Read Watcher: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 1) for Free Online

rid my head of all the painful memories of Ethan. Hot Biker could have done the trick, but he didn’t want someone like me, someone “sweet.” He probably wanted a succubus in leather.
    The custard slice smelled so good. What the hell. It’s not as if a little sugar can make things worse.
    I took a big bite.
    The creamy custard filled my mouth, exploding from the edges of the pastry and coating my hands. I’d forgotten how messy these things were. And how delicious. My custard was the proper homemade stuff, flavoured with real vanilla and a hint of lemon. It didn’t come from a Sainsbury’s packet mix, like other bakeries.
    Croak, Croak!
    Below me, I heard a strange squawk. At first I thought it must have been the ducks coming back to beg for a custardy dessert, but I could still hear them flapping about in the water as they tore apart the last of the baguette. Plus, this sounded nothing like a duck. It was more of a deep, throaty croak.
    Croak! Croak! Crooooooak!
    I heard it again, louder this time, more urgent. It sounded distressed. At first, I couldn’t see where the noise came from, but then I noticed a large black lump hiding between the twisted roots of the oak tree.
    I set down my dinner and went over to investigate. As I leaned over the lump, its shape became clear. It was a raven. I’d never seen one of the huge black birds so close before, and it was even more beautiful than I imagined. It was huge, nearly the entire length of my arm, and covered in smooth feathers that appeared to be made of black silk. A frill of shaggy feathers around its throat and above its beak gave the bird a distinguished, regal air. There was a black ring around the top of its wing, almost like some kind of tag. Its long, curved black beak turned and it regarded me with a wide, watchful eye, then let out a tiny squeak, as if begging me to take pity on it.
    “What’s wrong with you, beautiful?” I asked. The raven tried to lift its wing, but could only move it a tiny bit. It hung its head, squawking again as if to assure itself that I was a friend. It was then I noticed that the beautiful jet-black feathers around the wing were matted with blood.
    “You poor thing,” I cooed, feeling foolish. As if the bird could hear me. But my voice seemed to calm it, for it hung its head again, and with a squawk of effort, lifted the edge of its wing to reveal its leg. I saw a nasty wound near the top of the thigh, a long gash that was oozing blood. Many feathers had fallen out, and those that hadn’t were snapped and coated with blood. It had clearly been attacked by something – a dog, perhaps? Sometimes people left their dogs off the leash in the park, even though the council signs prohibited it.
    The bird blinked as its eyes followed my gaze, and it gave a sad caw . My heart broke to see such a beautiful creature in pain like that. I can’t believe some bastard let his dog do this and then just walked away and left the raven to die. Well, I wouldn’t leave the bird alone. I would do my good deed for the day, after all.
    I glanced around me, but there was no one else in the park. Thinking quickly, I rushed back to the bench and grabbed the empty bread box. It would be a tight fit, but I might be able to get him (I was already thinking of the raven as a him, even though I knew nothing about raven anatomy) inside.
    “Here you go, big guy.” The raven’s eyes followed me as I set the box down beside him. He didn’t try to move as I pushed my fists into the ends of my jumper, shoved my hands underneath his body, lifted him gingerly from the dirt and placed him in the box. His feathers felt soft and silky through my jumper. He looked up at me with pain-filled eyes, and let out a little squawk of thanks.
    “C’mon, boy. Let’s get you out of here.” I ran back to the seat, picked up my bag and threw the rest of the custard square to the ducks, then hiked back across the grass with my bag under one arm, and a squawking raven under