Silverfall Read online

  SILVERFALL

  (RAVEN CURSED BOOK 2)

  MCKENZIE HUNTER

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  MESSAGE TO THE READER

  BOOKS BY MCKENZIE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  McKenzie Hunter

  Silverfall

  © 2019, McKenzie Hunter

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  Cover Artist: Orina Kafe

  For notifications about new releases, exclusive contests and giveaways, and cover reveals, please sign up for my mailing list.

  ISBN: 978-1-946457-03-5

  CHAPTER 1

  The empty bottle of white wine that I dropped in the garbage clinked loudly against the bottle of whisky I finished a couple hours before. It joined the bottle of red wine I’d started that morning at a time I considered acceptable for day drinking.

  “That didn’t help,” I muttered after filling my water bottle and taking a drink. My body was in desperate need of hydration. Nearly twenty-four hours of drinking wasn’t a good thing and it didn’t help the problem.

  “I need to find out if they’re my birth parents.” Just saying it aloud felt wrong. This had to be a bad dream.

  My parents might not be my birth parents.

  It shouldn’t have been a surprise and yet it was. The signs were there, and I had ignored them. My parents’—or rather my mother’s—magic never mirrored mine. I never expected it from my dad; he’s human. But my mother was a half-mage. Half death mage. Half Raven Cursed. There should have been some similarities.

  I recalled her look of sorrow and helplessness during the years I spent struggling to control my magic. I assumed it was because she couldn’t help her daughter manage her magic the way she had. My father’s look was simply one of bleak sympathy. But what if what I was seeing was regret for adopting me? I shuddered at the thought but quickly pushed it aside. No, they didn’t regret taking me in as their daughter.

  It felt like it had been more than twenty-four hours since Mephisto told me he suspected that I was the daughter of Malific, a god of chaos and destruction. Malific was stuck in the Veil while her army remained cursed and forced to live outside the Veil. They’d made it their sole purpose to remove the curse, return to the Veil, and release Malific from the prison she was deservedly confined to.

  “The Raven,” I whispered. Not a raven or Raven Cursed. The Raven. There was importance to that title, although I had no idea what or why. Malific wasn’t known as The Raven, just the god of destruction. The look on Mephisto’s face continued to haunt me. Guarded and speculative, and in that moment something had changed between us. But what?

  A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I gulped down the water in the bottle and refilled it before taking a quick look in the mirror near the console by the door. My ponytail looked exactly as messy as it should considering the few seconds I spent on it. My brown eyes were brighter than might be expected of a person who’d spent most of the last day and a half drinking and drunkenly ruminating.

  Taking a deep breath before answering the door, I vowed to address the situation with my parents. I hated liminal periods. Unfortunately, my life was becoming a series of them: The woman who didn’t know how to control her magic, to the woman who killed for magic. The woman who was considered Raven Cursed, to the woman who was considered to be The Raven. The woman who had never heard of the Veil, to the woman who effortlessly moved through it. The woman who desired the Mystic Souls book that could give her access to magic, to the woman who—compliments of the Alpha of the Northwest Pack—would have access to it. The woman who was once the daughter of Vera and Gene, to possibly being the daughter of Malific and a god—or demigod.

  In a matter of days, my life had changed so dramatically it was unrecognizable.

  Opening the door for Asher, my attention immediately went to the leather-bound book pressed to his chest.

  He has the book. He has the Mystic Souls.

  My heart pounded and my breathing quickened at the sight of it.

  “No matter how often it happens, I’m always flattered when a woman is this excited to see me.”

  Ugh, this guy. I rolled my eyes. “Well, of course, especially if you’re offering them priceless gifts. I’m sure the response is quite different when all you’re offering them is you,” I countered.

  The insult rolled off him like he had on a repellent, the haughty half-smile continuing to lift the corners of his lips.

  Ever aware of his assessing gaze, I moved aside to let him in. Clutching the worn brown leather-bound book even closer to him, he entered. Gilded words ran along the book’s spine. A robust peppery scent wafted off it. Magic from it feathered over me.

  He handed me the book and I spent several minutes examining it, my fingers running over its discolored edges. Some of the pages were beginning to fray. It looked neglected.

  He got the book. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t been skeptical and believed that the only thing he was more full of than his ego was his crap. It was good to be wrong.

  His chestnut-brown hair was mussed ever so slightly from doing what he was doing at the moment, running his fingers through it. Something he did often. He went on to do something else he did often too: pose. Why was he always striking a goddamn pose? Could he not manage to be around anyone without giving them a full, unobstructed view of something he thought was worth looking at? It was, but the quirk of his lips ensured I’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing I thought it.

