Raven's POV
Dean.
For a second the name didn’t make sense in my mouth, like a word in a language I used to know but had let go rusty. Dean, who’d ridden at Jax’s right hand since before I was even a name whispered in the Iron Howlers’ chapter house. Dean, who’d taught Jax to throw a knife when they were both still teenagers trying too hard to look tough. Dean, standing in a busted doorway with Ronan’s blood-soaked army at his back, looking at me like he’d never once pretended to be anything other than exactly this.
“No.” Jax’s voice came out wrecked, somewhere between a question and a plea. He’d gone still in the middle of the fight, blood dripping off his knuckles, staring at the man who used to be his brother in every way that mattered except blood. “Dean. Tell me this is some kind of
