Tobias Black had been back in Corveth Harbor for three hours, and already the town was crawling under his skin.
He sat at the end of the bar in The Broken Oar, nursing his second beer, trying to become part of the furniture. The lake town hadn't changed—same salt-rotted docks, same fog that rolled in like it had business here, same secrets buried so deep you could taste them in the water. He'd sworn he'd never come back. Sworn a lot of things, actually.
His hands were steady now. That was good. He needed them steady.
Through the window, twilight bled into the harbor. Fishing boats rocked in their slips. Tourists laughed on the pier, taking photos, completely unaware that some towns had teeth. That some of the locals weren't exactly local anymore.
That some things that left didn't stay gone.
He was on his third beer when the bartender—gray-haired, stone-faced—leaned against the bar and studied him a little too long. Tobias didn't meet his eyes. In Corveth Harbor, you learned early: don't look too long, don't ask too much, and for fuck's sake, don't come back.
But here he was.
His gear sat in the truck outside—guitar, amp, microphone. Gravefeather was playing tonight, their first show in two years. His bandmates were probably already setting up. He should be helping. Instead, he was here, drinking, waiting for the feeling in his chest to settle. The one that said he'd made a terrible mistake.
The one that said something was watching.
The bell above the door chimed. Tobias glanced over.
She walked in like she owned the place—raven-black hair, gothic gown flowing around her legs, knee-high leather boots clicking against the floor. She moved with purpose toward the back rooms, and for three seconds the rest of the bar ceased to exist.
"Don't even think it." The bartender's voice cut through his thoughts.
"Huh?"
"Out of your league, bud." A dry chuckle. "Her name's Ella Grace. Old blood. One of the founding families." He set down the glass he'd been polishing. "In Corveth Harbor, bloodlines matter. You're either born into the right family, or you're nothing. And trust me—she wouldn't be caught dead with someone who doesn't have a pedigree."
The words landed like a slap. Corveth Harbor, Maine. The place he'd spent years trying to forget. He'd run to New Hampshire to figure his shit out, and here he was—right back where it started. The bartender had to know who he was. Had to be playing dumb.
Tobias finished his beer and pushed the empty bottle across the bar. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket.
"Bill, when my father comes in, tell him I said hi."
The glass slipped from the bartender's hand. Didn't break—just hit the bar with a dull thunk and rolled.
Billy Myers stared at him. Really stared. His face went pale, then flushed, then pale again.
"Black." The word came out barely above a whisper. "Tobias Black."
"In the flesh."
Billy's eyes darted to the door, the windows, back to Tobias. His hand trembled as he reached for the glass. "You shouldn't be here."
"Yeah, I've heard."
"No, you don't—" Billy leaned in close, voice dropping. "Your kind was wiped out. Every last one. If the families find out you're back—"
"They'll what?" Tobias stood, dropping another twenty on the bar. "Kill me again?"
He walked toward the door.
Behind him, Billy's voice cracked: "Your father would've wanted you to stay gone, Toby."
Ella Grace slammed through the back room door hard enough to rattle the frame. Her father sat at the card table with two other officers, chips and cash scattered between them. Illegal as hell. But when you wore the sheriff's badge, you made your own rules.
She planted herself in front of the table. Arms crossed. Boot tapping a sharp rhythm against the floor. Twenty-three years old and still being paraded around like a prize mare. Still having her life mapped out by men who saw her as currency, not a person.
Erick lifted his head from his cards. Their eyes met. His smile died.
"Date not work out, honey?"
"Asmodeus Graves is a fucking asshole."
The words came out hot and sharp. Her father wanted in with the Graves family—for what reason, she couldn't begin to guess and didn't care. Power. Money. A seat at their table. Whatever it was, it wasn't worth this. Wasn't worth her.
She'd spent her whole life being groomed for this. The right clothes. The right schools. The right smile at the right parties. All so she could be handed off to whichever founding family offered the best alliance.
