Raven Moon: After the Bane, #2

By Eva Gordon

In a world ravished by zombies, animal shifters vow to save human survivors and combat zombie hordes. Ravenna, princess of the northern raven conclave, joins forces with witch Dora Adler and the Fenrir werewolf pack. On a mission for a vaccine against Z-phage, Rave and her team fly to a remote biological research facility. They battle a new breed of zombie, faster and stronger than the human variety, and with an appetite for shifters.

Benandanti Templar Maddox seeks revenge against the Kindred leader who killed his team. He rescues a trapped woman, Ravenna destroyer of the Benandanti bloodstone. His wolf longs to claim and protect the sexy raven shifter. His Benandanti faith commands she stand trial.

While facing zombies, merciless tankers, and zealous Benandanti werewolves, Rave and Maddox struggle against their forbidden passion. They must set aside their conflicts and strike at the new zombie threat before the new virus spreads.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eva Gordon
• Release date: May 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393744191

Eva Gordon

Eva Gordon writes genre bending paranormal/fantasy/steampunk and historical novels with a strong romantic element. She loves to create stories that combine her passion for mythology, steamy romance, and action/suspense. Her imagination takes her from one universe to the next. Thus far, she has several series lined up as well as single titles waiting in line for production. Eva has a BS in Zoology and graduate studies in Biology. When not in her den writing, she can be found teaching animal lore at writing conventions, at work at the raptor rehabilitation center, wolf sanctuaries, or to satisfy her inner Hemingway on some global eco adventure.

Book preview

Rave and her two raven shifter guards, Beccan and Cashel took to the skies and circled above Dirk’s werewolf pack. They had arrived at daybreak to Megamarket, a huge warehouse of a store that swallowed up mom and pop stores, food chains and everything-else-stores prior to the zombie apocalypse. You want it; they had it. Dirk’s Wolf Guard took out the remaining zombies inside the store, mostly former workers. The beta driver parked the grocery truck in the loading zone and the pack gathered available goods for their territorial home in Yosemite.

Outside the automatic door, a dozen zombies waited by the glass as if it was Black Friday and ‘Made in America’ human flesh was on sale for less than a dollar. Fortunately, for shifters, zombies ignored all animals, feeding only on human flesh. However, with Dirk’s pack in human form, they caught the zombies’ hungry attention. The agitated zombies barked stuttering moans as they banged against the glass.

Rave cawed and, shadowed by her raven guards, dive-bombed the zombies. She swooped and pecked a tall zombie’s ear. The damn earlobe fell off. Ooh, gross! Rave landed on the roof and her guards joined her. She fluffed her feathers in place and stared down. Time to watch the horror flick.

Dirk and five of his betas walked out a side door and he shouted at the small swarm, Z-fuckers!

The zombies twisted around and charged at a snail’s pace. The slow shuffling zombies were no match for the werewolves. Tonight was the full moon, so even in human form the betas bore long claws and their muscles broadened, stronger than usual. Dirk (comma) their alpha, could shift at any time, and if need be, he could go bipedal monstrous werewolf or remain human. On supply runs, like today’s, guns were used as a last resort. Man-made sounds attracted zombies as if somewhere in their empty mind was a memory that artificial noise indicated humans were nearby.

The Wolf Guard drew their swords and in moments, headless zombie bodies littered the entrance. The parking lot strewn with zombie heads looked like the werewolves had played a sick game of zombie croquet.

Dirk glanced at her and gave her a clawed thumbs up before returning to the store. She flapped her wings and clucked.

Prior to the zombie apocalypse, Rave would never had stepped foot inside Megamarket, preferring Parisian boutiques and other high-end shops. But, the world had changed and so had she. On turning twenty-three years just a month ago, she was determined to shed her pampered raven princess persona to serve a higher cause, saving humanity from the Bane. On their return, her parents, the raven king and queen would insist Rave go through with her spring nesting ceremony. Fat chance of that happening. She and her gay fiancé, Bram had cancelled it. Not that it would matter. Her parents would attempt to ground her for joining the Avian intel. Royal duties or not, flying the coop age for all bird shifters was twenty-one. It was about time they got over the fact she was no longer their little girl. If she was to someday take over the North American Raven Murder, she needed to prove she was worthy of the title.

