The Raven

The Raven
Astrid POV

Archie was the first to break the heavy silence as we slipped out of Donovan’s office, his voice light, teasing, almost too casual after what had just gone down.
“Well,” he said, glancing back at the door we had just shut behind us. “I guess the headmaster and Professor Sera can continue doing whatever very professional work we interrupted them from.”
Dove snorted, smacking him square on the backside. “Archie!”
“Ow—hey!” he yelped, rubbing the spot with a wounded expression before breaking into a grin. “What? Someone had to say it!”
A ripple of laughter broke through us then, small and fragile but real. For just a heartbeat, it almost felt normal again.
But then reality came crashing back.
I let out a sigh that hollowed out my chest. “It’s fine,” I murmured, forcing a smile even though the edges of it trembled. “I’ll survive this. I have to.”
The words felt heavier than I wanted them to, and the way Killian and Jason both glanced at me told me they heard what I wasn’t saying—that surviving without their touch already felt like drowning in silence.
We moved on, the group filing down the wide stone steps and into the courtyard, the air cool and sharp with morning frost. Students were already crossing through in clusters, laughter and chatter weaving around us like threads of another life we no longer lived.
And then Dove stilled. Her sharp intake of breath made me follow her gaze.
There, perched on the marble fountain, was a raven.
Its feathers weren’t just black—they were ink, rippling with a strange liquid sheen that shimmered wrong against the light. Its head cocked as we neared, and I froze. Its eyes glowed a sick, unnatural red, like embers burning in the sockets of a corpse.
Before any of us could move, its wings snapped open. With a harsh caw that rattled the courtyard, it dropped something onto the ground in front of us.
A scroll. No ribbon. No seal. Just rolled parchment, waiting.
No one dared move at first. Even the background chatter of students seemed to fade away, swallowed by the weight of the moment.
Finally, Jason bent and picked it up, his movements cautious, tense. He unrolled it.
One line. One sentence written in bold, spidery ink that seemed to seep into the parchment itself like veins.
“The Little Star belongs to us.”
The words stabbed through me like ice. My breath hitched, shallow, sharp, my chest tightening as if the ink had leapt from the page straight into my skin.
“The Little Star,” Dove whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes darted toward me, wide, terrified. “They mean you.”
My stomach lurched, bile burning at the back of my throat. I didn’t need anyone to explain. I knew.
It was me. Always me.
Killian groaned suddenly, his body doubling over as he pressed a hand hard against his temple. The sound ripped through me, guttural and raw, and I darted toward him instinctively—only to stop short, remembering. I couldn’t touch him. I couldn’t help.
“Killian?” I gasped, my hand half-raised, shaking.
His jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut. “It’s—” His breath shuddered, his body trembling with the effort of standing upright. “His voice. He’s… pushing through.”
Jason caught his shoulder before he could stumble, steadying him, his own face pale with rage.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding like a war drum. The raven let out another low, guttural caw, then launched into the air with a powerful beat of wings, vanishing into the grey sky as though it had never been.
But the message remained.
The weight of those words burned into me, colder and heavier than even the fire of my cursed bond.
“The Little Star belongs to us.”
Us.
Not just one. Many.
The Vampire Lord wasn’t alone.
And whatever game he was playing… it had only just begun.

Dove POV

The air was razor-thin after that raven.
I could feel it clinging to us, cloying, sharp, almost metallic in my mouth. The parchment still lay in Jason’s grip, but the words might as well have been carved into Astrid’s skin for how shaken she looked.
And then Killian—oh, Killian was already cracking. His chest heaved, his shoulders squared as his eyes blazed with something dark and feral.
“That’s it.” His voice was a low growl, vibrating the space between us. “I’ve had enough of his games. Enough of these messages and threats. If the Vampire Lord wants to make his claim, then we’ll bring the fight to him. No more waiting.”
Jason’s head snapped toward his brother, eyes wide, jaw tight. “Are you insane? We don’t even know where he’s moving from, or what he’s planning. Charging blindly is exactly what he wants us to do.”
Killian bared his teeth, shoving off Jason’s steadying hand. “You think sitting back while he taunts us is better? You think waiting until he’s strong enough to rip her from us is safer?”
The tension cracked between them like lightning, two storms colliding, neither willing to yield.
Astrid winced at their voices, her fingers curling into her palm—the palm with the darkening mark that had already stolen her touch from them. She stepped forward, her voice shaking but steady enough to cut through their growls.
“Wait—hold on. You’re both missing the obvious here.”
Killian turned to her, still trembling with fury, but her words pulled him short.
“Training,” Jason said, the word taut but firm. “We need to strengthen you, Astrid. If he comes for you, you’ll need to fight him. Not just run. Not just hide. Fight.”
Astrid stared at him, incredulous, and then she laughed once—sharp, humorless. “Oh, great. Train me? Who’s gonna do that, Jason? Because unless you’ve forgotten, I can’t even touch either of you without my hand feeling like it’s being burned from the inside out.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and for a heartbeat, she looked smaller than I’d ever seen her. Not weak—never weak—but crushed beneath something no one her age should have to bear.
Jason’s mouth parted, words caught in his throat.
Killian groaned, fists clenching, his fury breaking into something deeper. “Damn it!” The sound tore from him, half-snarl, half-despair, as he raked a hand through his hair. His chest rose and fell in heaving breaths, every ounce of him screaming that he hated this. That he hated being helpless.
I swallowed hard, watching them all—their bond stretched so taut it hurt even me to see.
Because Astrid wasn’t wrong. She needed training, protection, preparation.
But who could give it to her if the only ones bound to her couldn’t even touch her?
And the truth hung heavy, unspoken, in all of us.
If they didn’t find an answer soon, Astrid would be forced to face the Vampire Lord alone.