Novak Raven (Harper's Mountains Book 4) (2 page)

“Excuse me,” Weston Novak said to the woman in front of him. He handed her the purse she’d let slip from her shoulder and onto the ground. “You dropped this.”

The woman in front of Weston turned and seemed to look right through him. It was her eyes that made him stop walking. They were hollow and so sad, so hopeless, that a heaviness settled over him. She began walking again without taking the purse he offered. City lights illuminated the night on the other side of the bridge they were walking on, and the recent rain made the asphalt under his feet shiny and reflective. No cars were driving on the bridge, and up ahead, the woman’s long, floral sundress whipped around her ankles. Why wasn’t she wearing shoes?

Weston’s fingers moved on their own, rifling through her purse.
Stop!
He pulled out a wallet and opened the button, flipped through a plastic sleeve of pictures. There was one of a smiling man with a beard and thinning hair, and one of a little blond boy. There was another picture of all three of them, and the woman’s beaming smile was genuine. She was happy. So what had changed? Why did her eyes harbor a thousand ghosts now?

The next plastic sleeve held a folded newspaper article. Weston pulled it out. Why couldn’t he stop himself?

Slowly, he unfolded it and read the headline and first few sentences. It was an obituary.

No.
Weston looked up at the woman. Her shoulders were shaking, and she was wiping her cheeks on the thin sleeve of her dress as she walked away. She’d lost her little boy.

“Ma’am,” Weston warned as she climbed onto the railing. Shit. “Ma’am!” He bolted for her. She was sobbing uncontrollably now, chanting the little boy’s name, chanting how sorry she was.

This couldn’t be happening! He reached her in time and grabbed her hand, but his fingertips went right through hers as though he was an apparition. No, no, no.

“Look at me!” he yelled. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll make sure it’s okay. Just come down. Let me take you home!”

Balanced with her back to the churning water far below, she was looking at something right over his head. She couldn’t see him at all.

“Jean!” he yelled, reciting the name from the obituary. She’d survived her child. No parent should go through this. Weston scrabbled at her legs, her arms, anywhere, desperate to be solid. To pull her back down and hold her and tell her everything would be okay eventually, even if it was a lie. Even if he knew she would never get over this, she had to live. “Jean, please look at me!”

Jean’s face fell, and tears streamed down her cheeks like rivers, and then she did. She lowered her gaze and looked right at Weston, right into his soul. “Thanks for being here,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to do it alone.”

And then she launched herself off the bridge.

“Noooo!” Weston screamed, bolting upright in bed.

His skin was cold and clammy, and his legs were all tangled up in the sheets. Desperately, he kicked out of them and rolled over, buried his face against the pillow, and yelled as loud and as long as he could. His voice grew hoarse, but it didn’t help release the vision of Jean from his mind. She was a stranger, and he hadn’t been able to help her. She was probably alive still, but he’d done this over and over, tried to fix the future, and every time, he somehow made it worse. If he tried to save Jean, she would still take her own life, and it would be even more gruesome. His visions were non-negotiable. They existed for no fucking reason other than to torture him with fates he couldn’t change. With people he couldn’t help. He punched the mattress over and over as hard as he could. Then stood and ripped the lamp cord out of the wall and chucked the lamp at the doorframe. It shattered, but still didn’t erase the prophesy.

He needed to Change. He needed to Change and fly, drink himself to oblivion, or do something that could remove the image of her streaming tears, of the hopelessness in her hollow eyes from of his mind.

He fucking hated the sight. Hated it. His father had had it, and his grandmother, too. He’d thought it had skipped him, but six months ago he saw his alpha in a dream, telling him to come home. Since Weston had come to Harper’s Mountains, the floodgates had been opened.

He wasn’t okay.

His phone vibrated on the nightstand, and for a moment, he considered throwing that, too, just to hear the satisfying sound of it shattering against the wall. But there was already a massive mess of glass shards to clean up, and his cell phone was ringing again. Maybe whoever it was could be his savior.

“Hello,” he answered in a scratchy voice.

“H-hello? Did I wake you?”

Weston glared at the glowing green time on the alarm clock.
6:15
. The answer should’ve been ‘yes,’ but Jean had woken him first. “No. Who is this? No, wait. Don’t tell me.” Talking to a stranger would be better.

