Table of Contents

- Chapter One

- Chapter Two

- Chapter Three

- Chapter Four

- Chapter Five

- Chapter Six

- Chapter Seven

- Chapter Eight

- Chapter Nine

- Chapter Ten

- Chapter Eleven

- Chapter Twelve

- Chapter Thirteen

- Chapter Fourteen

- Chapter Fifteen

- Chapter Sixteen

- Chapter Seventeen

- Chapter Eighteen

- Chapter Nineteen

- Chapter Twenty

- Chapter Twenty-One

- Chapter Twenty-two

- Chapter Twenty-three

- Chapter Twenty-four

- Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter One

The smell of antiseptic assaults my nose the instant we step into the hospital. The nurse spots us before we get to the desk. There is no wait and Sam and I are ushered quickly through a swinging door and down a long hallway.  A police officer stands in the hallway. I feel the tightening squeeze of Sam’s hand against mine as the officer steps aside, opening the door.

“Thank you,” I say, looking up at the officer’s face. He stares straight ahead, making no eye contact.

As we step through the door, Sam whispers in my ear, “You’ve got this.”

The room is small, with a glass window separating a larger, secured room with a patient lying in a hospital bed. Xavier.

Anita, my academic partner and Xavier’s sister, stands at the window, eyes focused on her brother. I’m not sure she’s even aware we came in until she breaks the silence without warning. “They say they don’t know what it is.” She turns and glares at me. “What’s killing him. It’s some weird virus they’ve never seen.”

“They told me,” I say. I’d been tested, prodded and poked for six hours the day before. My blood came back clean. I had none of the mysterious illness that was ravaging Xavier’s body.

Neither did Anita.

Anita told the doctors that I’d been with her brother just before he fell ill. That we’d kissed and it was likely I had either passed the infection on to him or he gave it to me.

I adamantly explained that this was untrue. We never kissed. We’d merely spoken in the alley. I’d gone home early. If Xavier ever said differently, then he was confused. Hallucinating. I mean, it’s not as though he could literally become sick in minutes, could he?

The lies came easily. I’d like to blame the Morrigan for how quickly I adjusted to covering up her carnage, but I know better. The lies belong to me and me alone.

Once cleared, I decided to go visit Xavier. It seemed the right thing to do. Sam came with me for support and I suspect a little bit of protection. Protecting me from someone or protecting someone from me, that’s the real question I have. Are the Guardians afraid of me? Clinton surely wasn’t when we were in bed together. Sam’s gentle touches don’t express fear.

Anita looks back at the window, through the glass at her brother. Xavier doesn’t look good and it’s difficult to see him like this. The last time I saw him, when we did kiss, he was very handsome. Animated and full of life—lust even. The infection ravages his body from the inside out. He’s pale but feverish, a slick sweat clinging to his face. Splotchy gray marks blemish his arms and neck. He looks one step away from being a corpse and I realize with sudden clarity that it’s not the only time I’ve seen someone looking like this.

The gray sky parts and Maverick runs from the forest back into the safety of her yard. The cat is gone. The prince is dead. Her ravens flew to the sky, never to be seen again. The cold crept through the gateway and she ran. She’d never run so hard—so fast. Until she saw the grassy yard, the little swing, the blanket stretched over the grass with a book on top.

The sun beat down here—but the chill lingered and quickly the warm light vanished, like a front had pushed through. Maverick grabbed her book and blanket and raced into the house like a mouse with a cat on his tail. She bursts through the back door, the knob crashing into the wall behind it. The girl freezes, waiting for the sound of her mother’s reprimand. For her father’s annoyance. But nothing came.

Dread fills her heart.

She drops her book and her blanket. She walks up the small flight of stairs.

“Mom?”

Silence.

“Dad?”

The air feels frozen as she walks down the hall. The door is open. She spots her father’s shoes first. Then her mother’s hair—wild like her own—twisted beneath her cheek.

They look—

“Morgan?” Sam’s voice brings me back to the hospital room. Anita glares at me with a heavy dose of bitterness.

“Sorry.” It’s the only thing I can say and even then my voice is shaky and quiet. “I’m sorry, Anita. I truly hope he gets better. Call me if you need something.” I turn quickly, unable to look at his body, unable to look at Xavier one second longer. It’s weak. I’m weak. But we know that. It’s why we’re here. The Morrigan overpowered me. She took a life to feed her desperate, awful soul.

Sam follows me back past the officer, down the hall, through the waiting room and into the street. It’s hot and muggy out here but it’s preferable to the cold resting in my heart. I haven’t gone two feet away from the entrance before Sam grabs my arm and stops me.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

I look at this man. So handsome. So kind. Fierce just like the others. He’d do anything for me. I see it in the depths of his blue eyes.

“No, I’m not okay.”

“Tell me what’s going on then. What happened back there?”

“I’ve made a decision.” He raises his eyebrows, encouraging me to continue. “The Morrigan doesn’t own me. She doesn’t get to take away the good and torment the living. I’m not willing to be her puppet anymore.”

A crease mars Sam’s perfect forehead and he says, “We just have to keep working to control her. Help you get stronger. You’ll have to pick your mate.”

“I’ll do that too but I found something, Sam. A book in the library. I think if we use the information correctly we can stop her for good.”

He looks at me like I’m crazy. “How are we going to do that?”

“We’re going to kill the Morrigan.”

Chapter Two

Morgan

I ask Sam to gather the other guardians and have them meet me in the library in an hour.  I’d found the book the day Xavier got sick. It was just hours after I lost my virginity to Clinton and found myself under increasing pressure to pick a mate from the five men in the house.

I know I’m not ready for that. As awkward and selfish as it sounds, I like them all. Each feels like a piece of the puzzle I’ve been missing in my life. Every time they push or suggest I make a decision, any ability to do so slips from my grasp. They would say it’s the Morrigan trying to keep me weak, but increasingly I feel it’s more than that. Much more.

Sleeping with Clinton is the primary reason for my view. I’d held off for so long—afraid of something—but when we made love it’s like the world crumbled and not only did I want him with me at the end, I wanted the same experience with the others too. I want to feel their bodies on top of me, naked and hot. I want to feel them inside of me, come in me.

Now that I understand, I’m less willing to concede to just one until I’ve had a taste of them all.

Sam with his kindness and understanding—supporting me unconditionally—he’s helped me find the “me” in a battle against ancient evil. He’s sweet and sexy. Mischievous under that adorable, handsome grin.

Bunny guides me spiritually—grounding me to this place and to the powers I carry. He shores up my soul and finds the strength deep inside to keep me going. I long to run my fingers through his hair, feel his hips against mine.

Clinton, my trainer, keeps me fit and ready for the physical war headed our way. He pushes me. Tests me.

Damien provides my weaponry and outfits me with charms and symbols designed to keep me safe. He’s quiet and likes his independence—his solitary space out back behind the house. But when we’re together I feel the magic of our bond.

And then there’s Dylan. My sentinel. He carries the knowledge of the past and he has an eye on me—always. He’s afraid of his own strength and together we’re breaking one another down. His passion knows no limits. And I’m here to tempt as well as test him.

I remove the ancient book from under my bed. I’d hidden it, wanting some time to study it in private. The gold image of the Morrigan on the cover, embossed with five ravens in various states of flight, sings to me when I touch the peeling leather spine.

The pages are filled with drawings and short stories—an odd historical account of the Morrigan’s mythology. They come from various stages in her life. Before she went mad with rage, when she was just a young goddess wanting to find her true love. There are alternate stories, including the tale of the Morrigan being split into three. Sisters. An old woman. No story is the same, although they all carry similar themes. War. Love. Betrayal.

It’s fascinating and I’ve neglected my work to study them.

The raven’s stories are my favorites. The book is littered with little snippets of their lives. I try to connect the mythology to my housemates but it seems too fanciful. Too made up. I’m not convinced anything in the book is real, but tucked in the final pages is a spell that catches my eye and after two days of dreaming about it, seeing Xavier has made me want to believe it can be done.

Killing the Morrigan.

The concepts are tricky, it involves splitting her soul from mine and then destroying her, but with the help of the Guardians (who are skilled in the magical arts) I think it’s possible. And really, it may be our only chance.

I grab the book and head for the door. The others should be assembled by now. I cross my fingers and prepare to tell them my plan.

Chapter Three

Dylan

“Absolutely not.”

“No fucking way.”

“I can’t, Morgan. I just can’t.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

Clinton does nothing more than cross his arms over his chest and shake his head once.

Morgan, who holds a book I’m not familiar with in her hands, narrows her eyes and looks…pissed?

“Morgan, there is absolutely no way we’re performing magic like this with or much less on you,” I finally say.

“Why not?”

“Why?” I take the book from her and study it for a moment. “Because I’ve never even seen this text before, but on first glance it looks like this magic is dark. Darker than what any of us are comfortable using. And if it doesn’t work you’ll be the one that’s dead.”

“I’d rather be dead, Dylan, than hurt someone again. Do you understand that? I won’t be responsible for any more deaths!”

“He’s not dead,” Sam says, but Morgan shoots him a glare.

“He will be soon. We both know it. We all know it,” she spats. “I’m not living like this. I don’t want to be a conduit for death. Not anymore.”

“I don’t even see how that’s an option,” Damien says. “Do you plan on kissing a lot of guys? Outside of this house, I mean?”

“It can happen anywhere,” Morgan cries. “And don’t judge me on kissing Xavier. That’s the whole point. I didn’t have control. She’s stronger than me!”

Clinton stands and approaches Morgan, who is standing near the back windows. He touches her cheek and says, “It’s too dangerous.”

She sighs. “Can we at least think about it? Have it as a backup?”

Bunny walks over and peers over my shoulder, flipping the pages of the book. He runs his fingers down a long list. “The ingredients look complicated. It may take months to find them.”

I snap the book shut, nearly taking off Bunny’s finger. I glance at him apologetically. “It’s off the table.”

“Why do you get to make that decision?” Morgan asks. Her voice carries a different edge. “Did someone put you in charge here and not tell me about it?”