She wanted to leave. Pack a bag, get in her car, and drive until Corveth Harbor was nothing but a dark smudge in her rearview mirror. She wanted to make her own choices. Date who she wanted. Be with someone who saw her—actually saw her—not just her last name and what it could do for them.
But leaving meant losing everything. Her trust fund. Her family. The only home she'd ever known.
So she stayed. And she seethed.
Her foot tapped faster. Her jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached.
Maybe she'd go home with the next stranger she met. That'd teach him. Show him she wasn't some obedient daughter who'd smile and spread her legs for whoever offered the best deal.
She shot him a final glare. "I'm going to the mall. Don't wait up."
"Don't spend too much, honey." Erick laughed and returned to his cards.
Ella stormed back through the bar and dropped onto a stool. "Bill. The usual."
She slapped her credit card on the bar.
Billy mixed without asking—tequila, vodka, whatever looked volatile. He slid the shot glass across to her.
"Right up, Miss Grace."
"It's Ella." She threw back the shot and slammed the glass down hard enough to crack it.
She needed to burn off steam. The mall would do—new outfit for tonight's show. Some band she'd never heard of was playing. Maybe she'd find a groupie looking for midnight fun. Anything to forget Asmodeus Graves existed.
At the Graves Estate, Asmodeus stood at his study window, watching fog roll in from the harbor. His scotch sat untouched on the desk.
"She'll come around." He said it to the glass, to the night. To himself.
The door opened without a knock. Only one person in Corveth Harbor did that.
Moira Graves moved through the study like smoke, her presence filling the room before her voice did. "Will she?"
Asmodeus didn't turn. "The sheriff's desperate. He'll make her see reason."
"Erick Grace is a drunk with a badge." Moira poured herself a drink, the crystal decanter chiming softly. "His daughter has more spine than he does. That's the problem."
"That's why we need her." Asmodeus finally faced his mother. "The Grace name still means something in this town. Their bloodline goes back as far as ours. With the sheriff's cooperation and Ella as family, we control the law, the council, the harbor. Everything."
Moira's smile was sharp. "And if she refuses?"
"She won't."
"She already did." Moira circled the desk, one finger trailing along its edge. "I could make her willing. A simple working. She'd walk down the aisle smiling."
"No." Asmodeus's voice hardened. "We need her to choose this. A forced bond weakens everything. The other families would smell it."
Moira set down her glass. "Then perhaps we need to remind her what happens to girls who refuse the Graves family." Her smile turned cold. "The Blackwood family owes us a favor."
Asmodeus met his mother's eyes. Saw the calculation there, the willingness to do what he wouldn't say aloud.
"Give me two weeks," he said. "I'll handle Ella Grace."
"Two weeks." Moira's eyes glittered. "Then we do this my way."
Tobias went to the one place he swore he'd never return to: Corveth Harbor Cemetery.
The headstone sat beneath an oak tree, moss creeping up one side. Maris Black, beloved mother. The dates carved beneath made his chest tight—she'd been thirty-four. Younger than he was now.
He'd come back for the band. That's what he told himself. The Murder—his band, the name a bitter joke now—had a gig at The Broken Oar, and Raven had begged him to come home for it. One show, Toby. That's all.
But that was bullshit, and he knew it.
He came back because six months ago, a letter arrived at his apartment in Seattle. No return address. Just three words in his mother's handwriting: They killed me.
Impossible. She'd been dead fifteen years.
But the handwriting was hers. He'd checked it against every birthday card, every note she'd tucked into his lunchbox as a kid. Perfect match.
Someone wanted him to know. Someone wanted him back in Corveth Harbor.
Tobias knelt and pressed his palm against the cold granite. His father's excessive drinking, the whispered arguments he'd heard as a kid, the way the Graves family had shown up at the funeral with their expensive flowers and fake sympathy—it all pointed one direction.
"I'm going to find out what they did to you, Ma," he whispered. "I promise."
He closed his eyes. Let the tears come.
Footsteps behind him. Close.
Tobias stood and spun, fist already cocked.