“Okay.” There was a long pause before she murmured, “Are you okay?”

No.
“Yeah, I’m fine, just…” He sank down on the bed and ran his hand over his face. “Do you ever have bad dreams?”

“Uuuh.” Static sounded on the phone. “Sometimes. I used to have them more when I was a kid.”

“I never had them until I grew up.”

“Did you have one tonight?” she asked. Her voice was pretty. Soft and hesitant, but with a clear tone. She probably sang well.

He should stop talking. He didn’t know her, didn’t recognize her number, and she could be anyone. Hell, she could be one of the vamps or wolves for all he knew. But her question came across the line so easy, as if she did care, and damn, he wanted to believe that someone, some perfect stranger, could ease the tightness in his chest. God knew, he couldn’t talk to his crew about this or how bad it was getting.

Harper was going to have to put him down someday.

That thought drew him up short. It felt so true, so final. Someday, he would be driven mad by the sight, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“What were your dreams like?” he asked, because he sure as shit didn’t want to detail the one he’d just had to the nice-sounding woman on the other end of the line. Her voice was frail, and she was likely submissive. She wouldn’t be able to shoulder a vision. Pity because, right now, he really wanted to unload on her.

“I used to have dreams about animals chasing me through the woods. You know the ones where you’re running and running, and you never get tired, but neither does the thing that’s chasing you? And then, right when the animal was on me, right when it was about to bite, I would wake up.”

“What kind of animals?” he asked.

“Bears. Always bears.”

Weston frowned at the wall. Yeah, she definitely wouldn’t be able to handle his dream. Bears weren’t even a blip on his radar of scary animals. There were three bear shifters in his crew, and his dad was a bear shifter. Hell, most of the crew he’d grown up with had massive bruins inside of them.

Silence stretched on as he laid back on his bed and rubbed his eyes. At least talking to this woman had settled his heartrate some.

“So,” she drawled hesitantly. “I called for a reason.”

He stared up at the exposed beams in his cabin ceiling and sighed. Right, she hadn’t just dialed a wrong number to talk to a stranger at the ass-crack of dawn. “Okay.”

“I heard you have an opening for a scheduling manager for your ATV business. I was wondering if I could fill out an application for it.”

“Scheduling manager for… Where did you hear that? I haven’t posted for the job.”

“A Bloodrunner told me. Uuum, Alana.” Her voice went all weak and shaky on her answer. Strike one against her. A scheduling manager not only had to be good with people on the phone, but also face-to-face. Plus, she was going to have to deal with his partner, Ryder, and he was a relentless pervy joker whose brain stem was connected directly to his dick. He would have her crying in no time. Add to that Weston just had a somewhat personal conversation with her, and he in no way wanted to meet her in person. Ever.

“Sorry, but I’m not hiring at this time.” The line went so quiet, he thought she hung up. He checked the screen of his phone, but the call hadn’t disconnected. “You still there?”

“Yeah, it’s just, I really need this job.” At least she had a little steel in her voice now, so maybe she wasn’t a complete pushover. “I’ve been looking and looking, but it’s tourist season, and all the jobs get filled right before I apply. All I’m asking for is a chance. Just…let me come in for an interview, and if you feel like I’m not the right fit for your company, I won’t beg or make it weird. I’m good at interviews. I just can’t get in for one. I
know
I can do this job.” She swallowed audibly over the line and whispered, “Please.”

Weston let off an irritated sigh. He’d really imagined a roughneck man to be handling scheduling, so he could help keep the ATVs running and assist with building and clearing trails, too. This woman sounded like a splinter would end her life. She was begging, though, and he didn’t want to feel like a total dick. “Fine. Can you come in tomorrow?”

“I can come in today and start immediately,” she said in a rush.

Weston wasn’t really in the mood to conduct an interview today. More like he wanted to drink a fifth of whiskey and work on his property alone, but fuck it. He had to hire someone soon, and getting the first interview done and out of the way might distract him from the stupid visions.

“I’ll text you the address. Be there at noon.”

“Oh, thank you! Oh my gosh, thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me. Everything has been so shitty lately. Oh, no. I said shitty. I mean…I’m really grateful for the opportunity. I’m going to go. My mouth won’t shut up. See you at noon. Okay, bye. Don’t forget to text me the address. Sorry. You know what you’re doing. Okay then. Toodles. Toodaloo. I mean bye.”