I open my mouth to speak but think better of it. I rest the book on the table and slide it to the middle. Morgan watches with interest and then assesses the others. They too are silent until Bunny steps forward. I fight an eyeroll. He’s always first to cave.

“We can collect the ingredients,” he says. “We can store them in the basement with a stipulation that we do nothing unless we all come to an agreement.” He looks at Morgan as he emphasizes the word ‘all’. “Like I said before, it may take a while to gather them all, if we even can.”

I fight an outburst. I rest my hands on the back of an armchair, bracing myself. “Morgan already has obligations. She has her training. Her studying. Her book to write for the University—which is still a priority. She has to pick a mate. That is paramount. Every dely. each distraction is just falling into the Morrigan’s hands.” I hold her gaze. “Do you realize that this sort of endeavor is exactly what she wants?”

“Then she’ll get it,” she declares, unwavering. “I’ll work with each of you to gather the supplies needed to complete the spell. I’ll also use that time to get to know each of you a little better—fulfilling my promise to select a mate quickly.”

After a beat, Clinton speaks up.

“I think that’s acceptable.” He looks at me to challenge him. But I’ve said my peace. I do nothing but shrug. The Queen has made it clear she doesn’t want my opinion. Damien picks up the book. “I’ll divide these out into our specialties. Sam, you make a schedule, okay?”

Sam nods and Morgan smiles. Everyone seems to be in agreement but me.

I leave the room first—as always—and contemplate that it’s just another day at The Nead.

Chapter Four

Morgan

A schedule is set by dinner and much to Dylan’s obvious dismay, lessons and training will be on hold—other than what I learn on my outings to procure the spell ingredients.

Damien and I agree to meet at ten the next morning and at quarter ‘til, I’m looking for an appropriate outfit to wear to a ’magic shop’ when my phone rings.

It’s Professor Christensen.

I haven’t spoken to him since Xavier fell ill but I have no doubt he’s been in contact with Anita. Ironically, he’s the one that tipped me off to the type of underground club that the guardians were performing in—the one that we were at when Xavier got caught up in the Morrigan’s Darkness.

“Hello,” I say, looking for my black jeans. That seems appropriate for a magic shop, right?

“Morgan! I’m so glad I caught you. Is this a good time?”

No, I want to tell him, but he’s my graduate advisor and I can’t do that. “I have a few minutes.”

“Good, good. Well, I’m aware that you’ve been told of Anita’s family circumstances.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve been to see her.”

“Excellent. It’s always good to support a fellow student and colleague during a time of need.” He coughs away from the phone. “Anita has requested a leave of absence for the remainder of the semester. Obviously we granted it. She’s the only family nearby to take care of her sibling. We want to give her as much time as she needs.”

“That’s very considerate of you, sir.” With the phone in the crook of my neck and shoulder, I tug my pants over my hips. “How should I proceed?”

“I considered giving you a new partner but really I think it may be best for you to work independently for now. Hopefully Anita can return after a short break and you can get back on track. I’d love for you to consider spending a little bit of your former critique time visiting with her.”

I doubt that’s what Anita wants. I got the explicit feeling she blamed me, rightly so, for Xavier’s illness. But that’s between the two of us, no need to involve the professor, who, frankly, is already nosy enough. “I’ll do that. Thank you for taking the time out of your day to let me know all this.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll still expect weekly updates on your progress and I’ll have my secretary make an appointment for our next review.”

“Sounds great.” I grit my teeth and pull my boot on over my heel. “Talk to you soon!”

I hang up before he can say more.

Taking one last look in the mirror I assess my outfit. Black jeans with a tie instead of buttons or a zipper, black tank with thin straps at the shoulder. My bra criss-crosses dramatically over my back. My boots are also black leather, with thick, chunky heels. I grab my bag and head to the door, thinking how I have no idea what I’m getting into but at least I look like a badass.

*

Damien meets me in the foyer. He’s wearing dark jeans and a tight, gray T-shirt covered with a black, leather vest. The tattoos that mark his biceps peek from under his sleeves just like the ones at his collar. The hoops in his ears glint from the chandelier. When he walks toward me his heavy boots echo off the marble floors, and he looks me up and down appraisingly.

“I see you got the memo about what to wear.”

“You sent me a memo?” I blink dumbly. He raises his eyebrows and it clicks that he’s joking. “Duh. Yeah, I didn’t know what to wear to go to a magic shop.”

“I don’t think there are any formal requirements, but you nailed it anyway.” He offers me his hand. “Got everything?”

“Yeah. Are we taking a cab?”

He smiles and directs me down the hallway, away from the kitchen. “No. I’ve got my own transportation.”

The Nead is full of wonders. I know that. The historic mansion has a rooftop garden, a magnificent porch, and a lush yard. Add that to the various studios and suites we live in, the dining room with its historically accurate mural, and the vast library. There’s a training room and gym in the basement as well as other doors that lead to rooms I haven’t been in yet. I didn’t even know the hallway Damien takes me down existed. But soon enough we’re going down a new flight of stairs and at the bottom he opens a basic door and flips on a row of lights.

The fluorescents brighten one section at a time with a loud, echoing click. The lights reveal a row of sleek vehicles. Cars and trucks shine with a glow. While I take each one in with a sense of wonder and delight, Damien passes them all and stops in front of something smaller but possibly even more powerful.

A motorcycle. The glossy, black paint gleamed under the lights, showcasing the perfectly curved and understated pinstriping on the gas tank. Chrome polished to a high shine punctuated the beauty of the entire package, and it automatically made me hear the roar of the engine in my head, feel the vibrations between my legs, and I had a sudden desire to wrap my arms around Damien’s waist, hugging his back in a mixture of fear and exhilaration. It terrified me.

My lunges into my throat because I have no doubt Damien wants me to get me on that thing. I stop in the middle of the garage, frozen in terror while Damien unhooks two helmets and turns to hand me one.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t get on that.”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “You’ve never ridden one before.”

“No and I don’t plan on starting.” I glance over my shoulder at the sports cars and luxury sedans. “Can’t we take one of those?”

He takes a step closer and runs his hand through my hair. His lips are close to mine and the fear is replaced with something else entirely. “I don’t like to drive. I like to fly. It’s all I dream about. It’s all I crave. I’d give almost anything to have my wings back.” He looks down at the cycle with soulful, violet eyes. “This is the closest I get. Come experience that with me.”

How can a girl say no to something like that? I’m not a dream crusher.

I nod. “But you’ll be safe. Like, nothing crazy.”

“Nothing crazy, I promise.” He lowers the helmet over my head. He swings his leg over the bike and gestures for me to do the same right behind him. The leather seat is soft and I instinctively wrap my arms around his waist, even though we haven’t moved an inch.

He clasps his hand over mine and squeezes them tight against his rock-hard abs. “You hold on, okay?”

“Yeah, no problem. Got it.”

He turns and smiles at me. “Relax. You’ll have more fun.”

Damien secures his own helmet and I already miss his face. He grips the handlebars and in a blink the engine revs, echoing off the garage. My whole body tenses against the vibrations and I cling to his back as he eases out of the parking spot.

Like he promises, he stars slow, exiting through a sliding garage door into the back alley near his studio. The hum isn’t so bad and I think I can handle this. I loosen my death grip just a little as we come to a stop near the main road.

Damien revs the engine again and shoots out into traffic. I yelp, retightening my grip. I squeeze my thighs and feel the heat between us. Fear races through my limbs, I hate being out of control and this proves it. But as much as I hate to admit it, Damien is a skilled driver, deftly moving in and out of traffic, skimming the curbs on turns. My heartbeat is drowned out by the hum of the engine, the vibrations strangely soothing my nerves. Damien’s back is lean and strong. He feels at home, like he said; he’s flying, not driving, and my unease slips away into something else.

Pressing the side of my helmet against his back, I close my eyes. There’s nothing I can do but trust him to get us there in one piece.

When I open my eyes we’re in a part of New York I’ve never been in before. The streets are narrow and lined with gray buildings. Apartments stack to the sky while dingy businesses squish close together on the street level. Packs of kids roam the streets wearing baggy shorts and at least two walk vicious-looking dogs in metal-studded collars. My fear of the motorcycle has shifted to something different—apprehension about where we’re going. I thought I’d dressed like a badass for the magic shop. I didn’t realize I needed to be a badass to just get through the door.

The bike slows and Damien directs it to the curb. I’m feeling a mixture of warmth from his body and impressive skills to concern about where we’re going. He takes off his helmet and shifts to assist me with mine. When it’s over my head I say quietly, “Nice neighborhood.”

He looks around. “It’s a bit unique.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not usually so timid. What’s going on?”

I shrug. “I just feel out of my element here.”

He touches my chin. “Sometimes I forget you’re more suburban girl than terrorizing ancient goddess.”

“Yeah, just like I forget you’re an epic warrior molded by the hand of a god.”

He pecks me on the cheek and the warmth that came from the motorcycle’s vibrations flares in my belly. “Come on. You’re going to love Tran.”

“Tran?” But he already has me by the hand and we pass a group of boys admiring the bike.

A sign hangs from the building with an arrow pointing down. The words are in Chinese so again I can do nothing but trust Damien as we take the stairs to a below-street-level shop.

The door is glass but covered in a thin layer of plastic, making it hard to see in. Damien pulls the handle, gesturing for me to go first. I step into a claustrophobic’s nightmare. The shop is messy, dirty. Baskets and boxes and bins cover every inch of available space. The counter is a collection of bottles, jars, and containers. Murky items fill each one and there’s a faint, fishy smell in the air that reminds me of the exotic farmers’ market back home.

Chimes on the door clang as we enter and a small man pops out from the back. He moves to his spot behind the counter. I can barely see him behind the clutter but I spot the flash of a smile when he locates Damien behind me.

“D!” he shouts. “Nice surprise!”

Damien moves around me but links his fingers with mine, keeping me close. I trip over a box that squeaks in reply.

