The Raven Game by Jessica Sorensen

Raven

Jax jerks back at the sound then moves fluidly, reaching down and drawing a knife from his ankle holster. Hunter and Zay follow his lead, grabbing their knives.

“You guys have been carrying weapons on you the entire time?” I question, eyeing the knife I dropped on the floor and trying to figure out a way to get to it inconspicuously. But before I can, Hunter bends down and scoops it up.

I curl my fingers into fists, preparing to hit him, although hitting him will probably be a little less satisfying than when I hit Jax, you know, since I kissed Hunter. Then again, the fact that he kissed me when he clearly knew who I was pisses me off.

I’m one second away from smacking him when he turns the knife around in his hand so the handle is facing me. Then he extends it toward me.

“Whatever you do, keep ahold of this.” He offers me an apologetic look.

Smashing my lips together, I snatch the knife from him. “Why? What’s about to happen?”

His throat muscles work as he swallows hard. “I think our bosses might be starting the game again.”

The game.

The game.

The killing game.

Blood on my hands.

Blood on their hands.

My blood on their hands—

The unknown sender said something about a game, and if I wanted to survive, I shouldn’t trust the Raven Three.

“Raven.” Hunter yanks me from my thoughts.

I look at him and see remorse consuming him.

“We didn’t know for sure that it was you until barely. We weren’t playing you.”

I feel this strange warmth swelling in my chest. I don’t know where it stems from or why it appears now. And I don’t get time to analyze it, because the music playing suddenly stops and is filled by banging and breaking windows.

“We need to get to a better room.” Jax strides forward, heading to who knows where—this house is just a maze.

Zay mumbles something under his breath then hurries after him.

I stand where I am, unsure if I want to follow them or not.

“Come on, sweetheart; you’ll be safer with us.” Hunter offers me a comforting smile and his hand.

Every bone in my body wants to turn and run the other way, but as more banging and the sounds of windows shattering fill the air, I reach out and place my hand in his.

“I’ll never hurt you, Raven.”

Relief washes over Hunter’s features as he clutches my hand. Then he starts down the hallway in the direction Zay and Jax took off in, taking long strides and towing me with him. We say nothing, moving quickly and nervously, and while I’m not sure what’s about to happen, I can feel that it’s going to be bad.

And those fears are confirmed as we pass by a room with an open door. That’s when I see why it sounds like all the windows are breaking. Because they are, and people dressed in hoodies with X’s carved into their foreheads are climbing through them.

My feet slow to an almost stop as shock whips through me. “Holy shit—”

Hunter yanks on my arm as he starts to run. I move with him, my boots scuffing against the floor.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Hunter mumbles as he veers right then left.

I’m about to ask him where we’re going when Jax and Zay come into view. They’re standing in the middle of the hallway and are being surrounded by the people in hoodies.

“Fuck,” Hunter says as he grinds to a halt just behind Zay and Jax, who are backing up toward us, because it’s the only open exit.

But then more hooded figures pour in from behind us until the four of us are surrounded. They’re armed with knives, that much I can see now, and they have masks pulled up over their mouths so all I can see are their eyes and the X’s carved into their foreheads.

I remember these guys from my memories. Although, I’m not sure if they’re actually human.

I swallow hard at that realization.

If they’re not human, then what are they?

“Well, I guess we’re not hiding then,” Zay mumbles as he clutches the handle of his knife and eyes the men.

Jax stands with his back to Zay, his knife poised in front of him. “No, I guess we’re not. The question now is: do we go down with a fight or just surrender?”

Zay rolls his eyes. “Why would you even ask that?”

Jax shrugs, his gaze flicking to me. “Circumstances are different right now. And I know you can’t remember everything, but I’m starting to, and I—”

“I am, too,” Zay cuts him off, his muscles wound up into knots as he eyes the figures, which weirdly aren’t really doing anything except watching us.

Zay and Jax glance at Hunter, who gives a subtle nod. “I am, as well.” Hunter grazes his finger against the back of my hand. “She is, too, so I really doubt it’s a coincidence. It’s got to be the song. I mean, Zay’s therapist once suggested that there may be a trigger for him. The song could be it, right?”

Zay looks at Jax, who rubs his lips together. None of them say anything. They just stand there, doing nothing while these figures close in on us.

“Um, I hate to break up you guys’ little eureka moment, but shouldn’t you be more concerned about the creepy X men.” As I became aware of what I just said, I add, “Well, not like the X-Men. I mean, like these dudes with X’s on their foreheads. You know, who are surrounding us with knives in their hands and …” I trail off as Hunter looks at me with a hint of amusement. Jax, though, is staring at me with that indecipherable expression that he’s so fond of, and Zay is gaping at me like I’ve gone crazy. And honestly, at this point, I sort of agree with him.