More static blasted across the line, and then her muffled voice came across. “Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! Eeeee!”

Weston winced away from the celebratory squeal.

“Fuck you,
Benjamin
! Take that, and that!”

Weston could just imagine her flipping the bird to an imaginary Benjamin.

“Oh, no.” More static, and then in a much clearer voice, she said, “I thought I hung up. Please tell me you aren’t still there.”

Weston snorted. “I’m still here.”

The woman cleared her throat delicately and murmured, “Good day to you, sir.” And then she hung up.

Baffled, Weston canted his head and stared at the phone as a smile stretched his lips. Huh. He texted her the address and dropped his phone to the bed. Crossing his arms over his chest, he chuckled up at the ceiling.

What an odd bird.

At least her interview would be amusing, and even more importantly to Weston, distracting.

Avery’s beat-up old Civic wheezed and coughed around the final mud pit before the clearing. The hand-carved sign above the dirt road read
Big Flight ATV Tours, Welcome
.

Thank God, because her GPS had basically laughed at her a few miles back and then refused to guide Avery an inch farther. No surprise since the building looked just barely finished. A man balanced on his knee on a half-built porch where he was sawing off the end of a board.

She’d expected an older gentleman from how gruff the voice was on the phone, but this guy looked like he was around her age. Maybe he was the owner’s son. He wore sunglasses, and a good thing too because sawdust was spraying everywhere. Safety first, she always said. A camouflage baseball cap covered his head and, holy macaroni, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His powerful legs were hugged by jeans that were riddled with strategically placed holes. Tattoos covered his arms and part of his chest, and if she wasn’t severely mistaken, Mr. Sexyman had his nipples pierced. Real piercings! She’d never seen a man like him, all tanned, gleaming with sweat, and tatted up. Raven culture didn’t condone body modification, but suddenly she was thinking her community was a gaggle of morons because this fine specimen of a human was sexy as hell. His sweat probably smelled like evergreens and tasted like sugarplums.

When he looked up suddenly, she remembered herself and squeaked, slamming on the brakes a few feet away from the porch.

Great first impression, Avery. You almost destroyed the building.

“Were you planning on stopping, or no?” he asked rudely as she got out of her car.

“You aren’t wearing a shirt,” she said dumbly, like that was a valid excuse. “Uh, is your dad around?”

The man set the saw on the porch and stared at her with his mouth hanging open. “No. Why?”

“Because I have an interview today.”

The man shoved his work glove down and checked his watch. “We agreed on noon.”

Shoot,
he
was interviewing her? She hunched under his angry glare. At least she thought he was angry, because his sunglasses hid his eyes. “I wanted to be punctual,” she admitted in a voice an octave too high.

“You’re an entire hour early.”

The tattoo on his chest said something too small to read from here, and a single drop of sweat slowly trickled down between his defined pecs. Down, down to his perfect little belly button between his perfectly flexed abdominals.

“Lady!” He covered his dick with his gloved hands and cocked his head.

“I wasn’t looking at that.”
Just your belly button like a normal person
. Avery turned her back. In a murmur, she pleaded, “Can you put on a shirt? It’s r-really unprofessional to conduct an interview like this.”

“Again, you’re an hour early.”

“Right. Sorry.” She turned and looked at him over her shoulder as he was pulling a white T-shirt over his head, and this time she could see a faint trail of dark hair leading down into his jeans. Holy hell, she wanted to ride it down like a Slip ’N Slide. Forcefully, she turned back around. “Should I go and come back in an hour?”

“No. You almost drove through my porch once. You’re good.”

Geez, he sounded testy.

His work boots echoed hollowly on the porch, so she peeked around again. He picked up a half empty beer bottle from a table between two rocking chairs. Whoo, his man-butt looked good in those jeans, too. She opened her mouth to begin listing her good qualities as a future employee, but he entered the building and let the swinging door slam behind him.

Okay. Carefully, she padded up the stairs and around the power tools, lifted her knuckles to knock, decided against it, and stepped inside. “Hello?”