“Tran, good to see you. I’d like to you meet my friend, Morgan.”

Tran looks me up and down with small, concentrating eyes. “We’ve met before?”

A strange chill rolls down my spine. The kind that comes with déjà vu. A tiny voice replies in my ear, “Yes,” but I ignore it and shake my head. “I doubt it. I just moved here.”

“Ah,” he says, but his eyes never leave mine. “I hear the accent in your voice. Not from around here.”

“The South,” I confirm.

“Well, welcome.” He looks at Damien. “What can I do for you today?”

“We’re looking for a few items,” Damien replies, pulling the list Bunny wrote out of his pocket. “Thought I’d stop here first and see what you’ve got.”

Tran takes the list, his face blank as he goes over the ingredients we need. I know the list—I read it in my book—and even though this is my idea, the fact the man didn’t flinch at the words ’dragon tears’ or ’powdered ox testicle’, rattles me.

The man turns away and begins rummaging around the wall of jars and tiny drawers behind the counter. He hums as he works, weighing and measuring items. Damien bends over and studies a jar full of what looks like rocks.

I take the time to look around a little myself, although I do avoid the box on the floor that squeaked at me. The shop carries a world of mysteries and a strange feeling settles in my bones. It’s probably just the magic, I tell myself. I’m getting used to the feeling, the constant push-pull of various energies trying to take control. I haven’t a clue what most of the items are or what they do. I pick up a dark glass orb that fits in the palm of my hand. The ball hums in my hand as I hold it up to the light. Shadows flit inside and I squint, wondering if I made it up.

“You found my WishMaker orb.”

“WishMaker?” I ask, turning to find the small man right behind me.

“Yes. It’s very old—Romanian. You look inside to reveal your true desires.”

I stare at the glossy surface, trying to catch the shadows again. “Like a Magic 8 ball?”

Tran laughs. “A little bit. But the WishMaker, like all magic, can reveal things you never knew about yourself. Things you possibly never wanted to know. The orb knows your heart. Your truth. You can’t hide from it.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.” I set the orb back on its stand and look over his head at Damien. There’s a box of supplies on the counter next to him and I wonder how we’re going to get that back home on the motorcycle.

“Get everything?” I ask, suddenly ready to leave.

“Most of it. We’ll have to track down a few other things. Between me and Bunny, I think we can find everything.” He rests his hand on the box and says to Tran. “You’ll deliver this?”

“By this afternoon.”

We step out of the dark shop and into the warm daylight. Feeling bold and like I’d like the shake the weird feeling I got in the shop, I squeeze Damien’s hand and ask, “Think we can take the long way home?”

“You want a longer ride?”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at his curious face. “I think I do.”

*

Damien takes the scenic route, giving me a tour of parts of New York I never knew existed. Bridges and side roads. Perfect views. I grow comfortable leaning against his back and revel in the intimacy of the moment rather than the fear.

The magic I felt at the shop flickers under the surface. That kind of place seems perfect to lure out the Morrigan. Ancient power is her lifesource. Touching that orb gave her a tiny taste. She wants more and there’s only one real way to satiate her.

These feeling are still churning when Damien slows his bike and turns into the alley behind our house. He eases it next to the shop instead of the garage below, killing the engine.

We remove our helmets but I keep my body pressed against his. I wrap my arm around his waist and feel his muscles tighten. He hesitates, just a moment, before twisting to see my face. He’s curious. He feels it. Me. All of this is written on his face.

He licks his lips and his eyes flare with heat. “You’re not going to get games from me, Morgan.”

“Games?” I ask, genuinely confused.

He cracks a smile. “The others? They all have their standards. Codes or morality. Personal hang-ups. I’m here to do a job. My sworn duty is to protect you, but I’m no angel, darling, not in this life or any other. If you need to blow off a little steam, I’m ready.”

His words, no matter how blunt, are exactly what I need to hear. The Morrigan makes me feel dirty around the honor of these men. Her ways are wicked. She’s a killer and her darkness already lashed out and took a victim. I need a man right now that will be nothing more than a release. Someone with a little dirt on his hands, and after weeks of playing guessing games with the others and losing my virginity to Clinton in a steamy night of tragic passion, I need someone to just take the energy I have to give.

“Good. Because that voodoo shop gave me the willies and riled up the Darkness.”

His fingers twist in mine. “Come on. I’ve got just the thing.”

The thing turns out to be a small room off the back of his studio. There’s a bed, a small table and chairs, and it’s clean. Like, immaculate.

“What’s this for?” I ask, relishing the feel of the air conditioning on my hot face.

“I sleep back here sometimes. The house may be big but it still feels crowded on occasion.” He unbuttons his leather vest and tosses it on the chair. “Lately it seems more so than normal.”

“Because of me?” I ask.

He walks over and tugs at the straps of my tank. “The energy you carry? It’s no joke. With my sensitivity, it sends me over the edge.”

I’m already acquainted with Damien’s body. I’ve tasted his mouth, his skin, and his cock. Right now though, from the way he licks his lips, I get the feeling he’s ready to get a taste of me.

He doesn’t mess around, and my shirt and strappy bra are on the floor before I can blink. His hands push the skintight jeans over my hips to my feet, where I have to hold on to him to get them the rest of the way off.  I take him in when he pulls his own shirt over his head, revealing the carved muscles of his chest and the tattoos that I’ve never seen up close. Silver hoops hang from his nipples and when I touch one on impulse he shivers in reply.

I stand before him and touch the raven just above his heart and trace the ink around his biceps and onto his back. Realization dawns and I gasp. “It’s our story.”

The whole thing. The lovers. The battle. The ash and bone. God’s hand dropping from the heavens. The hurricane, and around to the other side there’s a girl with dark hair and five ravens swooping low around her.

“You carry the burden of the Darkness,” he says, touching my chin. “We carry the burden of the past.”

I brace myself for his kiss and when his pants drop to the floor, it’s no surprise that he’s already hard. It’s also to my pleasure that he’s bare beneath his jeans. We stand naked with one another, skin skimming skin, heightening the desire.

His hands move to my breasts, kneading the tips into hard points. His mouth falls to mine, lips warm, tongue sweet. No, Damien doesn’t play games. He gets right to the point, right to my want and need. His fingers do not stray. His mouth never loses focus and within minutes I’m putty in his capable, agile hands.

He falls back on the bed and pulls me over his hips, while spreading my thighs wide. His manhood stabs eagerly at the air between us.

“Okay?” he asks because we both know it’s only my second time. I nod vigorously and together we guide him to my center. He allows me to set the pace, taking him in inch by inch. When he’s inside I close my eyes and exhale, the stress from the shop dissipating with each second. Damien’s hands clench around my hips and with his hungry guidance I begin to move.

It’s different like this, I think as I rock against him. Different than Clinton, who hovered over me like a protective blanket. In this position I feel the power surge in me, similarly to when I knelt between Dylan’s legs.

Power comes in many forms. Each of my guardians helps me understand that. It’s about balance and control. It’s about maintaining a level of objectivity and strength. Damien’s jaw clenches as I move above him, his abs flex and the ravens on his chest twitch as if in flight.

I lean over and bite his lip, smiling into his mouth. I’m going to enjoy this while I can.

Chapter Five

Clinton

Dylan arrives in the training room a few minutes before my session with Morgan. It’s a rare evening workout—and we’re going on a field trip. Both ideas brought a smile to her already-pleased face at dinner. I’m in the middle of packing a small bag to take on our outing when I spot him in the doorway.

“Good evening,” I say, slipping the leather gloves in the bag. Dylan watches me closely. He’s aware of where we’re going. “What are you doing down here? Another workout?”

“Just dropping off the ingredients Damien and Morgan picked up in the lab. The box was delivered before dinner.”

“Everything there?”

“We’re missing a few things. Damien and Bunny think we can locate the few we’re missing.”

“So you’re down with the idea of the spell?”

He shakes his head. “No. I think it’s risky and stupid, but Morgan is right. We don’t get to tell her what to do. We assist her. If she wants to try it then what choice do we have?”

I cinch the tie on the bag and toss it over my shoulder, not believing that he’s remotely okay with this for a minute. Or that he’ll simply step down. But that’s between him and Morgan. After watching how quickly the Darkness took over with Xavier, I know we have to do something.

“You’re sure this is a good idea?” he asks, gesturing to the bag. Of course he asks. He doesn’t trust the rest of us. It’s not in his nature.

“She has to be tested.”

“It’s too soon.”

I snort. “Tell that to Xavier Cross. I’m sure he won’t agree.”

We both know Xavier can’t agree or disagree with anything. He’s bed bound and dying, the life slipping out of him like sand in a sieve. I doubt he’ll last the week.

I leave the gym and head up the back stairs. Morgan is waiting in the foyer. She has on tight, black, workout pants and a hoodie with NYU on the front. I expect her to start for the door but she looks toward the hallway that leads to the garage.

“You’ve got a car down there, don’t you?”

I raise an eyebrow but nod.

“Well, let’s go. May as well get this ass-kicking over with so I can come home and get in an ice bath.” She walks off.

A small smile twitches at the edges of Dylan’s mouth. “You didn’t tell her?”

“No. Not yet.”

He laughs and the sound echoes off the marble floors. “Good luck, brother.”

I leave him to his humor without another word because I know he’s right. When Morgan finds out where I’m taking her she just may kill me.

Chapter Six

Morgan

Clinton’s preferred vehicle is a massive black pickup truck that sticks out on the streets of New York like a sore thumb. It’s top of the line, with every bell and whistle offered in a custom package. The truck is a beast—just like him.

I press the buttons on the dash, adjusting the warmth of my seat. Who knew there were seat coolers? Not me.

“Were does all this money come from?” I ask. “You know, for the cars and weird spell ingredients and everything else.”

“It comes with the house.” His eyes remain on the road. They better. These narrow streets were not made for a monster like this one.

“And who pays for the house?” The question brings out a tic in his jaw and when he doesn’t answer I stop pressing. For now.