“We know you didn’t mean the actual X-Men,” Jax tells me with this weird look on his face, almost like he’s amused, but I’m probably just reading him wrong. Because seriously, who could be amused in this situation? Well, except for Hunter, since he’s grinning at me like a total nutjob.

“What?” I say to him defensively.

He just shakes his head. “I was just thinking how, even in the middle of hell, you’re still completely and utterly adorable.”

I wait for Jax to ream into him for that, but either he’s too distracted or has decided to hell with the rules for now.

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the problem instead of how amusing my mouth is?” I question with an arch of my brow.

Hunter sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “I have so many comments I want to say about that statement.”

“Keep them to yourself for now,” Jax tells him, taking his gaze off me and fixing it on the hooded figures. “We need a plan … If memory serves me right, these things won’t attack unless we try to escape, or at least until that song turns on again.”

“You’re right,” Zay agrees, his back to Jax’s. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not going to try to escape, right?”

Jax lets out a hollow laugh. “None of us are going with them. And we’re sticking together, like we always do. The three of us against the world, remember?”

Zay gives a nod, tightening his grip on the handle of his knife.

The three of us.

The three of them.

Not four.

I’m not included in their group anymore.

Maybe I never was.

I need to run.

I eye a gap between two taller figures. Maybe I can fit between them. Will they grab me, though?

Images flood my mind of running from these men before. I had a knife in my hand, like I do now, only I’m much younger. And as they reach me, I spin around and slice one of their necks open—

“Four,” Zay abruptly says, scrubbing his free hand over his head, his eyes flitting to me. “We’re not three anymore.”

Out of all of them, I expected him to be the last one to stick up for me.

He looks at me.

They all do.

A beat goes by, and then Jax says, “You’re right.” Then he redirects his attention back to the figures.

Zay stares at me for a beat before doing the same.

Hunter brushes his finger along the back of my hand.

“We’ve got you,”he mouths to me.“No one will hurt you again.”

I’m not sure if I believe him. I want to, but I learned a long time ago not to want things.

No, there’s no point in putting my wellbeing in someone else’s hands so they could easily break it. If I want to stay safe, I have to take care of myself.

As if sensing this, Hunter starts to lean in but freezes as that song suddenly clicks back on.

“Shit,” Jax curses, his back stiffening.

I recall what he said, how they’ll attack only if the song turns on or if we try to escape.

I trap my breath in my chest, waiting for them to move toward us. But they don’t. Only one rushes forward, but not at us. At me.

What happens next, I have no damn clue. It’s like I’m not Ravenlee anymore, the girl who couldn’t even fight off her uncle as he pinned her to the bed. I’m someone else. Someone strong, who knows how to really fight and knows how to kick some not X-Men asses.

As the figure nears me with the knife raised, I bring my fist up and smack it against his throat. The knife falls from its hands and it hunches over. As it does, I bring my foot up and kick it in the face. It tumbles back, and even though it’s pretty much harmless at this point, I take it one step further and spin around, kicking it in the face again then dragging my knife across its face.

As crazy as this all sounds, what makes it even stranger is that, instead of blood gushing out of the wound, a dark, black liquid trickles out.

I pull a disgusted face. “What the hell is that?” I turn to the guys for an explanation.

They’re staring at me in shock, which is totally understandable, you know, since I went all ninja on some creepy human-like creature that’s now bleeding what looks like oil.

Hunter blinks, snapping out of his trance. “Well, she clearly remembers what we taught her.”

“And you clearly remember more than me,” I throw back at him, shaking my head. “Because I don’t remember you training me—”

The words are ripped from my lips as one of the figures crashes into me, wrapping its long arms around my waist. He pushes my backward, throwing me off balance, and we topple to the floor.

I grunt in pain as the figure lands on top of me and, for an instant, I want to curl up in a ball, close my eyes, and pretend this isn’t happening. But then those foreign yet familiar instincts kick in, and suddenly, I’m wrapping my arm around the figure’s neck, pushing his head down and swinging my body out from under it. I don’t stop there, either. No, I move around so I’m sitting on its back.

As I pin it down, I glance up and find that pure chaos has broken out as the other figures have started attacking the guys. Everyone is fighting, slashing their blades against the creatures’ flesh, the oily liquid weeping from the wounds and staining the floor black.

I’m living in a nightmare, I think to myself. But the thought is brief as the creature beneath me tries to push up. I grab the back of its hoodie and smack its head against the floor. It howls in pain, clawing at the floor with its overly grown fingernails.

