It was a few nights to Raven’s eighteenth birthday.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, sewing a tear in the sleeve of one of her dresses.
On the floor, the Blackthorn family dog lay at Raven’s feet, his tongue dragging lazily across her ankle.
“Stop that,” Raven muttered, pushing a rusted needle through the hem of the dress.
The dog ignored her.
Raven smiled faintly and went back to sewing.
The mark on her palm had stopped glowing earlier that day, but she still found herself checking it.
Just as she passed, a needle passed through the fabric.
There was a bang and her door slammed against the wall.
Raven jumped from her position, eyes wide with fear.
The dog sprang to its feet.
Leon stood in the doorway.
The first thing Raven noticed was the bottle in his hand.
The second was t