I look out onto the street and I recognize a bodega and then an electronics store. So much of the city looks the same to me but when I see a kid with baggy pants and a gold tooth hanging on the corner I say, “I’ve been here before. Today. Are we going back to the Magic Shop?”

“No, but we are nearby.” He drives past the stairway that leads to Tran’s shop and turns a corner. There he directs the car into an underground garage and parks. Opening his door, he nods at the floor and says, “Get that bag.”

I’m already dressed for a workout. Athletic tights. Hoodie with a workout tank underneath. My hair is pulled back into a ponytail and I have trainers on my feet. I grab the bag off the floor and sling it around my shoulder.

On the way out of the garage Clinton finally explains. “You’ve made a lot of progress in our sparring sessions, but if the Darkness crosses what you’ll encounter will be a totally different situation. You’ll not only fight physically but mentally and against magical forces. A simple punch won’t kill anyone.”

“Kill?” I ask following him across the street.

“This isn’t about getting the upper hand. It’s about stopping the apocalypse. The Darkness will not stop—not this time. It’s hungry.”

On the sidewalk, I stop Clinton with my hand. He turns and looks down at me. “Aren’t you afraid you’re just teaching the Morrigan how to be a better fighter?”

He shakes his head. “The Morrigan already knows how to fight, sweetheart. She’s the Goddess of War. This is about me teaching you how to fight back. If you’re serious about separating away from her you’ll need to be strong and ready.”

“But who am I supposed to kill?”

“You’ll know when the time comes.”

I hate him for being vague but I know he doesn’t care. This whole thing is crazy. Apocalypse. Goddess of War. Sometimes I’m sure I’ve lost my mind. That this is just another fantasy I’ve slipped into like my books and writing.

But the smell of the asphalt is too strong and the smarmy skin of the guy at the door is a little too memorable. And when we step into the gym there’s no need to pinch myself. My imagination isn’t this creative.

There’s a crowd packed around the square ring in the middle—much like a boxing ring, with ropes bordering the edges. Seats are on an incline for better viewing and the stench of alcohol is strong. Curiosity licks at my brain and a strange energy pulses behind it.

“Clinton—what is this?”

“The fights.”

“And we’re here to watch?”

A thin line appears on his forehead. “No, you’re here to fight.”

I spin on my heel. No freaking way. I’ve barely made it three feet toward the door when I feel a huge hand wrap around my upper arm. Clinton has stopped me in my tracks. “You can’t make me go out there.”

“No, but it’s what you need to do. Take it to the next level.”

“Suicide? In front of a crowd? No thanks.”

We stare at one another for a long moment. Finally he blinks. “We’ll watch. Maybe you can at least absorb some of the strategy and when you gather enough courage we can come back.”

That little jab goes nowhere. All I want is to get out of here. Away from the lure of magic and the blood-thirsty crowd, but I’m curious enough not to walk out the door. The magnetic pull of clashing forces drags me back.

“Two matches,” I say.

“Three?”

“We’ll see.”

He graces me with one of those rare smiles, followed by a brief but toe-curling kiss. I follow him to a sliver of bench with a good view of the ring and the crowd around me. After a moment I lean into him and ask, “Who are all these people?”

“It’s probably not a surprise to you that if gods and goddesses and ancient magic exist, then so do other supernatural beings.”

I stare at him for a second. “This actually does come as a surprise.”

“Really?”

“Well, yeah, I guess?” But of course that’s stupid. I’ve seen enough in the last month to know that my grip on what’s normal is flimsy at best. The raven friends I’d made and forgotten as a child were real. They’re my guardians, assigned to me because I carry a smidge of the ancient Goddess of War in my soul. I narrow my eyes. “What are we talking about here?”

“Various beings. Angels, demons, demi-gods, Nephiliam…a little bit of everything.”

“Angels.”

He nods. “Yes.”

“What’s a Nephiliam?”

“Fallen angels…back in ancient times, they bred with the daughters of man and created Nephiliam. Basically, a human-angel hybrid. They’re vicious warriors.”

I glance around the room trying to figure out who is who, but everyone just looks like regular people, just like Clinton and I. Other than some incredibly attractive people, with striking features and intimidating physiques, I can’t find identifying markers. “And you all come here to fight?”

“Sure. It’s no fun to fight a human. Not fair either. It’s a good way to blow off some steam.” Clinton’s hair falls over his ear and I reach up to tuck it back in place. A shadow falls over us and we both look up to find a woman with braided blonde hair standing before us. She wears a flirty, dangerous smile and holds out a bottle of beer in Clinton’s direction.

“Brought you a drink,” she says, eyes never acknowledging me. “I owed you one for last time.”

I notice the way his eye brow lifts, just a little, and the way his eyes take her in. I can’t be sure it’s out of interest. He’s a Guardian after all, his job is to assess those around me, but I’m not sure how I feel about the tone of their exchange.

“Thank you,” he says taking the drink. “How have you been?”

She raises her arms over her head, flexing her muscles and lifting her ample breasts inches from his face. Good grief.

“Pretty good. I haven’t seen anyone interesting sign up tonight. It will probably be pretty lame. Unless you’re fighting.” Her blue eyes flare. “Will I see you in the ring?”

“No,” he says, taking a sip of the beer.

“No? One of your brothers?”

“Not tonight. We just came to enjoy the show.”

At last her eyes skirt over me when he says ‘we’. The blue is so cold I nearly feel the air shift in temperature. “Oh well, I guess you’ll have to settle for cheering me on. I’m up in a bit.”

“Good luck, Hildi, but I doubt you’ll need it.”

She smiles at the compliment and walks off.

“Uh, what was that all about?” I ask, noticing he’s put the beer on the floor.

“That’s Hildi. She’s a Valkyrie. If she offers you a drink you take it.”

“And if you don’t?”

He laughs. “She’s a little like you. Blessed with the power of a Goddess. She also thrives on war. And in ancient times traveled with Ravens. It gives her an affinity for me and the others, although I don’t think she really knows why.”

I tilt my head. “And do you have an affinity in return?”

He slips his arm around my back and pulls me close. In my ear he whispers, “It doesn’t work that way and you know it. You’ve claimed our hearts, bodies and minds. You dictate our whims and in return we protect you from the Darkness that lurks at the edges. Don’t question our loyalty.”

I turn and our lips are nearly touching. I feel his breath. I see the determination in his eyes and I don’t doubt him for a second. Jealousy has no place in our relationship and I understand his conviction. I lick my lips and I’d claim him for real right here and now but a bright light flashes over the ring. He brushes my nose with his, breaking the moment. “It’s about to start.”

I have no idea what to expect but I focus on the ring. The lights dim around us and the rowdy crowd settles—a little. A tall man strides to the middle, a spotlight glaring off his smooth, brown skin. His teeth are white, and from my seat, appear sharp.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen! Are you ready for the Monday night free-for-all?”

“What’s the free-for-all?” I ask.

“It’s when anyone can throw their names in. Other nights have organized fights. Sort of like regular boxing or wrestling.”

“And you thought I’d toss my name in? To fight angel-hybrid-Valkyrie warriors?”

He smiles and shrugs.

I can’t even with him.

Two more spotlights click on, one zooming to opposite corners. Two men stand on each side dressed like a mixture of a MMA fighter and possibly a ninja. I have no idea what is even going on down there.

“Watch these two. You’ll learn a lot. That’s Diamond Dave and Rocky Boa.”

“What kind of names are those?” I ask, but Clinton’s eyes are glued to the scene below. I expect a little fanfare but there’s nothing but the sound of a buzzer announcing the start of the fight. Both men move to the center of the ring, circling one another. I’m not sure what Damien wants me to learn and I’m about to tell him so when what happens on the stage nearly forces me to my feet.

“Oh my God,” I say, rising up. Damien tugs me back down in my seat.

Black tendrils slither down one Rocky Boa’s arms. It looks like smoke but I blink and realize they’re snakes.

Snakes.

Dave doesn’t seem remotely surprised and he flicks his wrists, revealing a series of blades. They glint in the bright light and a wicked grin appears on his mouth.

“Blades?”

“It’s legal. Anything goes in there.”

Dave slashes through the air, cutting off the head of one snake. In reaction, two more appear. The smile slips and he goes for Rocky’s body. Clinton leans in and says, “The snakes are a protection. The more he cuts them the more they’ll appear, eventually wrapping Rocky in a body of armor. Dave needs to go for throat.”

“The throat?” I watch as the fighter does just that, taking a sharp swipe at the other man’s neck. He misses but the snakes hiss in fear and as the snakes grow they slither along the canvas ring, growing into something larger, scarier.

“All Dave has to do is nick him and he’ll go down. Those blades are dipped in poison.” Sure enough. Dave goes after him again, this time tearing a hole in Rocky’s shirt. The snakes circle around and around, zeroing in on Dave.

“They’re going to get him,” I say about Dave, covering my eyes. The sound of the snakes hissing echoes in my ears.

“Don’t be so sure.”

I take a peek just in time to see Dave perform a pretty fantastic acrobatic move, jumping over the snakes and using the corner post of the ring as leverage. He flips in the air, slicing so fast I can’t see his movements. Snake heads roll and the smoke conjures more but Dave has Rocky on the ground with a blade against his pale neck. The snakes continue to circle but blood is drawn, spilling from Rocky’s neck.  The serpents offer one last hiss before fading into thin air. Rocky’s body lies in a pool of blood. The crowd is on their feet, shouting in a chorus of cheers and jeers, depending on who they wanted to win.

“He’s dead?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach.

“In the real world? Yes,” Clinton says. “But the ring is enchanted. Rocky will survive—other than his ego.”

“The ring is enchanted?”

“Yes. Those skills? The blades and the snakes? These people can’t use those powers on Earth. Somewhere else? Wherever they came from? Sure. But here? The laws don’t work that way. Just like how I can’t shift into a crow anymore, and how you can’t infect people with the Morrigan’s death. Not normally, at least.” He looks down at the ring. “But down there? Like I said, anything goes.”