“Back here,” the man said in an irritated tone. Her heart sank to the floorboards under her feet. She was definitely not getting this job.

Buck up, Avery. You need this. Win him over!

Most of the building was a single, large room with a counter along the back wall and a souvenir shop at the front. It looked like there was a gear room through the side door, and on the opposite wall was a room with a sign that read
Office
in hand-painted yellow letters above the door. That was the one Mr. Bitable Nipple Bars had disappeared into.

Avery scampered in behind him, determined to have a good interview from here on, but he’d taken off his glasses and hat and, holy shit, it was him. Weston Novak, the Novak Raven himself.

Avery slammed back against the wall beside the door.

“What’s wrong with you now?” he asked, looking completely baffled.

His face was the same, just older. It was his body that had thrown her off and made him impossible to recognize on first glance. His bright green eyes were still the same, the color of his father’s, but she knew from experience they turned black as night when his inner raven was worked up. He had a dimple on one cheek when he smiled big enough, and he was naturally quiet. He was a dominant brawler, which was at complete odds with his raven nature.

Weston’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Do I know you?”

“No,” Avery blurted out.

“What’s your name?”

“Beth. Bethany. Bessie.” She was panicking!

“Well, which one is it?” he asked, hands on his hips as if he wasn’t buying anything she was selling.

“Hey, boss,” a redheaded man said from the open doorway.

He’d appeared out of nowhere, and Avery startled hard. Oh, she knew him, too. He was none other than
the
Air Ryder. He had a huge online following, had spent half his dang life in the news conducting interviews, and was one of the rarest shifters on the planet, a snowy owl. He and the Novak Raven were the two most famous, most battle-proven, and most volatile flight shifters in the entire world, and here she was, caught right between them. Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

“What do you want?” Weston gritted out.

“Barbecue and dick kisses,” Ryder said without missing a beat.

“I don’t mean what do you want out of life, Ryder,” Weston said in a pissed-off tone. “I mean, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, right.” The redheaded muscle-bound behemoth held up a stack of paperwork. “We’ve got trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Ryder cast Avery a calculating look, then twitched his head to Weston, gesturing for him to follow, and disappeared out into the main room.

“I’ll be right back,” Weston muttered as he passed. Great googly moogly, that man was tall. And his shoulders were almost the width of the dang door. He could squish her head like a blueberry if he wanted to. The Novak Raven? Hell. No. “Take your time.”
While I climb out the window.

But when Avery tried the only escape, it was jammed.

She grunted and pushed and grunted some more. Holy hell, this thing wasn’t moving.

“You know you have to unlock it, right?” Weston said from behind her.

Avery froze, and as seconds ticked on, she couldn’t muster the courage to turn and face him.

“I can still see you.”

Heart banging against her chest, Avery rolled sideways until her back pressed against the log wall. “Hi.”

Weston’s dark eyebrows arched up, and he gave her tight smile. “Hi.” Gesturing to a chair in front of the desk, he said, “Have a seat so we can get this weird-ass interview over with.”

Quiet as a mouse, Avery forced her feet one in front of the other until she reached the chair, bumped it back a couple feet with the backs of her knees, and sat gingerly on the edge, ready to bolt. Why? Because the Novak Raven was the son of Beaston, raised in the most violent crew of shifters that existed, the Gray Backs. And she’d heard whispers of the battles he’d seen. The battles he’d been in. Just recently, he’d been a part of evicting an entire coven of vampires from Asheville, and the Valdoro Pack of psychotic werewolves, too, but from here, she saw zero scars, which meant he was scarier than the other monsters. It meant he was better at war.

The council was wary of him for good reason.

The man took a long swig of his beer, condensation dripping from the bottle and onto the desk. While he chugged it, he watched her over the curve of the bottle, and when he’d finished every last drop, he hissed like his beer had hit the spot. Gross. Beer tasted like piss. “I’m Weston Novak, and that was my partner, Ryder Croy.”

“Air Ryder,” she blurted unhelpfully. “And you’re the Novak Raven.”

“Yes, okay. So you know of us. Great. Anyway, we’re starting up this business and already booking clients. We’re hiring a scheduling manager because we will be out a lot on tours.” He gestured to a phone on the edge of the desk. “Job responsibilities will include answering the phone, keeping track of tours and deposits, running the shop when we’re out, making sales, helping to fit clients with gear, making sure the vending machines are stocked, running the cash register for the souvenir area, and sometimes closing up shop.”

