the bedroom. His loud boots echoed behind her, but when she went to slam the door, he caught it, and the look on his face broke her heart. He looked ill and angry, but not with her. With himself. “Please.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head over and over. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t! Tonight had been perfect, and now he was scratching at shit that needed to be left alone.
“Please, Ave. Tell me why a dominant raven acts as timid as a mouse. Tell me why you always look at the ground and why you hunch your shoulders like you’re trying to be smaller. Like you’re trying to be invisible. Tell me why you always say sorry for every little thing.”
She wished she could Change and fly away from him as fast as she could. She wished she could catch the air currents under her wings and avoid admitting how weak she really was. If he saw her—really saw her—he would leave, and she didn’t want to go back to being alone. But he wasn’t letting her out of this. He wasn’t backing down.
Resentful at being pushed, she gritted out, “Because I’m broken, Weston. Is that what you want to hear? I was born with a broken shifter, and my people are ashamed of me. Ashamed that I exist. Do you know what rank is based on in Raven’s Hollow? The best ravens are the ones who conform to the idea of what the perfect raven shifter is—easy going, submissive, non-combative, doesn’t question anything. But I wasn’t like that. I didn’t Change until I was five. Strike one. And then I was a natural leader. I wanted to organize games at school, I wanted to run for class politics with the human kids. Strike two. I questioned every. Single. Thing. And when I Changed, the other ravens my age cowered away from me because their instincts told them I was a monster. I was bigger, more dominant, and I didn’t believe in all the goddamned rules. Strike three. By middle school, I was being bullied. Not by the human kids, but by the raven kids, but I didn’t take it lying down like a good submissive female was supposed to. I pushed back. And when it got bad enough, and my raven was crawling out of my skin to stand up for myself, I beat the shit out of this little snot boy who wouldn’t stop calling me The Great Mistake, like his parents did. I just…lost my mind and beat him until his face was bloody. Until he stopped moving. Until the teachers pulled me off his limp body. The council called for an official shunning by noon the next day.”
“A shunning?”
“Yeah. A community-wide shunning. People talked about me as I passed, but not to me. My parents could talk to me to raise me, but no extras were allowed. Affection was a ‘hell no,’ and my parents didn’t fight the order at all because they were good little ravens, too. I learned real quick to submit and pretend my raven didn’t want to attack everyone around me for what they were doing. And the more I pretended to be submissive, the smaller my raven became. The sadder she was. I looked at the ground, ducked my gaze and spoke softly, and apologized for everything until the shunning was lifted. And it took two fucking years, Weston. Two years desperate to be seen. To fit in. I hated myself, hated my raven. I just wanted to be like everyone else, so I became like everyone else.” Her face crumpled, but she blinked hard, refusing to cry again. “The shunning was lifted, but I would forget myself sometimes, and my dad would bring me to the council for every little thing I did wrong, and they would put me in The Box.”
Weston was leaning heavily against the wall, legs locked, shaking his head in disgust. He asked in a hoarse voice, “What’s The Box?”
“It was a tiny white room under the Council House with a bucket to piss in and nothing else. And I would go crazy in there, stuck in my own fucking mind, unable to see sunlight, feeling like I’d been buried alive, praying to God someone remembered to let me out. I memorized your letters. I would recite
She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head over and over. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t! Tonight had been perfect, and now he was scratching at shit that needed to be left alone.
“Please, Ave. Tell me why a dominant raven acts as timid as a mouse. Tell me why you always look at the ground and why you hunch your shoulders like you’re trying to be smaller. Like you’re trying to be invisible. Tell me why you always say sorry for every little thing.”
She wished she could Change and fly away from him as fast as she could. She wished she could catch the air currents under her wings and avoid admitting how weak she really was. If he saw her—really saw her—he would leave, and she didn’t want to go back to being alone. But he wasn’t letting her out of this. He wasn’t backing down.
Resentful at being pushed, she gritted out, “Because I’m broken, Weston. Is that what you want to hear? I was born with a broken shifter, and my people are ashamed of me. Ashamed that I exist. Do you know what rank is based on in Raven’s Hollow? The best ravens are the ones who conform to the idea of what the perfect raven shifter is—easy going, submissive, non-combative, doesn’t question anything. But I wasn’t like that. I didn’t Change until I was five. Strike one. And then I was a natural leader. I wanted to organize games at school, I wanted to run for class politics with the human kids. Strike two. I questioned every. Single. Thing. And when I Changed, the other ravens my age cowered away from me because their instincts told them I was a monster. I was bigger, more dominant, and I didn’t believe in all the goddamned rules. Strike three. By middle school, I was being bullied. Not by the human kids, but by the raven kids, but I didn’t take it lying down like a good submissive female was supposed to. I pushed back. And when it got bad enough, and my raven was crawling out of my skin to stand up for myself, I beat the shit out of this little snot boy who wouldn’t stop calling me The Great Mistake, like his parents did. I just…lost my mind and beat him until his face was bloody. Until he stopped moving. Until the teachers pulled me off his limp body. The council called for an official shunning by noon the next day.”
“A shunning?”
“Yeah. A community-wide shunning. People talked about me as I passed, but not to me. My parents could talk to me to raise me, but no extras were allowed. Affection was a ‘hell no,’ and my parents didn’t fight the order at all because they were good little ravens, too. I learned real quick to submit and pretend my raven didn’t want to attack everyone around me for what they were doing. And the more I pretended to be submissive, the smaller my raven became. The sadder she was. I looked at the ground, ducked my gaze and spoke softly, and apologized for everything until the shunning was lifted. And it took two fucking years, Weston. Two years desperate to be seen. To fit in. I hated myself, hated my raven. I just wanted to be like everyone else, so I became like everyone else.” Her face crumpled, but she blinked hard, refusing to cry again. “The shunning was lifted, but I would forget myself sometimes, and my dad would bring me to the council for every little thing I did wrong, and they would put me in The Box.”
Weston was leaning heavily against the wall, legs locked, shaking his head in disgust. He asked in a hoarse voice, “What’s The Box?”
“It was a tiny white room under the Council House with a bucket to piss in and nothing else. And I would go crazy in there, stuck in my own fucking mind, unable to see sunlight, feeling like I’d been buried alive, praying to God someone remembered to let me out. I memorized your letters. I would recite
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