. Some people say that’s what happened to Poe, himself.”

“His body was stolen?”

“Not stolen. He had a mother-in-law. She wanted him moved. But Poe had already been buried in one place, and even though there were witnesses, some say they were never completely sure they moved the right body to his final resting place. A lot of weird shit happened with that.”

“So, are you saying it may not even be Poe resting in that grave in Baltimore?”

Athan shrugged, smirking as he raised his glass back to his mouth. “Nobody knows.”

“Oh my God, we’ve got to go!”

He laughed into his glass, bringing it back down. “I draw the line at digging up graves, love. I’ll take you though. So, is it set then? That’s where we’re starting?”

“Fuck, yeah. How long will it take Jenkins to get back to us about the blanket?”

“Probably a day or two.”

“That’s plenty of time. We can make a weekend out of it.” She almost felt like Rhaena, squealing over a lead. That reminded her. “Did you take those reports over to Rhaena’s?” His whole demeanor changed. His body stiffened, and his throat bobbed with a hard swallow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…yeah, I took them.”

“Is she okay?” Another throat bob. He wouldn’t even look at her. “Athan?”

“She’s good. Having some trouble with Jenkins. Nothing she can’t handle, though.”

It was obvious there was more, but maybe it wasn’t his business to tell. All she did gather was that whatever it was bothered him. A lot.

“He didn’t hurt her, did he? I’ll fuck him up.”

“No, no…nothing like that. I think Rhaena just feels like she might have taken things too fast. Maybe they both do, I dunno.” It took all of two seconds for him to throw that mask back on, but Sarah knew he’d figured out that she wasn’t convinced.

She decided not to pry, and let him come clean on his own, so she put her own mask on, smiling and reaching for his plate.

“Finished?” she asked, sliding her fingers under it.

“Stuffed,” he grinned. “Thank you.”

She stood, carrying the plates back to the kitchen.

Something was wrong. She could feel it. He promised he’d always tell her the truth after what he’d kept from her before she knew what he was—and what he’d done.

Must have been big for him to feel like he couldn’t be honest now.

Choosing to comfort him instead, she looked back over her shoulder.

His head was hung. He was fidgeting with the rim of his wine glass, seemingly deep in thought.

“The death of a beautiful woman, is questionably the most poetic topic in the world,” Sarah offered, catching his stare when he looked over at her. “I’m sorry about your mother, Athan.” The longing in his eyes made her chest hurt.

“Was that Poe?” he asked

She smiled.

“Isn’t it always?”