Shelly Laurenston: Shelly Laurenston

That night she called her crows for the first time…but only for the remains.

His screams in court the next day were like music to her ears as she walked up to the stand. To this day he still lived in the mental ward of his little Alabama prison they transferred him to.

Ever since then she’d worked hard to make up for the person she once was.

Worked hard to prove to Skuld, her sisters, and herself she was better than that little drug-‐dealing piece of trash hanging out at college parties and raves.

She would never stop working to prove that.

So Wilhelm Yager was what she considered an unnecessary distraction to her goal. The one thing she could say about all her second-‐life boyfriends…they always knew better than to get in her way. And they always knew she’d never love them.

There was only one thing she truly loved these days…and, man, but could those bitches get on her nerves.

“Why don’t you just go out with him and get it over with?” Janelle asked as she headed toward the entrance, her dark-‐blond curls bouncing around her face.

That sweet, dimpled face and those big, fat blond curls hid one of her best and most vicious fighters. Like the Ravens, Janelle preferred using her bare hands more than the blades all Crows learned to use. And neither Clan used guns. Not Neecy’s choice, but an edict from their gods. Whatever.

“Once he finds out how truly unpleasant you are, he’ll definitely leave you alone.”

“I am not going to date Will Yager. End of subject. And I am not unpleasant. I just don’t gush and…”

“Act like a girl?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“Well it may be end of subject for you maybe…but definitely not for him.”

Neecy pushed past Janelle and pulled open the roof door. “I am not talking about this anymore. Let it go or I’ll make you wish you’d let it go,” she promised calmly.

Neecy didn’t yell. In fact, only one person ever got her to yell and if she could, she’d rip the wings from his back.

The team headed down the stairs leading into the main part of the club. This was one of the Gatherings favorite hangouts. Owned by Shifters, beings that could change from human to animal in a heartbeat, it was the one place the Crows could go and unfurl their wings in peace.

Still, they didn’t come here unless they rented out the place. The Shifters hated them.

“Abominations. Acts against the gods. Freaks”—just some of the terms tossed their way by the holier than thou dogs, cats, and whatevers that roamed the Tri-‐ state area.

The Shifters tolerated the Ravens, but barely. Yet they outright hated the Crows.

Not surprising. As direct descendants of Odin’s elite guard, the Ravens were born with their wings.

The Crows, however, only got their wings after they pledged their allegiance to the Viking goddess Skuld…and died.

Skuld only chose from the dying.

The music was pumping hard by the time the women got to the main floor, but she could still hear the Crows over it. They were loud bitches. Loud, annoying, bitches—and she couldn’t imagine her life without them.

Stripping off her wool sleeves and dumping them on the pile by the exit door, Neecy passed two Shifter bouncers. Wolves probably. She didn’t know. Or care.

To her they were all cranky dogs or cats with attitude. Like show animals. She patted them on their big chests as she walked by, loving how they flinched.

Janelle wasn’t as kind. Another street kid like herself, Janelle waited until she was between the two big bruisers before she extended her nearly six-‐foot wings, slapping both men in the face.

Their laughing became hysterical at that point. Man, the Shifters really hated when they were around.

Neecy walked out into the main area and the entire room exploded into cheers.

It wasn’t just the Jersey Crows present tonight. The Alabama Crows were passing through town, heading toward Philly. Hence the party.

Although, Crows didn’t actually need a reason to party, but they loved coming up with them.

Once they’d thrown a party for Neecy when she got a “B” in geometry. Math being her worse subject, it seemed only right.

“Well, well, well. The country cousins have come to town.”

Serena, leader of the Bama Crows, tackled her from behind. A bottle of tequila in one hand and a beer chaser in the other, Serena lived to party—and she had a thing about using hacksaws on her prey.

“Darlin’ little girl! How are you?”

Neecy turned around, reached down, and embraced the woman. Because Neecy was six-‐one, she had to reach down to embrace almost everybody.

“Serena. I’m so glad you guys could come tonight.” She hated the need to shout over the loud music. Clearly she was inching up in age. Her desire to party lessened with each passing day.

“If there’s one thing in this life that I’ve learned, darlin’, it’s to never pass up a Jersey Crows party.”

“Yeah. But I’m just sorry you guys can’t stay longer.”

Serena hooked her arm through Neecy’s and dragged her toward the bar. “I wish we could, too. But those Philly gals are waitin’ on us. And they are a cranky bunch of bitches, let me tell you.”

Pushing Neecy into the bar, Serena slammed her bottles down. “Barkeep! A bottle of Russian vodka for this little lady right’chere.”

“No. No. No.” Neecy shook her head at the bartender. “Bottle of beer. That’s it.”

“What kind of drink is that?”

“One that will hopefully keep me out of the gutter…unlike the last time you guys came to town.”

Yager gritted his teeth as one of the Valkyries, Shawna somebody, gently worked the salve into his battered flesh.

Damn woman and her big feet of fury. She had no qualms about kicking the shit out of him. Or calling down those goddamn birds of hers. According to legend, Skuld endowed all her warriors with several things. Strength, speed, wings, and talons. But some of them received a special skill on top of all that, which belonged only to them.

For Neecy, it was the ability to call flocks of real crows and ravens to do her bidding. Feared throughout the Tri-‐state area by the Norse Clans, her birds were relentless, brutal, and loyal to her beyond anything Yager had ever seen. No flying south for these birds. They endured the cold just so they could be near her. Kind of like Yager himself.

“Is it me or does that woman really detest you?”

He looked at Mike Molinski who had somehow become the baby brother he never had…and started to realize, he never wanted. “Why do we keep having this conversation?”

“Because you insist on being the one to deal with her. I can do it.”

No way would he let Mike anywhere near her. One…because Neecy really would squash the idiot into the ground. Mike was still learning it wasn’t all about strength. He may be stronger than most Crows, but the Gathering—and Neecy in particular—went beyond strength with downright craftiness and evil. And the second reason…well, he didn’t want anybody else touching her. At least anybody with an actual penis.

It wouldn’t be the first time a Crow and a Raven got together. Some did it for fun. One night stands or light dating. Others married, had kids. It wasn’t that big a deal. In fact, it made sense. Both groups had big black wings. Both groups were the warriors of Norse gods. True, Odin didn’t like it much. He liked his warriors “undiluted.” Pure Norse blood. His god could be as bad as the Sicilian Mafia.

“I can handle her.”

“Not unless you really start hurting her. I don’t see her pulling any punches.

Unlike you.”

He did pull punches. He couldn’t help himself. Besides, the Gathering wasn’t their enemy. Every once in a while they may end up at opposite sides, but that was down to the gods. Releasing his aggression on Neecy would only have her responding in kind, which meant all bets would be off. That would be an ugly and brutal fight he’d like to avoid.