Dirk walked out of the building and signaled her to scout out more abandoned stores. Rave complied with a loud caw. She and her team flew farther into what used to be the lovely California Wine Country. The gloomy gray mid-February sky and a chilled breeze reminded her more of England than the Golden State. She soared high from earshot of Dirk’s bellowing growl. He had ordered her to stay within sight. Chill, this might be the last time we go on a wine tour. Days spent wine tasting accompanied by spiced goat cheese and fresh baguettes or even better, dark chocolate clouded her mood. Sucky zombies ruined everything. Actually, not necessarily.

Cashel flew alongside her, clucking in their raven language. Princess, there is nothing out there except wineries.

She cawed the raven equivalent of ‘duh’. Why not bring back several cases of good wine?

Princess, that’s not on our supply list. He flapped hard to keep up with her greater speed. Besides I’m sure they’ll get plenty of beverages from Megamarket.

In human form, Rave would have rolled her eyes. Cashel was thirty years her senior and most tiresome. A glorified nanny her parents hired to guard her since she had her first shift. Now he was her official advisor, until he retired or she replaced him. Nonetheless, she was the alpha bird and snapped, We’ll do both. Besides I have a hunch we’ll run into survivors.

Finding survivors was always first priority over supplies. What would it hurt to look while locating a case of prize winning wine? The problem was convincing Dirk to drive toward the wineries for the caseload of bottles if no survivors were found. The besotted werewolf was always in such a hurry to get back to his precious mate. Werewolf alphas and their need for booty calls made travelling with them a pain in the ass. Hmm. Maybe she could convince Dirk, Dora, his wife would appreciate a gift from her hot werewolf husband.

Cashel struggled to keep up with her. With all due respect, Princess, early flight sorties to this area failed to find any living humans, only zombie swarms. It’s pointless to continue.

Beccan twirled in mid-air and then swooped upside down below her and cawed, Why don’t we focus on farm equipment?

Good idea, she said to her guard who had a crush on her or, was it his ambition to be married to raven royalty? Since her break-up with Bram, every available male raven prospective suitor showed off their aerial stunts in front of her or sent her tapes of their daring flight maneuvers with clocked speed. Superior aerial maneuvers and speed along with an exquisite nest offering was every female raven’s dream of an ideal mate. The nesting material wasn’t traditional straw or pine needles. Because of her royal status, nests made of gold, silver and fine art was her new normal. Please. The problem was she only dreamt of werewolf men. Such mixed shifter matings occurred but not amongst raven royalty. The psychiatrist her parents sent her to had not helped her come to terms with her fascination of the wolfen kind. Poor Dr. Milton. He had been sympathetic and meant to convince her parents she had shifter species sexual confusion but had no chance to tell them. During the beginning of the zombie plague, he’d broken his arm and before he could shift, zombies attacked and tore him apart.

Cashel interrupted her thoughts. Look there.

Rave glided over a huge white building in the hills near untended vineyards. The grass had overgrown with weeds. At one time, this place must have been mowed to golf course status. Her keen eyesight honed in on a fallen wooden sign that read, Veterans Home. A swarm of fifty or more zombies circled the structure. In front of the entrance, a white van was parked as if waiting to take the old folk on an outing. Too risky for anyone, especially the aged, to make a shuffle toward it. The elderly and infirmed never stood a chance against the first wave of zombies. She tilted her head. Huddled humans flashed in her raven foresight.

Farther down the road more ghouls ambled toward the building. Arms outstretched and barking moans. Yep, they’d caught human scent. Perhaps former caretakers or escaping survivors. Her adrenalin spiked. Land on the roof!

Upon landing, Rave shifted first, looked around and signaled with a nod for her guards to shift. Unlike, mammalian shifters, bird shifters had the innate ability to shift fully clothed and, most importantly, armed. She parted her coat, drew out her hand-held pistol crossbow gun. Her guards drew their HK 416 light carbine rifles. No sense drawing the zombies’ attention to their location. She peered down the three-story building.