  “Your fear and anxiety reeks,” he announced with a grimace, finally abandoning his pose and plopping down on the sofa.

  “Thanks. Because smelling people isn’t gross and creepy enough, you insult them, too,” I snarked back, putting a few more inches between us. It didn’t matter. He could scent me from across the room.

  “I can still smell you under it and as usual, it’s delightful.”

  “Well, that’s not weird at all and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  The deep chuckle reverberated in his chest, a pleasant, sonorous sound that should have lifted my mood.

  He grew serious—predatory enough that my eyes went to each place in my apartment where I had a weapon hidden, calculating which one I could get to first. “What are you afraid of, Erin?” His tone had dropped to a low measure, deep and commanding.

  “It’s been a rough couple of days,” I admitted. He wouldn’t get any more than that. I couldn’t give him any more than that. Careful, intense dark eyes continued to study me. I returned to examini
ng the book. Discreetly I inhaled its scent, taking in aged oak with low notes of pepper. A peculiar smell that I rather enjoyed, or maybe it’s what it represented that I found so exhilarating.

  Asher’s smile widened. “I see that I’ve pleased you,” he teased seductively. “I never thought that would happen.”

  “Yes, I am quite pleased,” I responded in a tone that mirrored his, giving in to the smile he gave me.

  I flipped through the pages, relieved when the first few pages were in English intermingled with spells in Latin. I became increasingly anxious as I continued to turn the pages and found some spells in Greek, then toward the end, Arabic and three other languages I couldn’t determine. Cursing under my breath, I flipped the pages back and forth. Of course things couldn’t be simple. I would have to have the pages translated by someone I trusted.

  “Erin.” Asher’s voice was raised, getting my attention, which apparently was something he’d been trying to do for the past few minutes. “The book must be returned in two weeks. It’s just a loan.”

  Fine. Good luck getting it back. I still had library books I hadn’t returned. I merely nodded and kept my comments to myself. Feeling the weight of his attention on me, the book secured against my chest as if he knew my plans and would take it from me.

  “I need more time.”

  “I’d love to give you more time, but I can’t.”

  Noting the wily glint in his eyes, I asked, “Does the person who had this book know that they are no longer in possession of it?”

  “Do you want the book or not?”

  Two weeks. There was so much in it. It was a time crunch.

  “I don’t really have any other choice, do I?”

  He shrugged. The casual amusement drained from his face and his eyes grew fierce and hard—a reminder that he was a shapeshifter. “You can turn it down. If it were my property to give, you would have it. I owe you that much. But it’s not, and there will be severe consequences if it’s not returned. Bring the book back in two weeks.”

  If Asher was saying there would be severe consequences, then I would take heed. Not many people could make me do that.

  Resting back on the sofa, his fingers clasped behind his head, he regarded me with an unwavering stare. “I caused the increased heart rate and respiration—and I’m quite proud of that. The fear and the worry I didn’t cause. Who or what did, Erin?”

  Clutching the book to my chest like a security blanket, I shook my head. “Nothing.”

  He inhaled the air. “The lingering smell of wine and whiskey tells a different story. That’s not ‘nothing,’ Erin. I’m a very resourceful man, maybe I can help.”

  He fixed me with a hard stare he probably reserved for his pack. It was the undeniable look of a man used to people responding to his requests.

  “Nothing,” I repeated.

  “Erin, why must you be so stubborn? Have I not earned your trust?”

  I choked on the laughter. “No, I don’t trust you. Asher, no one trusts you but your pack. I’m sorry, Mr. Alpha CEO of Northwest Wolf Pack. The moment my situation or problems compromise them or put them at risk, I’ll have track marks on my back from the bus that ran over me.”

  His knowing smirk made his way to his eyes that danced with sly amusement. Amusement I didn’t share. “Erin.” He purred my name. “Does it involve my pack?”

  “No.”

  “Then let me help you.”

  I finally nodded and took a seat on the ottoman in front of the sofa. “Okay,” I started in a grave whisper, “I have a pushy Alpha in my home who won’t take no for an answer. We have a tumultuous past, so I don’t really trust the bastard, but for some strange reason he wants me to. Can you get rid of him? I’d be ever so grateful.”

  Leaning in, he placed his face just inches from mine. A small smile quirked his lips, and warm breath brushed against my lips. Shifters didn’t have active magic, which was a shame, because I would have loved to blame the little tingle that moved over my arms on that. “Of course. Whatever Erin wants, it is my pleasure to give.”