“Ew.” I gag at the sight. “That’s so disgusting—”

I cut myself off as I spot a shadow on the floor in front of me, belonging to what I assume is a creature standing behind me.

I push up, kicking my leg out behind me, and the bottom of my boot connects with its jaw. It rushes back, and I knock the creature I’m sitting on in the back of the head, knocking it out before springing up, fists raised.

The creature barrels back at me, this time with a knife aimed at me. I do an awesome jump kick, bashing my foot into its chin. It howls out in pain but doesn’t stumble back, coming at me again while slashing the knife at me. I lift my hand to seize its wrist, and it drops it, but its creepy claws nick my arm, slicing the skin open.

Freak.

Loser.

Murderer.

For a panicking moment, I feel like I’m being pinned down on that bed again, but then I recover and kick the figure between the legs. It winces slightly but doesn’t collapse, so I’m wondering if maybe it’s female. Not that a vagina kick doesn’t hurt or anything …

Anyway…

I try another tactic, and throat punch the sucker. It makes choking sounds as it stumbles back, and I’m about to go all kickass on it when a siren echoes throughout the house. The noise is piercing and claws at my eardrums.

I cry out as I collapse to my knees, shutting my eyes.

The noise screams for quite a while, to the point where I swear my heart’s going to give out from racing at the panic of it. But then, just as rapidly as the noise and chaos crashed through the house, silence and stillness settle upon it.

I open my eyes and find the hallway in front of me empty.

What the hell—

A hand lands on my shoulder, and I curl my hands into fists as I spin around, springing to my feet.

Hunter is in front of me and hurriedly raises his hands. “Easy, sweetheart; it’s just me.” He has a cut on his forehead and his hands are covered in that black oily substance.

I keep my fists raised. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

I scan the area, seeing Zay is just to the right of Hunter and is dabbing blood off his lip with the hem of his shirt. His abs are on display, revealing these strange, angular scars across his abdomen, as if something scratched him.

Jax is standing right behind him, his dark hair a mess, blood smeared across his cheek. His eyes are on me, but his expression is unreadable, and not because it’s indifferent. No, I’ve just never seen him look this way before, which I guess makes sense since I’ve only known him for a few days … Except I haven’t. I’ve known him—them—for much longer.

“What were those things?” I ask with my hands clenched at my sides. “They weren’t human, were they?”

Hunter shakes his head, wisps of his hair falling into his eyes, one of which has a welt forming underneath. “No, they weren’t. But I have no idea what they are.” He twists around to look at Jax, lowering his hands to his sides.

“I don’t know what they’re called—my mind is still a bit hazy on the details,” Jax answers as he crosses his arms. “What I do remember, though, is that they’re part of phase one of the game.”

“Phase one?” Hunter and I say simultaneously.

Apparently, he can remember as much as I do.

Jax blows out an exhale, glass crunching underneath his boots as he steps toward us. “There are phases; tests we have to go through before we …” He wavers, his gaze fleetingly flicking to me and a frown forming on his lips. “How much can everyone remember about the game?”

“Bits and pieces.” Hunter shifts his weight, seeming uneasy. “I mean, I know that our bosses made us play. And apparently are trying to make us play again. People watch—pay to watch, I think. But the actual game itself is hazy … I do remember that they try to get us to turn on each other, and then …” He swallows audibly.

“Kill,” I finish for him.

They all look at me.

I give a hollow shrug. “I can remember some things, like blood on my hands and this need to kill …” I trail off. “How do I know how to fight like I just did? Because I do not remember having any of those skills.”

Hunter chews on his bottom lip. “Because we taught you how to fight.”

“You mean, back when my dad used to bring me to your house when I was a kid?” Speaking of which … I look at Zay. “I had a dream about you a couple of nights ago. Well, now I’m pretty sure it was a surfacing memory. A guy called you kid, and you were kind of nice to me. Oh, how the tables have turned on that one.”

He stares at me, his lips twitching. “I’m not the same person I was back then.”

“Clearly,” I say flatly.

My head is spinning as I become overwhelmed with the reality of the situation.

That most of my past is a blur.

That I was part of a disturbing game once.

That I quite possibly could’ve killed someone, but that’s sort of always been a concern, I guess.

That I can fight like a badass.

And that, apparently, inhuman creatures exist.

“Seriously, no one can remember what those things are?” I ask, partially wanting to know and partially wanting to let some secrets stay hidden in the dark.