A swarm of ten zombies moaned, banging at the door and the windows below. Yuck. Their putrid breath fogged the glass. Fortunately, a raven’s sense of smell was not as acute as a werewolf’s, making her less likely to puke; however, these ghouls were especially rank. That’s it, after this I deserve to raid more perfume from the local cosmetics store.

The agitated zombies banged their heads against the glass. No doubting it. People were inside.

Rave walked to the center of the roof and stomped her boot three times, waited for a minute and stomped again. Nothing. Could the survivors be hunkered down on the first floor? We’ll climb in through a window.

Cashel frowned. Princess, stay here, I’ll go down.

Rave ignored him, and climbed in. Cashel swore under his breath and followed. On the third floor, she opened the door and quietly moved down the stairs to the second floor. She entered a filing office and tapped her boot on the floor. This time someone tapped the ceiling three times. She smiled at the guards. See.

Rave left the office and looked down from the banister. An older balding man and a woman with two prosthetic legs stood gaping at them.

The woman wore a mid-length green wool skirt over her prosthetic legs that clashed with her neon pink sneakers. She aimed a rifle at them. The older man looked just as menacing. He drew a 9mm, and a bloodstained ax tucked under his belt. The woman winced at the sound of hungry zombies, and then returned her attention to them. Who the hell are you and where did you come from?

She lifted her arms up in the air. I’m Rave and these are my men, Cashel and Deccan. Her guards bowed their heads, but kept their fingers on their weapons Are there any more people?

The woman who looked to be in her forties with light gray on her mostly brown hair nodded. I’m Beth and this is Barney. Three of us left.

Barney lowered his gun. He looked in his late eighties and squinted through thick glasses. His voice accusatory, You don’t look like the cavalry. More like celebrities from a modeling agency.

Rave smiled. Actually, more like a mobbing agency. A more fitting moniker for how ravens mobbed their targets.

Beth stared at Rave’s stiletto boots, black leather pants, red corset and long black feathered coat, and threw her an incredulous look. How did you find us?

We spotted a swarm sniffing around and figured people were trapped.

Beth sighed in relief. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Dave.

They entered a small library and Beth walked over to a man on a motorized scooter. Rail thin with long gray hair, he looked more like a former Rolling Stones guitarist than a veteran. This is Captain Dave Westover.

Cool. She’d never met a human military officer. Rave smiled at the old man and saluted, Captain.

He cocked his head at her. You can’t be special forces.

No, sir, Aerial intelligence. No point in mentioning Avian or bird intel, just yet. Winning their trust came first before blurting out their bird shifting abilities.

Dave yelled, Huh?

Barney raised his voice. They’re here to help us, Dave. Barney gave her team a double take. Clad in black leather and purple coats, they must look like characters from some video game. I think.

The captain wheezed a laugh. What the hell for? There’s nowhere we can go and be safe.

In command, Rave stepped forward and spoke loud enough for the nearly deaf and all the zombie ears throughout the Napa valley. On the contrary, we have a safe haven in Yosemite National Park.

Barney sat next to the captain and leaned in. We’ve got another ghoul swarm outside our doors.

Huh?

Barney sighed and repeated his comment louder. Dave shot Rave and her men a scolding look. Damn it. You attracted them here!

Beth pulled Rave aside and whispered, Be patient with him, he knows more about infectious diseases than anyone else.

Rave lifted a brow. Were you a doctor?

Scientist. I once ran the tropical disease unit out of Walter Reed. My specialty was malaria, back then. This pandemic makes malaria and even Ebola look like a paper cut.

Hmm. Dr. Dora Adler can use your help. Rave tried to figure what war he’d served in given his approximate age of seventy or eighty. Too young for World War II and too old for Iraq. What war?

Barney pitched in. We are Vietnam Veterans.

Beth laughed. Cover model here probably thought you were from the second war.

Barney quipped. More likely by how Dave looks, the Revolutionary War.

Hey, I’m quite schooled in U.S. History, retorted Rave. She had completed a Masters in Art History with a minor in fine art. She was tempted to tell them she completed high school by age sixteen. And, don’t judge a book or person by its cover, especially while we’re saving your asses.