  Coming to his feet in a sweep of grace and stealth, he still seemed amused, like I’d inadvertently given him something. I’d seen his sleight of hand at work during the several jobs I’d worked with him. Despite knowing it was impossible for him to do it, I still slid my hands over the sides of my leggings and patted at my shirt to see if anything was missing.

  My hand was on the door handle when he added, “I wouldn’t be late returning it.” The hint of threat in his voice had me whipping around to respond.

  “Why does everyone claim to be a badass but tiptoe around threats? Just say what you mean.”

  He reached past me and opened the door. “Erin, two weeks isn’t a suggestion, it’s a firm date.”

  He looked at his watch, committing the time to memory, and so did I when I looked at the clock on the kitchen stove.

  “You’ll get it in two weeks,” I confirmed.

  CHAPTER 2

  Going through the book on the ottoman would fill my day and also give me an excuse to avoid the inevitable talk with my parents. Should I just blurt it out? “Hey, did you all know I’m not your kid and am possibly the offspring of a god who created an army and pretty much likes to destroy people and things for sport? How’s your day?”

  I plopped back on the sofa, resting my head and focusing on one thing: I didn’t accumulate any debt with Asher to get the Mystic Souls, despite Cory’s conviction that acquiring it would come with a heavy debt owed to the Northwest Pack. It’s better to live life debt free, and even better when debt free from the pack. No, no debt, just a time restriction.

  Cory knocked once and opened the door. His gaze immediately went to the book, a gasp escaping him as he looked down at it. Something he considered a fable, a work of fiction, a legend, was right in front of him. The weathered, sun-damaged pages were marked by Post-Its I had started inserting, noting the spells in English and Latin that I was aware of.

  “So,” he started off slowly, picking up the book, “it’s not an urban legend.” He thumbed through the book, his brow furrowing at the same places I had—the languages I couldn’t identify.

  “What languages are these?” he asked, pointing to the last sections of the book.

  I had no idea. Nor did Google.

  “It could be anything.”

  I hadn’t told Cory about my conversation with Mephisto the day before—or who Mephisto suspected my mother to be. I was still processing it. But the existence of the Veil opened up innumerable possibilities, including the fact that the people who lived there could have their own languages.

  “Erin,” Cory stated after an hour or so of us both looking through the book, “these spells seem really dangerous.” He had studied it carefully, occasionally using his phone to translate some of the contents.

  So it isn’t just me. A quick perusal had shown many curses that addressed the death of a person or loss of a limb, restrictions of speech and function, and there were several cloaking spells I hadn’t learned. I wrote them down for future use. Cory copied down one that allowed flight and a few elemental control spells and a lighting spell. We came to an abrupt stop at one spell that raised and controlled the recently deceased. That was definitely illegal. Necromancers weren’t allowed to do that. There had been a political decision to ease the concerns of humans. Vampires were the only interaction with the dead that humans would tolerate.

  I don’t know why I thought archaic magic would be safe. Not just powerful.

  “Well, this one seems simple and safe.” I pointed at one. Cory stood behind the sofa, looking at the book from over my shoulder.

  “Simple is good and safe is even better,” Madison piped as she walked into the apartment. Her smile held the tightness of apprehension and disbelief. I’m sure it had been there since I called her this morning to let her know I had the Mystic Souls. Surprise shone in her eyes as she looked at the book. Her lips formed a small O.

  “Not all the spells
are simple and most of them aren’t safe, and those are just the ones I can decipher,” Cory admitted. Turning the book in her direction, he showed her the last quarter of the book.

  Frowning, she leafed through the pages. “This language”—she pointed at the spells whose language we couldn’t identify—“is an archaic language that witches and mages used for spells before adopting Latin.” She paused, looking contemplative. “I’m sure these spells would work for finding a workaround, but they won’t lift the curse. I don’t know if lifting the curse is even possible. Which is fine. You just don’t want people to lose their life so you can use their magic.”

  It was true. I needed magic to fill that never-ending void where magic should be. To have access to something that should be rightfully mine.

  “I’d prefer to remove the curse,” I admitted. “Spells can be undone, performed incorrectly, or even restricted. Removing the curse makes it permanent.”

  Madison was pacing the room, her hand absently moving to her hair to fidget with it and being reminded that her full coils of sienna hair were gone, replaced by darker, straighter hair, in an effort to give her a more mature look. In her jeans and button-down, it was another reminder that despite our parents’ best efforts to raise us like sisters, we were polar opposites. Not only in personality but also looks. I’d never be accused of being cute, my features too sharp and defined for that. Sexy, maybe. It depended on who you were asking. But Madison’s enviable balance between fit and curvy on a five-seven frame put her in the sexy and cute category.