I stare down at the body, which definitely seems to be dead. Rocky’s neck is limp and twisted. Dave struts around the ring, declaring and owning his victory. The referee (if you can call him that) ushers Dave off the stage and for a few, awkward moments Rocky’s pale, graying body lies alone on the floor.

The referee returns and stands over the body. He waves his hands and a flash of shimmery light hovers over the ring. The man’s mouth moves, reciting an incantation. No one around me seems to notice. They’re talking and drinking and behaving the way any event-goer would during an intermission. Not me, though. I can’t keep my eyes off the man on the stage—the body on the mat. The magic swirls over Rocky and enters him quickly through the mouth. A moment later the fighter’s eyes pop open and he inhales a gulp of air. He fumbles for a moment but the man helps him off the ground, pats him on the back, and sends him off the ring.

I look at Clinton and say, “That was fucking insane.”

“That guy is a Shaman. He monitors the games—makes sure everyone plays fair.”

“Fair?” I shake my head, feeling like I’m in an alternate reality. I mean, maybe I am. Suddenly the room feels too crowded. Too tight. I stand up, seeking air.

“You okay?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Just going to the bathroom. Be right back.”

His gray eyes narrow in concern but I squeeze his hand and work my way through the people on our row, down the walkway and toward the sign pointing to the restrooms. I get to the bottom floor, turn the corner and sigh. Even the supernatural have a long line for the women’s room.

I lean against the wall and wait, glancing at the woman behind me and giving her a sympathetic smile. She simply glares at me in return.

Okay then.

The crowded line moves slowly and the causal chatter of the women turns to whispers. I’m staring at my feet, wondering if I should go get a pedicure tomorrow when I hear a girl near me say, “Can you believe he showed up with her? That scrawny thing?”

“Seriously. He turned me down last week.”

“Same but two months ago. I stopped trying after that.”

“I’ve never seen him with anyone. Never. And then bam, he’s got a date. He fucking kissed her when they walked in. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Someone snorts. “Date? Let’s call a spade a spade. That girl looks a one night stand. Like he found her down at the sorority house or something.” That voice rings louder than the others.

“Did you see his last fight?”

“I saw his body. His muscles. That’s not a six-pack, girl. I counted at least ten.”

“He’s hot but I’m sort of into the other one. The broody one,” the girl behind me says. I peek over my shoulder and see a spark in her eye. “I bet he’s wound up so tight. I want to be the one to loosen the spring.”

“I’ll admit it’s hard to pick. The men in the Raven Guard are all fucking epic. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into them, one-by-one.”

There’s an explosion of giggles and when I look up at the name “Raven Guard,” the girl who said it is staring straight at me. It’s Hildi with her white blonde hair braided tight around her skull. She’s very tall and when she talks her hair flows down her back like a mane. Her Norse genes stand out among the other women in the line, including my own dark hair and skin. Tiny tattoos decorate the sensitive skin behind her ear and I even if Clinton hadn’t told me she was powerful, I would instinctively know.

“What?” I ask, because I’m slow as molasses.

“You seem interested in listening to us so why don’t you just join in? Tell us what he’s like.”

“Who?” Okay, I’m not that dumb, but I’m also not sure where this is going. Hildi grins. She knows she’s got the upper hand. I bite. “Clinton? He’s just an old friend.”

“An old friend?”

I step out of line to meet her. The other women fall back, watching the scene unfold. “Don’t play games with me. Clinton and the others? They need a real woman to take care of them. Not a little girl like you. Someone who can handle their strength—their passion.” She strides forward and places a hand casually on her hip. “Do you even know what you’re playing with here?”

“I have an idea.”

The same buzzer I heard before cuts through the air and her eyes flick over my head. “Clinton deserves a warrior, not a filthy human or whatever fairy hole you crawled out of. You should stick around. Watch a real woman in action. We’ll see who he leaves with when this is all over.”

It’s a foolish threat on her part. Weak and pathetic. She’s the one that has no idea what she’s dealing with and laughter echoes deep in my mind.

There’s one way to bring out the Morrigan. Threaten to take her man.

*

I push through the crowd, not back to my seat like I should, but toward the ring in the middle. The next fight is in full swing and it looks like a goblin of some kind is battling a man with sleek black wings. It takes me a few minutes to find who and what I’m looking for: the Shaman. He’s standing at the edge of the ring. A list of names is on the table next to him. I walk up and see Hildi’s name and pick up the paper.

“I need to get added to this list,” I shout, trying to be heard over the roaring crowd. The black winged angel swoops overhead and I hear the disturbing sound of crushed bones. I reach for the Shaman’s robe and yank.

“Hey,” I say, when he finally looks down on me. His expression is more curious than annoyed. His dark eyes take me in. Unlike Hildi, I suspect he knows exactly who I am. “I want to fight.”

“The slots are full.”

“Make room.” I point to her name. “Against her.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “You want to fight the Valkyrie?”

“I do.”

The Shaman’s eyes flick to the crowd, to where I know Clinton is sitting. I don’t turn around. “Yeah, I’m here with him. He brought me here to fight. I’m ready and this bitch needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Revenge?”

“Let’s call it a lesson in making assumptions.”

He nods and slashes his finger across the name of Hildi’s opponent, causing it to disappear. “So who is going to fight tonight? You or the Goddess?”

I pull my hoodie over my head and the charm heats at my neck. “Probably a little bit of both.”

Chapter Seven

Morgan

I’m whisked to the side, only catching a glimpse of Hildi’s hair as she goes to her own corner. The Morrigan whimpers deep in my chest, clawing at her irrational jealousy and need for bloodshed. If I didn’t know better I’d think Clinton set this entire thing up as a test. Who will win for control in a duel to the death, me or the Morrigan?

Two handlers wait for me, tugging at my hair, twisting it into a knot. “What are you doing?” I ask, slapping at their hands.

“First time in the ring?” the woman asks. She has a gold tooth and a glitter swirled over her eyes.

“Yes.”

“You’ll want your hair back. Close. Otherwise she’ll rip it right off.”

“I thought the ring was enchanted?”

She smiles, the cap glinting back. “You won’t die in there but you can still come out snatched bald.”

I touch my curls and nod, giving her permission to fasten it close.

The other handler checks my shoes, running his hands over the edge. “Looking for something?”

“Blades. Spikes. You can’t have weapons in the ring.”

“But what about the others? The snakes. Diamond Dave had those blades on his hands…”

“Magical,” he says. “Those are part of him. Just you and your abilities go in the ring. Nothing else.”

I eye Hildi across the ring. She’s removed her jacket and beneath the tattoos covering her arms I see the lean, hard muscle. She reaches above her head and stretches. My female handler notices my interest. “She’s good. Fast and strong.”

“What do Valkyries do…mythologically speaking?”

“They choose which warriors will live or die in battle. The ones that die will go on to Valhalla.”

I stiffen. “So wait, she can determine if I’m going to die?”

“Not today. That will be up to you and your skills.”

The buzzer sounds and the lights flash.

I’m up.

It’s then that I notice how big the crowd is around the ring. The lights are bright as I climb onto the canvas mat. I can’t see the spectators—I only hear them—roaring like a giant beast. I look over at my opponent and note the surprise on her face. She didn’t realize I’d be here.

“Since when do they allow little girls in the ring?” she asks the Shaman.

“She’ll prove her worth,” he says, then shrugs. “Or not.”

The strange thing about this moment is that I’m not afraid. Not of Hildi. Not of the possibility of enchanted death. I take deep breaths, attempting to calm the beast rising under my skin. She wants out. She wants to play.

Most of all, she wants to feed.

I use all of my concentration to keep her at bay. I’m going to beat her. Morgan, not the Raven Queen.

Me.

The second buzzer goes off and the Shaman vanishes. It’s just the two of us and it doesn’t take Hildi long to make a move, springing from her spot.

My training has prepared me for this moment. The hours Clinton pushed me to my limit. I dodge her fists, her feet, her sharp elbows, and manage to land one of my own in her kidneys. She bends and I take a breath, glancing up at the seats. A shadow moves and all I feel is pain, sharp and excruciating as her fist slams against my chin.

“Dammit,” I curse, feeling my teeth wiggle. I kick her in the knee and then the stomach. I duck, avoiding another punch and then I take the offensive, lunging at her waist and knocking her off her feet.

We stumble and I scramble fast, pinning her to the mat. To my surprise she doesn’t fight back, instead staring at me with wide eyes. “Stronger than you look,” she says, her voice sounding far away. I drag my eyes from hers but they’re magnetic. I can’t look away.

“You have no idea,” I say, but I blink and when I open my eyes I’m on the mat alone—Hildi gone. The crowd roars, amplifying my confusion. I glance behind me and feel her fist before anything else.

I fly backwards, held in the ring only by the barriers. My feet wobble but I steady myself. I’m ready when she comes at me again. I grab her by the neck, getting her in a messy headlock. “You tricked me.”

“Did I?” She laughs. “Show me what you can do—he wouldn’t let you in here if you didn’t have the receipts.”

But that’s the thing. I don’t know what I can do. I can fight—hold her off. I can release the Morrigan and kill everyone in here. But what can I do? What magic do I really possess?

I flip Hildi over and again I’m in a position of dominance. I avoid her eyes and I think of the last time I was like this in a fight. What would I do if she were Clinton or Dylan or one of the others? How would I over power her?

The answer comes in a wave of hungry emotion.

I lift her by the shirt, focusing on her mouth not her eyes. She cries at my strength.

Yes, the Morrigan begs.

No, I shout back. Fucking no. I fight the desire. The want and hunger, but I succumb, pulling her face close to mine.

One kiss. Just one. Kill this bitch who came on to your man. Who talked about his body. Spoke of what and who belongs to you.

I look into her eyes hoping Hildi will do whatever it is she did before, but all I see is blatant desire in return.

Fuck.

The shimmer of sliver catches my eye just to my left and I can taste her breath she’s so close, so very close, but the glimmer flashes, the reflection blinding me and I blink.