Beth smiled, enhancing her big green eyes and elfin features. I’m with you. She lifted one prosthetic leg. I’m so used to being judged I tend to do the same.

Cashel lifted the blinds, not a pretty sight. Five zombies mouthed the glass with their bloody maws, making yum sounds. He closed the blinds and turned. You were abandoned and yet you survived.

When they came to evacuate us, Dave said we were better off here. Ten of us agreed and stayed, said Barney.

Dave scoffed. I wasn’t in the mood for more of the government’s poor judgment calls.

Cashel frowned. Where are the other seven?

Beth sighed and lowered her gaze. Dead. We raided a supermarket a few months back and got trapped by a swarm. I was the only one who survived.

Barney nodded. Beth is a superb marksman.

Rave cocked her head. That van out there, does it have gas?

Yes, I fueled it a few days ago. Always do after a food run.

Good, we’re going to get in and head toward our version of the Special Forces. They are about thirty minutes away in Sonoma. With plenty of ammo and even more lethal weapons. Fangs and claws. Their team was also quite adept with recyclable sharp things, like swords, axes, and machetes.

Dave frowned. Why should we go with you?

Beth tried to reason with him. We are low on ammo and I think the zombies followed my scent here a few days ago.

The zombies pounded the walls now in greater numbers.

Rave met Dave’s eyes. Trust me, Captain. We’re your only chance and like I said your knowledge of diseases will be appreciated.

Dave threw up his arms. What the hell! I only have two years left on my pacemaker. He pointed a finger at her. But, I’m bringing my scooter and my stash.

Barney teased. I think we can assume pot is now legal.

Rave smiled. For medicinal reasons?

Dave crinkled a smile. Got that right.

Beth glanced at her stiletto boots. Are you volunteering to get through that mob?

Rave nodded. Beccan, get the van and park it out back. In the meantime, pack your personal items. Don’t worry about clothes. We can raid malls later. Rave glanced at Beth. A little color to her mousy gray hair and makeup would take off ten years. No more frumpy look. She could see her in a sexy green pantsuit. I volunteer to give you a glamorous makeover.

Beth frowned. Are we back to judging book covers? Anyway, I don’t foresee black and white attire dinners and hot dates in my future.

Rave blushed. She was trying so hard to being less narcissistic, and on Dora’s advice had dressed down and started applying less makeup. She called it being ‘down to earth’. Sorry, what I meant was I would love to enhance your pretty features.

Beth laughed. If you get us to safety, I’ll let you put clown makeup on my face.

Rave smiled. Deal. She walked to the window and lifted the blind. Looks like the zombies are having a bad hair day out there.

Cashel protested. Princess, you must stay inside. Let me go.

Rave sighed and shot him a pointed stare. I’m the fastest flyer.

Beccan nodded. That’s true. He smiled and added. But I’m quite capable of keeping up.

Beth raised a brow. Princess? She scoffed. That explains the Vogue look and attitude.

Rave gave her sheepish smile. Long story.

Beth narrowed her gaze. And if you guys flew here, how come we didn’t hear a plane or helicopter? Heck, we didn’t even hear a car.

When I said I was the fastest flyer I meant I’m the fastest raven.

Beth gave her an incredulous look. The black bird? As in Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The Raven’?

Not that morose, but yep, we are raven shifters.

Barney turned to Dave and laughed. Looks like they already got into your stash.

Dave scowled at him. More like they dropped acid.

Rave winked at Dave. I like you. You’re like the cool human granddad I never had. She turned to Beccan. We’ll fly out from the second floor and draw them away from the building.

Beccan held his HK 416. Yes, Princess.

Cashel, have them ready to board as soon as Beccan gets in the car.

Beth shot her an incredulous look. What about you?

Take a window seat and watch, but not for too long, we need to move, pronto.

Beth narrowed her eyes. Uh, huh.

Rave and Beccan dashed upstairs and opened a window. She spread her arms and swooped down as a raven. Beccan followed. She smiled as the three humans gaped from the window. She dive-bombed a zombie, piercing his skull and pithed his brain with her sharp beak. Beccan took out two more, giving the wide-eyed humans more of a show. Rave landed behind the swarm and roused her feathers into place. She brushed her beak on the grass. She was a fan of zombie movies but had no taste for brains. At least not like the normal carrion eating natural ravens.