Avery couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. The Novak Raven was terrifying, and his voice was steely, but that wasn’t the current problem. The issue was he was very attractive and making her forget how dangerous he was by talking like a normal man and not a War Bird in disguise. She had to force her next question past her tightening vocal chords. “Will I ever do an ATV Tour?”

Weston snorted. “Have you ever been on an ATV?”

He was laughing at her, making fun of her, and she didn’t like that. She wasn’t in the raven community anymore where she had to absorb rudeness. “No, but I would like to. I’m a quick learner.”

When she cast her glance at him, she got trapped there. His head was cocked, his eyes gone dark and tight in the corners. His lips were set in a grim line, and he was leaning on the desk, his hands clasped in front of him. “What’s your name? Your real name?”

A whimper wrenched up her throat. This was it. She couldn’t lie with him so tuned to her. He would hear it. But her name was unique, and he would definitely recognize her as his pen pal. They’d written back and forth for years. She was so busted.

“Avery,” she admitted in a murmur.

Something flashed through his eyes so quickly she couldn’t decipher his reaction. It was there and gone in an instant, and his following words were so cool, so steady, her heart sank even further.

“Are you scared of me, Avery?”

He didn’t recognize her. Not at all. Not her face, not her name. Perhaps she hadn’t really been pen pals with him. Perhaps it had been some sick joke, and she’d written to someone pretending to be him. That would explain why he’d been so cold the one time they had met in Saratoga.

Her eyes prickled with tears, which was stupid. Weston didn’t know it, but he’d ruined her life. He’d made her want too much, made her reach too far for things she could never have. He’d made her feel too much. She was a female raven who had grown a bond with a man who didn’t exist. A one-sided bond that had made her avoid boyfriends and courtships until Benjamin and the council had drawn up a marriage contract. Until Benjamin got tired of her brushing him off.

With every childhood letter from the Novak Raven, she’d grown further away from her own people and what was expected of her.

His fault, and now he didn’t even recognize her.

“Are you crying?” he asked through a deep and disapproving frown.

Avery dashed her knuckles under her eyes and gave her gaze to the wall. Her stomach growled loudly. She would’ve been embarrassed, but she felt too numb to be. It was her body reminding her why she was here and why she was desperate for this job, no matter who owned the company. There was little risk in taking a position here because it was clear as day there would never be anything between her and this man. No spark of familiarity, no reminiscing on letters from their youth. She had needs—food and shelter—and a job here could give her those. And she was so damn tired of living in complete uncertainty. She needed stability so her animal would feel more settled. So she could stop wondering if she was really strong enough to leave Raven’s Hollow. Maybe the Novak Raven didn’t need her for this job…but she was at the end of her resources, the end of her savings. Avery really needed this to work. “How much is the hourly pay?”

“Ten an hour to start out, and paychecks come out every two weeks. Why do you want to work a job like this?”

Defeated, she inhaled deeply and explained in a soft murmur, “My whole life I was supposed to stand still, be quiet, and look pretty. Only I was born plain, and I got tired of standing still and being quiet. I have nothing, Mr. Novak. I will put everything I am into getting your business off the ground. Give me a chance, and I’ll be here early every day and leave late if you need me to. I want independence, and I can’t have that without a steady job. I’ll be a good employee because I’m ready. Ready for this, ready for the responsibility, ready to be a part of something bigger than myself, ready to see Big Flight ATV Tours thrive.” She’d meant every word, but she felt nauseous when she’d said them. Admitting she had nothing to a man who had shunned her friendship all those years ago was hard.

But what did she have to lose now? She was sleeping in her car, and soon she wouldn’t have money for food or gas, and her only option then would be to go back to Raven’s Hollow and marry Benjamin. She would be a broodmare for a man with cold eyes and no affectionate feelings for her. She would be broken slowly there if she couldn’t build a life here. Because ravens—female ravens—didn’t just escape Raven’s Hollow or the reach of the council. The last time that had happened was over twenty-five years ago when Aviana King had chased down Beaston Novak, claimed him as her mate, and cut ties with her people.