“Do it.” Hildi breathes into my ear but I’m looking at the mat and the object that suddenly appeared. “Do it.”

I don’t know what she want me to do; kiss her or kill her when both are the same. And isn’t that what I’m supposed to do anyway? This is a game to the death.

But I push her back and reach for the shiny sword. The one that fits perfectly in my hand. The crowd gasps, wondering where it came from. How did it appear? And I have the very same questions but Hildi has picked herself up off the ground and charges at me full force.

I swing the blade, slicing it across her arm.

I flip it over, smashing her along the jaw with the hilt.

She falls, knees first, and the auditorium grows silent. I stand over her and step on her hand with one foot and her stomach with another.

“Remember this day,” I tell her. I look up into the crowd. “The Raven Queen did not do this.” I stab Hildi through the heart, her blue eyes shocked until the blue drains to a pale gray. “I did.”

I leave her body on the mat and walk back to where I’d entered. The handlers are there, eyes wide and faces pale. The sword is heavy in my hand and in a quick motion I slash the ropes off the ring and they fall quickly to the floor. I step down, searching the crowd, the faces, finally feeling relief when I see his face.

“I fought her,” I tell Clinton when he’s pushed through the crowd.

“I know.” He takes the sword from me and catches me when my feet falter. “You did good, Morgan.”

His words warm my heart and my head spins. His gray eyes are the last thing I see before the world turns black.

Chapter Eight

Dylan

Sam and I are in the middle of a game of chess in the library when the front door bursts open.

Davis runs past the doorway shouting, “Hurry, it’s Mistress Morgan.”  The chess pieces fall as Sam and I both leap from our seats.

Footsteps thunder down the staircase and Damien appears, brandishing a sharp blade, but drops it when he sees Clinton carrying Morgan in his arms.

“She’s okay. I promise. Just worn out.” He moves to the staircase. I step in front of him and hold out my arms. He twists away like a child refusing to hand over a treasure.

“I told you it was too much. I told you it was too fucking soon.”

“She’s fine!” he roars and his voice echoes to the top floors. Surely Bunny has been drawn from his attic studio. Sam touches Clinton’s arm and gives him a short nod. He inhales and reluctantly hands her over. I feel a tiny bit better with her safely in my arms, able to feel the warmth of her body and beat of her heart. She’s bruised along the jaw and her pants are torn. Raw scrapes line the top of her knuckles and I push past the others to get her up the stairs.

Bunny meets us at the third floor and opens the door to her suite. I carefully enter, making sure not to bang her head on the door frame, and lay her on the bed after Sam pulls down the linens.

She takes a deep breath the instant her head hits the pillow, followed by a small sigh. Her dark hair fans out like a halo. The bruise on her cheek only makes her look stronger—like the warrior we all know she’s meant to be.

Sue appears and shoos us out of the room. She’ll clean and dress her.

I look at Clinton and ask, “What the hell happened?”

He walks across the bedroom and out to the sitting room. There he finds a bottle of whiskey and takes a gulp straight out of the top. He hands it to Sam who does the same and before he speaks we’ve all had a drink. “I took her to the fights. I was going to enter her—match her up to someone she could easily beat. Just to test the training. But she went to the ladies’ room and, fuck, I don’t know what happened. Next thing she’s in the queue and on the mat squaring off against Hildi.”

“Hildi,” I repeat, thinking of the blonde, incredibly dangerous Valkyrie.

“Oh boy,” Damien mutters. “Bet that Viking was pleased to see her in the ring.”

“She was jealous when she saw Morgan with me. I let it pass. Took her drink in good will. Offered her good luck in her match.” He looks over at Morgan sleeping in the other room. “Somehow those two got into it.”

“Morgan or the Darkness?” Sam asks. There’s a difference.

“I think a little bit of both,” Clinton replies. “The Morrigan was looking for a victim. I thought she was going to take her and I don’t think the enchantments would have held against her kiss of death. But our girl, she held strong. Conjured up her sword and beat both Hildi and the Darkness.”

Damien raises his eyebrows. “She beat the Darkness?”

“Yes.”

“And conjured her weapon?” I ask. The implications are huge. It may mean that Morgan is strong enough on her own to do this. She may even be strong enough to survive the spell she’s so determined to cast.

“Yes,” Clinton says again. “She’s weak, obviously. It took a lot out of her. But she made it off the mat in one piece and slayed the Valkyrie. The entire crowd was stunned.”

“So they know she’s here,” Bunny asks, pointing out something we’d all been avoiding. “Everyone in the community is aware that she’s alive and what that means.”

“I suspect they’ve known for a while,” I say. “Although now they’ll know for sure and not everyone will want the same outcome we do.”

The five of us stand over her bed, watching her sleep. Thing are going to get harder before they get better. I glace at Sam and say, “Stay with her,” knowing it’s likely she’ll need comfort and sustenance before the night is over.

Chapter Nine

Morgan

I wake, swaddled in warmth, achy and filled with a hunger that burns deep in the pit of my belly. The room is dark but I know it’s mine, the twinkly star lights I hung when I arrived blink over the window. I shift but the cocoon tightens and in my ear I hear, “Slow. You’re injured,” in Sam’s soft, comforting voice.

Eyes closed, I stay in my spot, knowing he’s right. The last thing I remember is killing Hildi, then Clinton’s face. I feel the ache in my cheek and down my ribs. There’s another sensation, the soft caress of fingers along my jaw and fussing in my hair.

I shift just a little, realizing I’m not in the clothes I left in. I feel the soft cotton of a nightgown from my drawer.

“Sue changed you.” It’s as though he’s read my mind. “And cleaned you up.” With my eyes still shut I sink into the sensation of his lips along my ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, gently wrapping an arm around my waist. We’re spooning. He’s the big and I’m the little and relief stretches and groans in my muscles.

“Yeah, that feels nice.”

Sam. Beautiful Sam. With the strong jaw and Jolly Rancher green eyes. With the gorgeous face and kind smile. My friend. The man who has fingers that make my blood boil. Whose kisses bring me peace.

I need him now.

I want him desperately.

I’m hungry.

I’m wounded.

I need everything that he can give me.

“I heard you slayed a Valkyrie,” he says. Some of the pain dissipates when his hands run over my skin.

“She made me mad.”

He laughs. “I bet.”

“And the Morrigan?” he asks.

“I told her to fuck off.” I push my backside closer to him and he snuggles in just the same. I feel the hard length pressing against my back and my belly screams with need.

He lifts my hair and peppers hot kisses along my neck. Each one sends a flare of energy through my body. I’m learning every day the connection between my health, magic, and sex. If I want to be strong I need to be with my Guardians. Right now I need to heal and I’m quite certain he’s aware of my condition.

His hands bunch the nightgown around my waist and his fingers wander down my stomach and between my legs. I reach behind me, feeling for him, and it’s not difficult to find his enlarged cock. He’s clothed and I fumble for the buttons, wanting his skin next to mine.

“I need you to get undressed,” I tell him. “And get back in the bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” There’s a hint of amusement plus desire in his murmured reply.

He vanishes for a moment, slipping off his clothes. The bed cools behind me but when he returns I’m rewarded with the heat and impact of his body. Sam doesn’t wait and I don’t want him to. He eases me on my side, pushing my top leg over just a bit.

“This is…this position is new,” I confess.

He pauses. “Too much? Would you rather?”

But the spot between my legs is already wet and I crave the feel of him inside me. I lay my hand over his and encourage him. Without pause he enters me slowly from behind.

“Oh,” I cry, not only from the sensation of our bodies joining, but from the surge of energy flowing through my limbs. The bruises numb and my ribs cool while everything else is centered on Sam taking a tentative rock.

“I won’t break, you know.”

I feel his smile against my neck. And he pushes in before pulling out. I sink into the motion. Again and again and again.

He moves in quick, even thrusts, perfectly timed, and one hand holds my ass while the other is looped under my body, kneading my breast. The spot between my legs aches and I move my own fingers down to relieve the pressure.

To my surprise he slows dramatically. His kisses, his hips, slowly moving in and out. I pant from desire wanting more, faster, but with every excruciatingly, intense thrust my muscles turn to jelly. He feels so good. It feels so good, I bite my bottom lip and let him lead.

I’m drifting into the all-consuming sensation when I hear him whisper in my ear, “I’ve spent my life waiting for this moment. To share such intimacy with a goddess of such strength.” In and out. In and out. “I’ll never leave your side, Morgan. Not in a fight. Not on the battlefield. Not in your bed when you need my touch to heal.”

I cry out, because of his words and because I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on.

His mouth is on my neck and I turn to meet his lips with mine and it provides the greatest twist of pleasure below. “Harder,” I command, barely able to stand it. He grins and bites my lip, gladly picking up the pace, moving with increased speed. I no longer feel the pain from the fight, just him. Just his hands. His cock. The magical warmth of healing.

His hands dip between my legs and out bodies are melded into one. His breath coats my neck and the little grunts coming from his chest sound feral and wild. I’ve stopped listening, only feeling, only aware of my body aching in a different way. The coil deep in my core twists and twists, my legs lose their ability to stay apart, I scream when I finally come, a long, satisfying groan. Sam shudders behind me and his teeth clamp into my shoulder. I feel every twitch, every pulse, and we slump together in a mass of worn-out exhaustion.

Moments pass and the haze clears. I hear Sam’s breathing even out and I slip from his arms. Walking to the bathroom, I flick on the light over the mirror. My hair is wild, my eyes bright.  In a quick movement I pull the nightgown over my head and stare at my reflection. The injuries fade—healing with passion and shared energy.

I’ve learned much tonight about my body and its abilities. Things I hope will be of use in the future. But one thing I know for sure, I think as I slip back in bed. Once a night may not be enough.

Chapter Ten

Sam

I’ve got a mouthful of eggs when Bunny walks into the kitchen the following morning. He grabs a cup of coffee with his good hand and sits across from me at the table.

“She doing okay?” he asks.