They shifted to their human forms and Rave shouted, Hey, over here, dickheads. She threw Beth a smile and turned back to the zombies. Nevermore!

As if someone had thrown chum to a pool of great white sharks, they turned, barked stuttering moans, clawed their arms out and shambled toward her.

When they were far enough away from the entrance, Rave shot five with her hand held crossbow, her aim perfect. Beccan aimed his HK 416 and with deadly accuracy took out the rest of the small swarm. Down the road hundreds shuffled toward the home like they heard about the all-you-can-eat party via a social network invite. Maybe their network was called Shambler. The hungry zombies blocked the road and they needed to clear it for the drive or they would turn into Meals-On-Wheels.

Rave commanded, Get the van! I’ll distract the mob and direct them off the road.

He frowned. Yes, but don’t get too close.

Rave pinched her nose and nodded. Got it. Their stench was like a repellant.

Beccan got in the van and zipped it around to the back. Shots were fired and then silence. The man never missed.

Rave fluffed her hair, took out her mirror and checked her makeup. She refreshed her hot red lipstick and then quickly put her compact away. Ravens, even in human form, loved preening as much as any other bird. She shifted. After rousing her feathers into place, the velvet black raven flew off to meet the zombie road party.

Rave landed beneath an oak tree, shifted to human form and waved. Poultry over here!

Like a sea of minnows, they changed course toward her, a human. A crescendo of moans and snarling mews headed her way. She casually strolled away, the Pied Piper of zombies. Every once in a while, she twisted to make sure they were off the road and heading her way. About twenty draggers still littered the road. Come and get me!

Finally, the stragglers left the road and scrambled into the mixed woodland, seeking out the other white meat.

As she climbed a hill, a swarm suddenly appeared and limped, shambled and half jogged toward her. Holy shit. Trapped. She stepped back to shift when a male twenty-something beach blond zombie grabbed her shoulder.

Rave’s adrenalin spiked to Defcon 1 and she slugged an upper cut to his jaw as he moved to bite. He staggered back. His mouth bloodied, he gazed at her as if ready to say, ‘dude, what was that for?’ Zombies clawed toward her. She shot surfer dude, secured her weapon, and shifted.

The zombies moaned a hungry, ‘huh?’ Their meal had vanished.

Rave almost went into bird paralysis. Oh, shit. On the ground surrounded by stinking confused zombies was not the time to freeze. She hopped in between rotting legs. Trampled to death by zombies was a shitty way to go. How was she going to get enough room to spread her wings for flight? The view was equally gross and fascinating in a ghastly way.

Their shoes were threadbare. Not a big surprise after what must have been hundreds of miles of aimlessly roaming around in search of humans. Quite a few walked in bare feet, having lost their sneakers to the weather or over use. Their ugly purple blistering feet were in various stages of grossness that included broken toes, missing toes and bones protruding out like porcupine needles. Their clothing was bloodstained and in tatters. She almost wished she had brought her sketchbook, imagining drawing them from the safety of the tree above. Of late, her art subjects were zombies rather than the usual werewolves. Her witch friend Dora called her art gruesome but from a doctor’s point of view most informative. Rave thought her art would someday land in future museums like the art during the Black Death, depicting skeletons and the angel of death in the Dance Macabre. In a twisted way, it honored the death of the innocents.

Not if I get trampled. She pecked at ankles, and the zombies reacted but not in pain, just in their mindless ability to avoid pressure from something keeping them from a good food source. Her new trapped friends. A female zombie slipped and landed on her, smothering her in a blanket of rotting odor and slime. Ooh, was she melting? Good thing the zombie was a thin girl of maybe sixteen years of age and small, otherwise, Rave would have been crushed. Shifters, especially the avian variety could easily be killed, unlike the more powerful werewolves and bear shifters. Each time the girl moaned, her foul breath threatened to gag the smothered raven, flapping her wings in desperation. She cawed in disgust, a mistake because the sound caught the clumsy zombie’s attention. The girl sniffed her but Rave managed to drag herself away from zombie girl.

