Flock (The Ravenhood Book 1)

by Kate Stewart

I’ll never be a woman capable of letting go, of leaving the past where it belongs, no matter how much I want to.

I’ve tried to convince myself that life exists after love. And maybe it does, for others, but life hasn’t been so kind to me.

The only love I’ve ever known or craved is the kind that keeps me sick, sick with longing, sick with lust, sick with need, sick with grief. The distorted kind that leaves scars and jaded hearts.

The minute I’m able, my mother will never work again. Any amount of success I have, I’m determined to earn for myself,

“I told you, I have to work at the plant for a year to get her set up. I don’t want to worry about her while I’m at school.” “It’s not your job.” “I know.” “You’re not the parent.” “We both know I am. And we’ll resume our plans the minute I get back.”

“This isn’t on you. It was her job to raise you, Cee. That’s the obligation of a parent, which you should never feel obligated to repay.”

This is for Mom.

leave your man alone too long, even with his

I’m just not sure any of them are my type. But with each sip of cider, I feel like I’m forming an opinion. And so far, I haven’t met a bicep I haven’t liked.

“You’re fucking adorable. And beautiful. But let’s be honest, a little too young and good of a girl to be hanging out with us assholes.”

From the mere sight of him, I have the urge to cross myself in the Holy Trinity and send up a prayer of thanks.

And right now, I can’t think of a better position to be in than beneath him.

In the space of a song, I let go, without a care for his perception. I let myself enjoy these few minutes of not being in control, of leaving my fate in someone else’s hands. Since I’ve been in Triple Falls and felt the space between my mother and me, I’ve realized my role in her life has been more of a reversal than I wanted to admit. I admit it to myself now, that I’ve been more like the parent than she has in the last nineteen years. I’ve been stricter on myself than she ever has been on me. I’ve willingly never given her a reason to worry. I’ve pulled the wine out of her hand, and ground out her ash-ridden cigarettes, and covered her with a blanket more times than I can count. I saved my virginity for someone I thought loved and respected me while secretly shaming her for her blatant promiscuity during my younger years. From the stories she’s told me, she was the original party girl, and daily, I bore witness to the aftermath of her life choices. I’ve lived the opposite of her decisions, which I know gave her relief. But in this moment, just for a few minutes, I let all that go. With the wind in my hair, I close my eyes and just . . . fly.

“I say, it’s the land of the mentally inept, electronically dependent, and brainwashed media slaves.”

I’m just saying why waste now time worrying about later?” “Now time?” “It’s the only measure of time that matters. Time itself is just an invisible line, a measure people made up, right? You know that. And while it’s good for reference, it’s also a major stress trigger, because you’re letting it control you.” I can’t even deny it. The idea of dinner with Roman is ruining my time with Sean. “Okay, sorry.” “Don’t be sorry. Just don’t give it power. Now is now, later will eventually be now. Don’t be a slave to the insanity of keeping time and keeping up. Now is the only thing you have control over, and even so, it’s an illusion.”

“So, I’m thinking you don’t have social media?” He sighs. “Fuck no. Hell no—the worst thing we’ve ever done is give everyone a microphone and a place to use it.”

“Imagine a person born with an unparalleled gift of retaining knowledge. And in finding out they had this gift, they go straight to work, schooling themselves for years and years to hone that gift and turn it into a superpower, becoming a wealth of knowledge like no other, to the point they’re well respected, a reckoning force, someone to really listen to. You with me?” I nod again. “And maybe that person suffers a loss. Maybe someone close to them dies, and that death poses a question they have no answer to, and so they make it their mission to answer that question and refuse to quit until they have irrefutable proof of where their loved one went. So, they live, eat, breathe every minute of every day of their life for the answer to that one question. And one day it happens. They succeed, and in doing so, they transform their theory to fact, and if they share that proof, they know they could change life as we all know it. And say this person could not only prove there was a hereafter, but could prove the very existence of God, no more faith necessary. He’s real. So they have their proof, their life isn’t meaningless, the death they’ve grieved isn’t pointless, they have the answer, and they want to give it to others.” He takes another drag of his cigarette and exhales a steady stream before lifting hazel eyes to mine. “They post it on social media so the world will finally have the answer to a question that’s plagued people for endless centuries. What would happen?” “We wou...

The man has confidence in spades, a smile that could melt the panties off a nun, and eyes that convey everything without him speaking a word.

“She had this way about her, a way I’m envious of sometimes. She could make something out of nothing, made ordinary days spectacular.”

I expect passion and butterflies, and one or two fairy tale moments. When we fight, I want it to hurt. When we fuck, I want to feel it with every fiber of my being. When a man confesses his love to me, I expect him to mean it. I don’t want to question the words’ authenticity. I want to be claimed and owned and ruled and possessed by love.

My greatest hope is to be in all-consuming love. My biggest fear is to be in all-consuming love.

“I call it faith. You are a lot stronger than you think you are, and I wanted you to see that.”

My feelings for him scare me. They scare me a lot; maybe I was looking for a reason to push him away.

“I mean, the idea of America is great, the execution not so much. But we’re still a young country. There’s still hope for us.”

“Romans 8:38-39.” She navigates to the passage easily and to my surprise, reads it aloud. “For I am sure that neither death nor life,” she whispers softly, “nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

“You catchin’ feelings for me, Pup?” All I can do is give him the same honesty. “Yes, of course I am. We . . . I was hoping . . . I don’t know.” “That’s right, we don’t, so let’s not go around getting offended and slinging drama where it isn’t needed. You want to trust me, but you’re not letting yourself, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I can tell you every day you’re safe with me, but unless you believe it, it’s pointless. And for the record, I caught feelings the minute I laid eyes on you.”

I just let two men share me. And I loved every minute of it.

“If you’re ever wondering what to do, that’s what you do. Whatever you fucking want, whenever you want, and you don’t apologize for it, not ever.”

often. He’s been helping his parents at the restaurant this week, and because of my self-enforced slut-shaming, I again missed the opportunity to meet them. What in the hell am I going to say? “Hi, I’m Cecelia. So nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Roberts. Why, yes, I am the tramp ass ho having wild, animalistic sex with your son amongst the trees. Why, just the other day we tossed his best friend into the mix—it was quite delightful. And your green bean casserole is delish.”

The morals we’re taught early on are meant to guide us, and without them, we’re directionless. But Sean doesn’t follow the norm or the guidelines that most of society adheres to. He’s an independent thinker who navigates his life by his gut, living decision by decision. He lives unapologetically in the grey. So does Dominic. But what can that mean long term? What of soulmates? The love of your life? Your one and only? These sayings exist for a reason as well. One.

And what better way to pass a day in stormy weather than curling up with a gorgeous man and getting lost in words.

“My rainy days are yours, Dominic. If you want them.” “It rains a lot here,” he says after a few long beats. “Fine with me. But my sunny days belong to Sean.”

First of all, he cheated,” Mom points out. “More importantly, he couldn’t handle her personality or her beliefs, or her strength; therefore, he did not deserve her.

Drunk with lust and love, I tap-danced along the devil’s tongue only to end up in his throat.

boy crazy to man insanity.

“You’re the only woman who can keep this bird circling back. Know that, Cecelia.”