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

away, and his sharp talons snagged my leg. I cried out as he tore through my flesh.
    My leg flared with pain. I heard something snap in my wing, and the whole side of my body went limp. The air around me changed, and suddenly I was no longer buoyed up by the hot currents.
    I was falling.
    Houses zoomed past me at odd angles, colours spun around me like some terrifying funhouse ride, but I knew it wasn’t the world spinning out of control. I was the one flailing through the air.
    Then my body slammed against something hard, and everything went black.

3
    Belinda
    U sually , I kept the bakery open until five thirty, or whenever I sold out. But on Tuesdays – my slowest day – I shut the shop at 4pm. This gave me an hour in the village before the other shops closed to get to the post office, do the grocery shopping, and make my deliveries.
    The local authorities mandate that we’re not supposed to sell anything that’s freshly baked after a day, and no matter how carefully I planned, I usually had leftover food. Most of the other store owners in town dumped it in the rubbish, but I hated the wastefulness. So on Tuesdays I took a box of goodies over to the Crookshollow Rest Home, the women’s refuge, or the homeless shelter. It was nice to spend an hour a week brightening someone else’s day; it made for a pleasant break from staring down my own private tunnel of disaster.
    This week had been relatively busy, so all I had left were a couple baguettes and three custard slices. Not enough to feed a horde of bored seniors or several mothers with excitable children. So I decided to go to the park. I knew some other creatures that would appreciate some free food.
    Two blocks back from the Crookshollow high street was Fauntelroy Park, a large green space dotted with bright flower beds, towering oaks, a Tudor garden, some questionable sculpture installations, a beautiful Victorian gazebo, and a large pond filled with ducks. The land had been donated to the village during the eighteenth century by the Fauntelroy family – my friend Alex’s ancestors – who’d owned a significant tract of land in the area. Now, the park was owned by the council, who kept it in excellent condition, installed cycle lanes and picnic tables, and posted large signs warning people not to fall in the pond. The park hosted a series of events throughout the year, including sculpture trails, Easter-egg hunts, and a summer Shakespeare festival.
    Since I spent most of my time holed up in the shop or my flat, I didn’t get out much. Crookshollow village was surrounded on two sides by dense woods, and the rest of the landscape was picturesque rural views. It was the perfect village from which to begin a ramble, but I couldn’t ramble while there were loaves to bake and Eccles cakes to ice.
    But I could get to Fauntelroy Park. Walking through the park never failed to help me clear my head. Here I felt calmer, as though all the problems eating me up inside were really quite manageable after all. There was something so peaceful about sitting beside the water, listening to the gentle ripples lap against the concrete edging. The air smelled fresh and sweet with the scent of the flowers. Birds sang in the trees, and the ducks and pigeons hopped excitedly all around. The council liked to encourage other birds to frequent the park, and sometimes I even saw majestic ravens preening themselves beside the water.
    It wasn’t yet five o’clock, so most people were still at work, and the park was practically deserted. I found a seat on a bench not far from one of the most impressive oaks. The bench was only a few feet from the edge of the pond. Perfect. I ripped the first stick of bread into tiny chunks and threw it out at the ducks. They all leapt and squabbled for the scraps. One tiny bird kept grabbing the largest chunks he could find, only to have his elder siblings rip them from his mouth. Finally, he got so sick of it he hopped up on the bench beside me and