I nod and grunt, swallowing the food.  I’d woken up an hour before, with an empty stomach, a raging hard-on, and Morgan snuggled against my side. She looked a thousand times better than the night before and I didn’t want to wake her so I showered, rubbed one off, and came down to eat.

“She just needed to rest and to heal.”

He arches his brow on the word ’heal’. “So she took to the healing?”

“Like a champ.” Again his expression is more annoyed than anything else. I sigh and rub my chin. “What do you want me to say, Bunny? That we fucked and she healed and then we fucked again because we wanted to?” Because that’s exactly what happened. An hour or so after we’d made love the first time she woke me up to do it again. No healing wounds. No magic. Just sex.  It was nice and felt more like bonding than I could have imagined.

“I’m just curious about the process, that’s all. If her runes are still protecting her. If she’s really holding the Darkness back.”

“You don’t think she is?” I ask.

“I think the Morrigan is a tricky bitch and we all need to be careful.”

I stand and walk over to get more coffee. I mix in cream and it turns the perfect shade of brown. Leaning against the counter I take a sip and say, “I’m not letting my guard down.”

“No?”

I sense something. A twinge of jealousy or misplaced anger. I understand what it’s like to listen and feel Morgan being intimate with the other guardians while you have to wait your turn. I get that. That was me until hours ago, but patience is key and Bunny knows this. I’m not going to give him that speech.

“We’re going out today,” I say, changing the subject. “I’m taking her to the park where I saw the anomaly the other day while on a shoot.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Maybe an opening,” I say. “I want to see if she has a reaction to it.”

He nods and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper. “Will you swing by and pick this up? It’s for the spell.”

The paper has an address not far from Times Square. “Yeah, we can stop there.”

He smiles, the tense expression from earlier gone. “Thanks. I think we’re pretty close to getting all of the ingredients.”

“And then we’ll try it?” I’m hesitant. The book and magic are strange and carry a hint of darkness. It’s risky but I’m not here to assert my opinions. It’s Morgan’s choice. I do know that not everyone agrees with that position.

“I think we should.” That’s all he says because we both know who the hold out will be: Dylan. Even if he’s stepped aside now, he’ll fight her about it in the end.

I’d be willing to pay for seats to that showdown.

Chapter Eleven

Morgan

“It’s nice to get out of the house.” I follow Sam down a winding path. We walked out the front door, across the road and entered the park. “I miss trees, you know? We had so many back home.”

“I remember.” He grins. “I miss them too.”

I think about that. “Do you miss being a raven? Damien said that’s why he rides a motorcycle—for the sensation.”

“We’ve had many forms, but I think I like this one the best.” He squeezes my hand and I get a little flutter in my belly. Last night with him was amazing. Sex is one level of intimacy but the way he healed me…now that I know angels are real, I think Sam may be part one. My cheeks burn thinking about it and I can’t help but watch the way he moves.

He glances over, linking his thumb in the camera strap over his shoulder. “What?”

“You.” I watch a flock of pigeons fly overhead. “That was unexpected last night.”

“Which part?”

“All of it. You, the healing. The way you felt…” I swallow, “inside me. Can everyone do that? The healing part?”

He nods and it’s not nearly as awkward as it should be to discuss my increasing sex life with his co-guardians. “It’s just like how we absorb the Darkness. We’re here to serve you.”

We reach a bend in a wooded section of the park. Sam steps off the path and guides me to follow. We leave the bright sun behind for the shady trees. “What are we looking for again?”

“There’s a clearing on the other side. This is a shortcut. I wanted you to get a good view.”

“A good view of a possible gate?” Goosebumps rise on my arms and down my neck at the idea. I don’t like it.

“There’s something over here. I saw it the other day. Here, look.”

He stops and holds up his camera. Photos flip by as he presses the button. He slows and I see a series of shots that look similar to the area we’re in. He stops on one in particular and hands it over. I peer down at the image.

It’s a simple patch of grass, and picnickers are spread here and there. A few children and a dog are in the scene. In the back corner though I see a slight variation. It looks almost like a smudge but when I run my finger over the screen it’s still there.

“You think that’s it?”

“I can’t see it with my bare eye. Just the camera. I thought you may have a different reaction.”

I step over a large branch. “Why me?”

“If the Darkness is really on the other side of that thing it’s going to want to check you out.”

I freeze. “You want me to bring out the Darkness?”

“No.” He frowns. “Well…we’ve got to get a step ahead of this, Morgan.”

“So is this just another test, like Clinton taking me to that fight last night?” I don’t want to be a pawn. Not like this. Not by these men.

Sam must sense my shift in attitude. He reaches out and touches my cheek. I jerk back, not wanting to be consoled. “Hey,” he says, reaching for me. I pull away again but he fights back, wrapping his hands around my waist. “These aren’t tests. They’re reality. Are we going about them in a systematic way? Yes, because look what happened when you stumbled upon it on your own?”

“Xavier.”

“Right, Xavier. So, call it what you want, but I’m just here to check something out and have you help me. Sounds like a partnership to me.”

He releases me and walks off, hurt that I’d been suspicious. The farther he goes the more embarrassed I am at thinking badly of him and his motives. I give myself a moment to shake off the attitude but when I look up he’s gone. I start moving through the woods going in the direction I thought he’d taken. I step to the right and a voice in my head whispers, wrong way.

I know the voice. It’s the voice that urged me to kiss Xavier. The one that taunted me in the fight with Hildi. It’s the Morrigan, and fear ripples down my limbs.

“Sam!” I call, picking up my pace and chasing him down. As much as I want to ignore her I follow her directions, pretty sure he’s going to the place she wants me to be. I catch up to him at the edge of the field. He’s still in the shade when I reach him but I’m nearly struck down when I feel the blast of cold air blow through the air.

“Did you feel that?” I ask, running my hands up and down my arms. It’s still late summer. It’s hot out and everyone in the area is wearing shorts and T-shirts, including me and Sam. But that’s not what I feel and I shiver when another gale rips through the trees.

“No, what?”

“The cold air? The breeze? It feels like the arctic out here.”

His green eyes widen and he pulls out his camera, the shutter clicking even before he’s got it pointed in the right direction. I scan the field and I realize quickly I don’t need his filter to show me the gate. It’s clearly visible to me in the middle of the field. Dark and shimmery. Part this world and part another.

I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. My feet move, stepping from the woods and in the direction of the gate. The click of the camera fades, the voices of the children playing disappear. The grass crunches beneath my feet, brittle from the cold. I ignore the burning sensation of the charm around my neck and the ring on my finger.

Step inside little sister, she coaxes. See what the Otherside has to offer.

I do take a step forward. Not intentional but more like my feet are being pulled like magnets. There’s no hesitation, just a strong, insistent pull. I don’t fight it. I can’t.

(Do I want to?)

The air grows colder, harsher. My eyelashes freeze. The sky is the color of coal and smells like dry, charred ash. I feel the grit on my skin, taste it on my tongue. But then, the strangest thing happens. I feel warm under my skin. A deep energy that crackles with the twitch of my muscles.

Welcome home, the voice says.

I blink and gray slithers beneath my feet, heading out the gate and into my world. The worlds battle, a hazy fight over space.  A weight tugs at my hand and I lift my arm and see the glint of my sword. Leather creaks and I look down to see my outfit has changed. I’m in warrior dress. Sleek leather skirt and leggings. Bone-crushing boots. The sword hums in my hand and the incessant voice murmurs in my ear, “That sword belongs to you, Morgan. To this world. It’s the weapon for a warrior—a goddess. It was created to take the life of your enemies. It pierced the heart of Cu, after he ripped yours out of your chest. Still beating. Still bloody. Still loving. Do you really trust these Guardians with their weak magic and secretive ways? Their tricks and seduction. Are they any different than Cu? Will they allow your righteous place when the gate falters? Will you lead them in battle or will you fight against them?”

“Shut up.”

“What makes you think they’re any better? That they won’t betray you? Use them to gain your strength, to further your knowledge, and then fight with me. Unleash the rage deep in your soul. My soul. Together we can conquer your world as well as this one.”

I stare out into the desolate landscape and notice a dark spot on the horizon. I wave my sword and the sky clears, still a slate gray but less sand and wind. I take another step forward and squint. Unless I’m imaging it, imaging all of it, there’s a castle in the distance.

“Morgan!” a voice cries in my ear. Feeling an intense pull, I take another step, wanting to see the castle. In a blink I realize the lure isn’t the gate. No, it’s the castle.

“Morgan!”

I’m jerked physically, but dig the heels of my boots into the dusty ground. I swing an elbow behind me, at the hands tugging me away. Away from this world. Away from my destiny. The sword glints and I clench my hand around the hilt.

Kill them.

“You don’t own me!” I shout, raising it over my head in a lethal swing. The blade slices between the worlds, the sunlight offering a blinding reflection before it comes back to me in the gray of the Otherside. The hands reappear, four of them, and I use my feet as well as my hands. Into the cold air I shout, “No!” only wanting to get to that castle. Only wanting to get home.

My feet are swiped beneath me and I land hard on my back. The sword falls when my elbow strikes the hard, frozen ground. I struggle. I scream. Words of anger and rage passing over my lips. And when the air turns from bitter cold to scorching heat I’m sure the world has ended.

My world has ended.

Two hands hold me by the thighs and other by the shoulder. I squint into the too-bright light. “How dare you,” I breathe, but the words sound foreign and the faces that appear belong to the men sent by the gods to protect me.

Sam and Dylan.

Their muscles strain and I realize I’m still fighting. Who? I don’t know. Why? I haven’t the faintest other than it’s important. Very important.

“Morgan!” Dylan shouts, his voice carrying an edge I’ve never heard before. I clench my jaw and swallow back the pain, the voice inside.

Another set of hands touches my face. Glasses and copper hair. “Morgan? You with us?”

His thumb, dipped in something slippery and wet, makes a mark on my forehead. The mark burns, so hot I start screaming, then a hand covers my mouth and I see rather than hear Bunny say, “I’m sorry,” before the pain is too much and I pass out.