Rapid gunfire erupted. Rave clung on to a tall zombie’s blue jeaned ass, avoiding being trampled by the riotous zombie mob as they veered toward the sound. Cashel shouted, Zombie scum, over here!

Rave reached the zombie’s head as clumps of his oily hair fell off and she fluttered to the tree. Once on the safety of the branch, she puked. The van sped down the road, heading in the direction of the Megamarket. She flew back to the building’s roof, shifted and whipped out her compact. Slime covered her shoulder-length hair and oozed down her neck. Gross.

Cashel joined her, stepped close and then covered his nose. Princess, are you all right?

Rave sniffed her coat and took it off. I’m tired of this cape anyway. Cashel, let’s shift and go. She returned to raven form and spread her wings. Dry enough for flight, at least. Fortunately as a bird, she did not stink as bad as she did in human form.

Cashel gave her a curt nod, shifted and took flight.

They flew low alongside the van driven by Beth while Beccan sat shotgun. Dave rolled down the window and gave her a thumbs-up. She responded with a loud caw. Looks like they got over the fact they were being rescued by raven shifters. Wait until they meet the werewolves.

Kindred hunter, Maddox followed two betas to the headquarters of the new pater of the Benandanti pack, Pater Lazarus. Maddox had originally flown from Scotland to the Benandanti’s Great Lakes territory, only to find it empty. He’d learned from a survivor about the Kindred’s second attack on the Benandanti pack. After months of searching, he found what was left of the once larger pack, here in Montana. The scents of the new territory were pleasant yet disconcerting. A pristine country far from zombies, accompanied by the stench of fear and cruelty. What happened in his absence? His hackles rose. This was no longer the pack he knew.

While Maddox had hunted and killed the werewolf- hunting Kindred in zombie-infested England, the American Kindred struck a second deadly blow to the Benandanti pack in their Great Lakes territory. After the Kindred’s initial defeat, they returned with more men and killed leader, Pater Valeray along with half of the pack. The werewolves fought hard, tearing the human Kindred to shreds, but against silver bullets, they had no chance of survival and one third escaped. The leader of the Kindred, Jaeger, left Valeray’s carcass hanging from a tree. Lazarus and the remaining pack fled their Great Lakes territory to Montana. Landing by helicopters and small airplanes, Lazarus and his pack used silver ammo to massacre the local Vircolac pack. Why had the Benandanti broken their most sacred tenant never to use silver bullets against their kind? Maddox had been absent for almost a year, and part of him wished he’d stayed in England. He’d only returned to exact vengeance against his nemesis, Jaeger.

Yet information he’d learned since his arrival two days ago about the new pater of the Benandanti did not sit well with him. The ruthless alpha, Lazarus took over the pack in a coup by killing Valeray’s next in line sons and his mate. Driven by God’s commands and a well-organized devoted pack, he ordered Valeray’s sons and mate, Lucinda executed with silver bullets. The Benandanti only ordered death sentences for acts of holy blasphemy, never for political gain. Had Valeray’s teenage sons and his wife really practiced dark magic? Maddox doubted it. What really happened and why? Or had Lazarus developed a brain tumor that caused him to have illusions of grandeur and paranoia? As they reached the pater’s door, Maddox pressed his lips tight. Best he remained guarded, lest he too, become a quick enemy of the new regime.

The beta guard lowered his gaze and knocked on the door. Master, Templar Maddox is here.

Maddox wore his full white Templar uniform and white hooded cloak, similar to the human Templar Knights of the Middle Ages. A white leather tunic with a red cross, however, a wolf’s head rested in the center of the Benandanti cross. Only warriors of the highest order received the title of Templar.

Enter, said Lazarus.

Maddox, the most powerful alpha amongst the Benandanti or Hounds of God, nonetheless bowed in respect to Pater Lazarus, a werewolf he despised not only for his well-known cruelty, but for rumors about his fondness for mating with captured human women. Not to mention the recent heartless murders of the former alpha’s family. His voice remained neutral, Pater, I am at your service.

Lazarus offered his gold wolf