Stone Crest: Rise of a Raven

41. Chapter 41

Chapter forty-one

Raven

“ M y grandmother?”

I’m confused.

“Charlotte DuPont.” Kingston never moves his eyes away. “She was your biological grandmother.”

“Biological?” I feel the grip on my thigh tighten.

“What are you saying?” Locke asks.

“I’m saying that Raven was adopted. Arthur and Ophelia Cunningham are not your birth parents.”

I freeze. My heart beginning to form a low thud in my chest.

“What?” I croak.

“Your birth mother’s name was Lillian DuPont.”

A lump forms in my throat. Birth mother? Was?

I’m adopted? The longer I sit here with my mind racing, I let the years flash across my brain. No wonder I never felt like I belonged. Because I didn’t.

“Rae.” Locke presses a kiss to my shoulder.

I clear my throat. I’d witnessed my best friend falling to her death. I could handle finding out the robots that raised me didn’t actually birth me. It’s almost a relief to know I don’t share their DNA.

“Keep going.”

“Are you sure? This is a lot. Maybe you…." Locke starts.

“Sullivan,” I snap. “I’m fine.”

Kingston cracks a smile at my tone as Locke mutters under his breath.

“You said she was your mate? Like I am to Locke?” I ask.

“She was. She was my everything. But Malikiah wouldn’t allow it.” Kingston’s eyes grow dark. “My father knew what she was to me, but he cared more about his pack. About his bloodline. He refused.”

He pulls out a faded picture of him and a woman with dark hair.

“She was beautiful.” I run my finger over the picture, then move it aside to look at the one behind it. My breath hitches. I’ve seen her before.

“Who is this?” I ask, pointing at the woman with long dark hair standing near a coastline.

“That’s Lillian.” He says. “Your mother.”

I lift my eyes to his. “My mother?" I tap the photo. "But I’ve seen her before.”

He scrunches his brows. “When?”

“Last week when I picked up my camera lens.”

He glances at Locke. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because she died, Raven.”

I look back at the picture. The woman who I ran into on the sidewalk.

“DuPont,” Locke says, his voice low and steady.

“Yeah.” Kingston hesitates. “Malikiah denied me because if their line. He wanted ours to be pure.”

“Line?” I glance at Locke whose posture has shifted to insanely tense.

“She was a witch.” Locke narrows his eyes. “The witch who cursed me.”

“My grandmother gave you the curse?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m lost….” I hand the pictures back to Kingston.

“If she was a witch, that means your mother was also. Which means….” Locke’s eyes move to Kingston’s, recognition floating to the surface. “Angeline. At the gala. She warned me.”

“Are you telling me I’m what? The lost Sanderson sister?” I push up from the couch. “How do I even know any of this is true?”

I motion my hand in the direction of Kingston. “I don’t even know you.”

“Baby, calm down.” Locke stands.

“No!” I grip my hair. “Do not tell me to calm down! And I thought you didn’t trust him!”

“What’s all the shouting about?” Declan saunters in, his gaze going to steel when he spots Kingston.

Instantly his fangs descend, and his face morphs into a weird shade of gray.

“Dec,” Locke warns.

But it’s too late. Declan has surged forward, knocking Kingston over in his chair.

At an unnatural speed, Declan is back up, snatching Kingston by the collar and catapulting him across the room.

“Declan!” Locke growls.

Declan ignores him, storming towards Kingston who’s now growling and half shifting in the middle of the living room.

“Stop it!” I scream.

They stand off. All fangs and growls, hisses and glowing eyes. Sprouts of fur appear on Kingston’s skin and right when Declan goes to charge, I shout at the top of my lungs, “enough” with a sharp wave of my hand, slicing it through the air.

Kingston and Declan both freeze in place, and when I spin around, Locke is staring at me with wide eyes. Beyond the couch is an equally shocked Presley in the entry of the hallway.

My body spins, my brows furrowing as I take in my surroundings.

What the…

I drift my gaze back to Locke, my heart rate galloping in my chest.

“There’s your proof,” Kingston mutters.

There should be an explanation, right? A natural occurrence, or a defective wick? Because every single candle in this house just lit a flame.