“I think they’re called shadowed blood feeders,” Jax mutters with a crease between his brows, as if he’s puzzled himself as much as he’s puzzling me.

“Well, that sounds lovely,” I mumble, eliciting a trace of a smile from Hunter. “What are they exactly, though?”

“Experiments done by our parents, I think.” Jax looks at me again, his face masked with that odd expression.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I ask him over the faint noise of dripping water.

Where is that coming from?

Hunter’s gaze dances from me to Jax. “Yeah, what is that look on your face for?” he asks.

Zay looks at Jax, too, but doesn’t remark, simply frowning.

“There’s no look,” Jax attempts to lie in a hard tone.

I’m about to call him out on his bullshit when Hunter mutters, “What the fuck is that dripping noise?”

We all grow silent, listening. Then Jax’s eyes zero in on me. Or, well, my hand.

“You’re bleeding.” He steps toward me.

I match his step, moving back.

He freezes, shaking his head. “Stop acting like we’re going to hurt you. We’re not.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know that”—I lift a brow—“after what just happened?”

He makes a big show of sighing with annoyance. Then he hurriedly walks toward me. I take a few steps back, but ultimately, he reaches me and wraps his fingers around my wrist.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” I warn. “I may just have to use my fighting moves to put you in your place.”

He dramatically rolls his eyes as he lifts my wrist. “Who do you think taught you those moves?”

Right. Still, I can’t make much of a connection. Most of the memories are still foggy and distorted.

“Why did you teach me how to fight?” I ask quietly. “Were we like friends or something?”

Jax’s fingers briefly stiffen on my wrist before he relaxes. “We were something,” he mutters.

Sighing at his evasiveness, I look over his shoulder at Hunter, hoping he’ll give me an explanation, but he won’t even meet my gaze. So, even though I doubt he’ll tell me, I look at Zay. He’s already looking at me, his dark eyes full of remorse.

Remorse?

What the hell happened between the four of us?

“Jesus, this cut is deep,” Jax mutters, skimming his finger along the inside of my wrist.

I glance down, and my eyes widen at the split open flesh of my forearm. Blood is seeping out and trickling onto the floor, causing the dripping noise.

“One of those shadowed blood feeders cut me,” I inform him. “It doesn’t really hurt.”

“That might be because you’re in shock.” Hunter steps toward me and leans over to get a look at the wound. “Shit, that is deep.”

As they continue to examine the cut, Zay moves over beside me. He’s not looking at the cut, though, his gaze is glued to my side.

“Did they cut your side, too?” he asks. “There’s blood all over your shirt.” He reaches out and lifts the side of my shirt before I can react. You know, the side that has all those ugly words carved into my flesh. And the most current one has split back open, hence the blood all over my shirt.

“Don’t look at that,” I sputter, yanking my shirt down. But it’s too late. He’s seen it. So has Jax.

Shame and embarrassment wash over me, which pisses me off.

“That’s what your uncle did to you?” Zay bites out, his body trembling as he folds his fingers into fists.

“No,” I try to lie. “I did it to myself.” Of course, when I say the words aloud, I become aware that that doesn’t sound much better.

His gaze drops to my wrists where my other scars are hidden beneath a series of leather bands. Only, those scars are self-inflicted. Zay discovered them while we shared body heat.

“You didn’t carve those words into your side.” He carries my gaze. “Your uncle did this to you, and he’s going to pay for it.” He reaches up and brushes his knuckles across my cheekbone.

For a breathless moment, contentment sweeps through me. It’s weird, though, just like how Zay is touching me is. Everyone seems to think the same thing, too, since Jax and Hunter are staring at Zay with questioning expressions.

Exhaling shakily, Zay steps back. “I’m going to check around and make sure all the shadowed blood feeders are gone,” he mutters then spins around to bolt.

“Zay,” Hunter calls after him, his words echoing in my head.

He says something else, but I can’t tell what, my head swirling with fogginess.

“I feel weird,” I whisper, stumbling forward as dizziness swims through my brain.

Jax catches me, looping his arms around my waist. He holds me against his chest, hooking his finger beneath my chin and tilting my head up to look at him. His eyes search mine, and then panic flashes across his features.

“When the shadowed blood feeder cut you, was it with a knife?” he asks.

I lazily shake my head from side to side. “No … One of its claw things nicked me.”

His eyes fill with that look again, that one I don’t recognize yet feel like I do. He used to look at me the same way when we were younger.

“I always thought you had such sad, pretty eyes,” I mumble as my eyelids start to lower. “Oh … that’s what that look is … Sadness … Sorry I smacked your cheek. It’s all red …”

With that, darkness wraps around me and drags me under.