"Told you never to sneak up on me."
Raven Callaway stood there with his hands up, grinning. "Rumor around town was you were back." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Figured I'd find you here."
Tobias's jaw tightened. "I am the only one left. The Graves made sure of that."
"That's what they wanted you to think." Raven's voice dropped. "The Murder isn't just our band name, Toby. It's what we are. What we've always been."
The word hit him like a fist. Murder. The old term for a flock of crows. For their people, before the extermination.
"That's not funny."
"I'm not joking." Raven flicked ash onto the pavement. "There are seven of us left in Corveth Harbor. We stayed hidden. Kept our heads down. The Graves think they wiped us out thirty years ago, and we let them keep thinking that."
Tobias grabbed his arm. "Seven? Who?"
"Me. You. Silas—you remember him, the drummer? He's one of us. There's old Mrs. Chen who runs the laundromat. The twins who work the docks, Marcus and Maya. And..." Raven hesitated. "Your mom was trying to find the others when she died. She was building something. A real Murder, not just survivors hiding in the shadows."
The world tilted. "She was organizing?"
"Yeah. And the Graves found out." Raven met his eyes. "That letter you got? It wasn't from her. But it was from someone who knew what she was doing. Someone who wants you to finish it."
Tobias's hands shook. Fifteen years he'd thought he was alone. Fifteen years of running, of pretending to be human, of burying the thing inside him that wanted to spread wings and scream at the sky.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You left, man. You got out. We thought... we thought maybe that was better. One of us free." Raven's voice cracked. "But you came back. And now the Graves are making moves again. They're consolidating power, buying up the town, and they're planning something big."
"What?"
"We don't know yet. But it involves the Grace girl." Raven dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot. "Come on. Let's get that soda. We've got a lot to talk about."
---
Ella slammed her apartment door and went straight for the closet. The dress pooled at her feet. She kicked it aside.
Black leather pants. Black boots. A tight black top that didn't scream princess or trophy wife. The leather jacket over her shoulders. Hair up in a messy bun. In the bathroom, thick eyeliner—raccoon rings under both eyes—and fresh black lipstick.
Better. This was her.
She grabbed her keys.
The Dodge Hellcat roared to life. The sound vibrated through her chest, drowning out the morning's anger. She checked her makeup in the rearview. Flawless.
Tires squealed as she peeled out. The engine growled. Sixty in a thirty-five. Let them try to pull her over.
Seventy. Eighty.
Her hands gripped the wheel. She wasn't running. Just needed to move, needed to feel something other than her father's expectations and Asmodeus's cold stare.
A black SUV appeared in her rearview.
She eased off the gas. Three car lengths back. Matching her speed.
Hard right. The SUV followed.
Another turn. Another. Side streets until she hit the main strip.
The SUV was gone.
Paranoid.
She pulled into the mall parking lot. Sat there, engine idling, scanning. Nothing. No black SUV. No one watching.
She killed the engine, grabbed her sunglasses, and got out.
The mall's air conditioning hit her like a wall. Ella pushed through the double doors, sunglasses still on. A few people glanced her way. She ignored them.
Something prickled at the base of her skull.
She kept walking. Past the food court. Past the jewelry kiosk where some kid was trying to sell cubic zirconia to tourists. The feeling didn't fade.
Someone was watching.
She stopped at a store window, pretended to look at shoes. Used the reflection to scan behind her.
There. Two men. Massive. Suits that didn't fit right, bulging at the shoulders. They weren't shopping. They were tracking.
Her pulse kicked up. She moved. Fast walk, not quite a run. Took a left toward the north exit.
The men followed.
Ella's hand went to her phone. Who could she call? Her father? He'd probably sent them. Asmodeus? He definitely sent them.
She turned a corner—
And nearly collided with someone.
"Sorry—" The word died.
It was him. The guy from The Broken Oar. Dark hair, leather jacket, that same dangerous edge.
His eyes locked on hers. Then past her. His whole body went rigid.
"Move." His voice was low, urgent.
"What—"
"Now."
The two men rounded the corner. Saw her. Saw him.
"Miss Grace." The first one's voice was gravel. "Your father wants you home."
"I'm shopping."
"Now, Miss Grace."
The second man reached for her arm.
Tobias stepped between them.
The movement was so fast, so fluid, it didn't register until he was already there. His hand caught the man's wrist mid-grab.
"She said no."
The man tried to pull free. Couldn't. His face went red.
"This doesn't concern you," the first man said. His hand went inside his jacket.
Tobias twisted. The second man's wrist snapped—the sound like a branch breaking. The man screamed. Tobias threw him into his partner. Both went down hard.
People scattered. Someone shrieked.
The first man was up fast. Gun clearing his jacket.
Tobias moved.
Not human movement. Something else. Something wrong.
He closed the distance before the gun was level. His hand clamped on the man's throat, lifted him off the ground. The gun clattered to the floor.
"Run." Tobias didn't look at Ella. His voice had changed. Deeper. Rougher.
The man in his grip was choking, feet kicking.
"I said run."
Ella couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Tobias's shoulders were broadening. His jacket straining. The hand around the man's throat was darkening, fingers elongating.
The man's eyes went wide with terror.
"Jesus Christ—" someone whispered.
Tobias dropped him. The man hit the ground gasping.
"Go." Tobias's voice was barely human now.
Ella ran.
Behind her, screaming. Crashing. The sound of something large and fast tearing through the mall.
She hit the exit at full sprint, burst into sunlight. Her car. She needed her car.
Footsteps behind her. Heavy. Wrong.
She spun—
Tobias. Still human-shaped, but wrong. His eyes were black. Completely black. His breathing was ragged, steam rising from his skin in the cool air.
"Your car. Where?"
She pointed. Couldn't speak.
He grabbed her hand. His skin was burning hot. He pulled her across the parking lot.
The black SUV screeched around the corner. Heading straight for them.
Tobias shoved her toward her Hellcat. "Drive. Don't stop. Don't look back."
"What are you—"
His back arched. Bones cracked. His jacket split down the spine.
Black feathers erupted from his skin.
Ella's keys were in her hand. She didn't remember getting them. The car door opened. She fell into the driver's seat.
In the rearview, Tobias was changing. His body convulsing, expanding. The SUV was twenty feet away. Fifteen.
Feathers. Everywhere. His face elongating into something with a beak.
Ten feet.
A massive black crow—bigger than a man, bigger than anything natural—exploded from where Tobias had been standing. It launched itself at the SUV.
Ella's engine roared to life. She floored it.
The last thing she saw was the crow's talons punching through the SUV's windshield.
Then she was on the main road, doing ninety, hands shaking so hard she could barely hold the wheel.
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
She answered without thinking. "Hello?"
"Keep driving." Tobias's voice. Human again. Breathless. "Don't go home. Don't go anywhere they'd expect."
"What are you?"
Silence. Then: "Someone who just made things a lot worse for both of us."
The line went dead.
Ella's hands were still shaking. She pulled into an empty lot, killed the engine. Sat there. Breathing.
Her phone buzzed again. Text message. Also Tobias.
Motel off Route 9. Room 12. We need to talk.
She stared at the message.
Every instinct screamed at her to drive to the police. To her father. To anyone.
But those men had been sent by her father. Or Asmodeus. Same thing.
And Tobias had just saved her life.
By turning into a giant fucking crow.
She started the engine.
Route 9 was twenty minutes away.
Tobias pulled into the motel lot thirty minutes later. Empty except for his truck.
He found an old hoodie in the back seat and threw it on. His boots were shredded—dried blood crusted around the torn leather where his talons had burst through.
Room 12. He jammed the key in the lock, shouldered the door open.
Wood paneling. Cracks spiderwebbing the walls. A couch that had seen better decades.
Musk. Old cigarettes.
Someone else.
His hand went to the knife at his belt. The room looked untouched—magazines still fanned on the table, TV remote where he'd left it. But the scent was fresh. An hour old, maybe less.
Someone had been here.
He checked the closet. Under the bed. Behind the shower curtain. Nothing missing. Nothing disturbed.
Just the smell.
The Graves knew exactly where he was staying.
He grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge and drained half of it. His reflection caught in the bathroom mirror—pupils still blown wide from the shift, feathers clinging to his hairline.
He needed to wash the blood off before the show tonight, but the shower could wait.
He couldn't stop thinking about her face in the parking garage. The way she'd looked at him when the feathers started.
Like he was a monster.
He was.
He grabbed another beer and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door.
Waiting.
---
Zaron's hands strangled the steering wheel. Death metal screamed from the speakers, but it couldn't drown the voice in his head telling him he was fucked.
The Graves mansion rose against the twilight like a tombstone. Gothic spires clawed at the sky. Gargoyles perched on the iron gate, their stone eyes tracking his van as he approached.
The gate was black. Spiked. Waiting.
His teeth ground together hard enough to crack.
He'd worked for the Graves for three years. Maybe that bought him something. Maybe they'd give him another chance.
Maybe he was delusional.
The gate groaned open before he could announce himself.
Zaron's stomach dropped. They were expecting him. They always knew.
The driveway climbed the hill in a steep, winding ascent. The mansion grew with each turn—all sharp angles and windows that reflected nothing but darkness. Gargoyles lined the path, their mouths open in silent screams.
His hands were slick on the wheel. His heart hammered a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music still bleeding from his speakers.
The van felt too small. The driveway felt endless.
When he finally reached the top, the building loomed over him like a judge over a condemned man.
He parked. Cut the engine.
The silence pressed against his eardrums.
He climbed the stone steps. Reached for the door.
It opened before he could knock.
The entrance hall was empty. Dark wood. Shadows that moved wrong.
Movement flickered in the library—candlelight, maybe. A silhouette.
Zaron's boots echoed on the marble as he crossed the threshold. The door shut behind him. No wind. No hand.
Just shut.
He walked toward the library. Each step felt like wading through water.
Moira stood among the shelves, a leather-bound tome open in her pale hands. She didn't look up.
"Did you get the girl?" Her voice was silk over razors.
Zaron's throat tightened. "There was a complication."
The book snapped shut. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
Moira turned. Her eyes were black from edge to edge.
"Complication."
"Someone interfered. Some punk." Zaron's voice cracked. He hated himself for it. "He shifted. Turned into a bird."
Moira went very still.
"A bird. Not a question. A dissection.
"A crow. Big one. Tore through my guys like—"
"We exterminated the were-crows." Each word dropped like a stone into deep water. "Burned their nests. Salted the earth. There are no more were-crows."
"I know what I saw."
Moira's head tilted. Something in her face shifted—something that wasn't quite human sliding beneath the skin.
"Then you saw a ghost, Zaron." She smiled. All teeth. "Or you're lying to cover your incompetence."
"I'm not—"
"Get out." She turned back to her books, dismissing him with a wave. "And pray we don't find out you're wrong."
Zaron didn't need to be told twice.
---
Ella sat on the edge of her bed, still wrapped in the towel. Her skin was cold now. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her hollow.
She kept seeing it. The way Tobias moved. The way he'd stepped between her and those enforcers like it was nothing. Like she mattered. Like she wasn't just Asmodeus Graves's property.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She ignored it.
There was a band playing at The Broken Oar tonight. Maybe his band. She should stay home. Lock the doors. Hide.
But hiding was what her father wanted. What Asmodeus expected.
Fuck that.
She stood and opened her dresser. Jeans. A pink shirt. An old hoodie with some '80s rock band logo fading across the front. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screamed come find me.
Her mother's necklace sat in the nightstand drawer. Silver chain, two doves. They'll protect you, her mother had said. Ella didn't know what that meant. Didn't know if she believed it.
But Tobias wasn't a dove. He was something else entirely.
Her phone rang again. She glanced at the screen.
Dad.
She let it ring. Dressed quickly—jeans, pink shirt, hoodie. The dove necklace went on last, cold against her skin. Her mother's words echoed: They'll protect you. She still didn't understand. Didn't matter. She was going to that show.
---
Tobias dragged the eyeliner across his lid, wincing as his shoulder twitched. Still sore. The transformation had torn through him fast—too fast. His muscles felt like they'd been wrung out and left to dry.
He capped the liner and reached for the black lipstick. The face staring back at him in the mirror looked ready for a show. Leather jacket, Gravefeather logo stitched across the back—a crow clutching a guitar in its talons. Simple. Clean.
But all he could see was Ella's face when the feathers came. That split second before she ran. The way her eyes went wide.
Like he was a monster.
He checked his pockets. Phone. Wallet. Everything in place.
A knock at the door.
Tobias froze. No one knew he was here. He'd been careful.
Another knock. Sharper this time. Impatient.
"Keep your pants on," he muttered, crossing the room.
Third knock as he reached for the handle.
Raven stood in the doorway, leather jacket over a Gravefeather shirt, hands shoved in his pockets.
"You look like shit," he said.
"Thanks. Come in." Tobias stepped aside.
Raven walked past him, eyes scanning the motel room. "Nice place. Real classy."
"It's got a bed and a shower. What do you want?"
"Came to check on you before the show." Raven dropped onto the couch. "Heard you went full bird at the mall."
Tobias shut the door. "News travels fast."
"In this town? Always." Raven pulled two beers from inside his jacket, tossed one over. "Figured you could use this."
Tobias caught it, popped the tab. The cold bite felt good going down. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing Raven.
"So?" Raven said. "You gonna tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"
"Graves sent enforcers after Ella Grace. I stopped them."
"By shifting in broad daylight."
"Yeah."
Raven took a long pull of his beer. "The Graves are gonna be watching tonight. Closely."
"Let them watch," Tobias said, a hard edge in his voice.
"Why'd you save her?" Raven asked, studying him.
Tobias shrugged. "She didn't deserve what was coming. Those guys weren't playing fair."
Raven nodded. "Right thing to do. But be ready. They don't let shit like this slide."
They sat in silence for a moment, the beer cold between them.
"Do the others know I'm back?" Tobias finally asked.
"They'll be at the show tonight. Watching." Raven leaned forward. "If the Graves try something, you won't be alone."
Relief washed over Tobias. "I thought I was the last one."
"We let you leave because you needed out," Raven said. "But we're still here. The Murder doesn't abandon its own."
Tobias looked at him. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"You weren't ready," Raven said. "But you are now."
Tobias stood, something resolute in his movement. "I'm done running. I'm gonna play tonight, let the Graves know I'm back. Then I'm asking questions about my mother's death."
Raven grinned. "It's about damn time."
He stood, clapped Tobias on the shoulder. "Welcome home."
After he left, Tobias stared at his reflection. No more running. The Graves wanted a show? He'd give them one.
---
The Broken Oar was packed.
Tobias pushed through the door and stopped. Every table full. Bodies pressed against the bar. The air thick with sweat and beer and something else—anticipation. Hunger.
He felt the weight of their stares as he moved through the crowd. Some curious. Some hostile. All watching.
Then he saw her.
Ella stood near the stage, black leather jacket over a band tee, dark lipstick, eyes lined in kohl. She looked like she belonged in the front row of every show he'd ever played. Their eyes met. She didn't smile. Didn't look away. Just held his gaze for three heartbeats before someone moved between them.
When the crowd shifted again, Tobias saw him.
Asmodeus Graves stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, perfectly still. The chaos of the bar seemed to bend around him. He smiled. Slow. Deliberate. A promise written in the curve of his lips.
Tobias climbed onto the small stage. Picked up his guitar. The weight of it felt right in his hands—familiar, solid, real.
He stepped up to the mic. The lights went down.
The first chord rang out like a declaration of war.