Chapter Twelve

Dylan

“Hurry,” Bunny says, kicking the door open. We’re at the entrance of my suite and the plan is to get Morgan in a contained space.

I turn and say to him and Sam, “I’ve got this.”

Sam frowns. Bunny looks outright distressed. He glances at Morgan, who is not exactly passed out. More like in a trance.

“Are you sure?” he asks, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I can wake her up.”

“I want to talk to her.”

Not Morgan. The Morrigan. We need to have some words.

“Put her in that chair,” he says. “Sam, find some ties. She’ll have to be restrained.”

I start to argue that, but Bunny cuts me a non-negotiable look. I sigh and say, “There’s rope in that top drawer.”

I place Morgan in the armchair as gently as possible. Sam disappears into the entry and I hear him opening and closing drawers, before slamming one and reappearing.  I take the ties and nod to them both.

“I’m good. Thank you.”

“Are you sure?” Bunny asks again.

“Yes. I’ll call you if I need you.”

He slips me a small pot. Inside is the mixture he used to activate the trance and subdue her at the park. Morgan is ’wired’ with an intricate security system through the runes Bunny painted on her body. They’re meant to keep her and everyone else safe. “Use it if you need to. It won’t hurt her.”

I rest the container on the table. “I will.”

The Guardians leave and I hear the door latch behind them. I quickly bind her wrists to the chair, making an effort to keep them tight but not painful. I need the Morrigan to appear. I need to see her strength. I touch her chin and lift it upwards, placing a gentle kiss to her pink lips. Energy flows between us and I pull away quickly. It’s enough to wake her and she licks her lips, eyes fluttering. I wait to see who will appear. The wicked smile that greets me clues me in.

“Your Highness,” I say, bowing before her. The act makes me feel dirty.

“The Sentinel.” She looks me up and down. No, she’s not at full strength. If so, she would have ripped my throat out in greeting. “Where are the others.”

“I wanted some time with you alone.”

“Did you now?” She laughs. It’s Morgan’s face, her voice, but her eyes are cold and dark. She’s in there but somewhere deep beneath the surface. “Why? To kill me?”

“Why would I kill you?” I ask standing with my hands behind my back. “I’m your guard. As I have been for a millennium.”

“You’re a man.” She slinks back in her chair, crossing her legs. She makes no notice of the binds. “It’s in your nature to betray. You have an attention span of a gnat. Once something more interesting comes along, you’ll walk.”

“Just because one man betrayed you, Your Highness, does not mean we all have such nefarious desires.”

Her eyes narrow. She’s gorgeous, of course. And the look of evil doesn’t take away from her beauty. Her lips are pouty and red, her cheeks flushed with anger. The curve of her breasts is always alluring and I know if I took her right now I could banish the Morrigan back to her tiny corner of Morgan’s soul.

But my job isn’t to fuck the devil. It’s to protect the angel that houses her. We’ll consummate this relationship when she’s ready. Today is not that day.

“Why have you summoned me,” she finally states more than asks. The mark on her forehead shimmers.

“That little stunt you pulled today? That can’t happen again. Our job is not only to protect Morgan, it’s to protect this realm. You’re not going to start the apocalypse here—not again.”

“That wasn’t a stunt. I was simply showing the girl her home. Where she’s from.” She flexes her hands. “She has a right to know her history. Is that so wrong?”

Her eyes twinkle with amusement, as though I’m nothing but a speck. I keep my emotions close but make my intentions clear. “We’ll kill her before we allow your evil to spread. One victim is enough. It will stop at two.”

“Then why not just do it? Just take me out right now?” She looks me up and down. “You can’t, can you? Not before you’ve had your taste.” Now she laughs and a cold edge rolls down my back. “Men. So typical, always thinking with your cock. Why do you think it’s taking her so long to pick a mate? Why do you think she’s prolonging this entire affair?”

“She’s making a conscientious decision. It’s a mate. Forever.”

“She’s playing you for a fool.” She sighs. “You learn nothing. Nothing! But whatever, dear Guardian, let the girl have her fun while she pussy whips you all into submission. All the better for me.”

“Shut up.”

Her eyebrow arches and her she licks her lip. “Why do you think she’s holding out on you in particular, dear?”

“I’m not the only one.”

“You mean the cripple?” She snorts. “She’s only kind to him out of guilt. She doesn’t need his power—too weak. My minion took care of him years ago. You? She just likes toying with you. You’ll never truly get a taste of her. She knows what you are—what you’ve always been.”

A rush of anger boils over me and I reach for her throat. My hand clasps around the thin column of flesh and I say, “You won’t divide us. Together we are strong. We’re here to expel you and the misery that you bring to this place.” Her eyes bulge and I detect a hint of fear. I reach for the blade strapped to my leg and hold it against her temple.

The door bursts open and both Sam and Bunny run down the hall. Each take a side but I step back and drop the blade. Bunny takes the pot from my pocket and rubs the mark, making it shine in a fresh coat of gold. Morgan blinks, recognition flaring for just a moment before she slips off to sleep again.

“Fucking bitch,” I grumble, kicking a chair and toppling it to the side.

“She’s evil, Dylan. It’s what she does. She plays mind games and tricks people. She gets in your head, causes doubt,” Sam says, picking up the chair.

I glance at Bunny and see the pain in his eyes. He heard her. He heard her and no matter how quickly he looks away, I know he believes what she said. I want to say something but no words come out. Storming out of the room, I can’t help but think that I may believe the Morrigan too.

Chapter Thirteen

Morgan

I wake, slumped in a chair with my hands bound to the arms with black leather ties. My neck aches from being at an awkward angle and I stretch, feeling the burn in my muscles.

“Feeling better?” Dylan asks. He’s sitting in a chair directly across from mine. His eyes are narrow and wary.

“I guess.” I jerk my wrists. “What’s this about?”

“She took over. Fully.”

“Who?” I ask, but I know the answer. I still feel the Morrigan lingering in my veins. I wrinkle my nose. “Was it bad?”

“You fought us at the park. It took three of us to bring you in and Bunny knocking you out with a spell.”

I search my memory. It’s hazy at best. I remember Sam and the park. Getting angry with him and then chasing after him. I remember the gate—it was there—it’s real, but beyond that I recall nothing but the sensation of cold air and the sound of the Morrigan in my head. I tell this to Dylan and the crease on his forehead only deepens.

“So I fought you?” Oh boy. One of them I could take. But three? That seems foolish even for the Morrigan. “How did I do?”

“Bunny has a black eye. Sam sprained his wrist.”

Ouch. “And you?”

“I nearly throttled you.”

That one hits home and wariness creeps up my back. “Why, exactly?”

“Because the Morrigan has a mouth on her and it was the only way to get her to shut the fuck up.”

Ah, right. I take a deep breath. “So what do we do about this?” I pray he doesn’t say that I need to be tied up from now on.

“Two things. You need to pick a mate. Seal that up and gain the strength that comes with it.” He flexes his wrists. “Then, you were right, we need to do the spell. Split you into the three parts of the Morrigan.”

“I’m not ready,” I say. “I can’t choose a mate yet.”

“You have to.”

“It’s too fast. What if I choose wrong? What if this is just another test I’m going to fail. Like the one in the park or the fight with the Valkyrie?”

He frowns and leans forward. The shadows of the room make his cheekbones look sharper than normal. “Those weren’t tests, Morgan. This is all real. Do you understand that? It’s real. This is our world. Where magic prevails. Where battles and death are around every corner. Where destiny dictates our future. You don’t get to change those rules. You may have a goddess in your soul but that doesn’t mean she can override what must be done.”

He rises and crosses the room, stopping before me. He carefully removes the binds from my wrists and I rub the sore skin on my legs. I stand beneath his towering frame and he thumbs the column of my neck.  A jolt of electricity shocks my system.  “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“Sounds like I had it coming.”

“You?” he grimaces. “No. I let her get to me. I always do.”

I tilt my head at that comment, thinking. “You remember her from before?”

“Vividly.”

I consider this. I consider what that means and how shaken he seems to be. How controlling he has been during this entire situation. Fighting me on every step. Is he fighting me or the Morrigan? Or both.

He’s using you.

The voice is crystal clear.

No. I reply. That’s wrong, I’m using them. They give me the strength to fight back. Fight you.

Is that really any better? I hear the genuine curiosity in her question.

“Morgan?” Dylan asks, lifting my chin. His eyes are so blue, like deep pools and I’m struck with instant clarity.

“I’ll pick a mate. Once that is…accomplished I should be at full strength. ”

He hesitates slightly before asking, “When do you plan on making this decision?”

“I’ll decide by tomorrow night.”

“Do you really think we have more time than that?” I can still feel the chill from the Otherside. I also sense something larger. Looming.  A power I can’t help but fear and desire at the same time.

“Not much. I think we should have the spell ready by tomorrow,” I say. “If you’ll let the others know, I’ll go back through the book and find out if there’s anything else I need to do to prepare.”

I move past him but he grips my waist. “You know this could go badly. It’s complicated magic.”

“I don’t think we have any other choice, do you?”

He leans down and kisses me. It’s fiery hot and I feel it deep inside where my soul meets my spirit. His mouth is perfect, his tongue titillating, and the shadowy Darkness lingering at the edges recedes with every push and pull. There’s something else and when a knock at the door interrupts us and we separate, I see it in his expression, the same way I felt it in the kiss.

Desperation.

Loss.

Dylan walks away to open the door and I know one thing for sure. He thinks that’s the last time he’ll get to do that. I fear deep down that he may be right.

*

I stand in the lobby of the apartment building and wait for the elevator to arrive. The doorman let me in, my name on a list of approved visitors. I’m not sure if it was added from before, when Anita and I were critique partners, or today. Today seems unlikely as Xavier just died and why would his sister be thinking about names and visitors and such.

I press my damp hands against my skirt and try to quell my nerves.

Xavier is dead.

I killed him.

He’s dead.

The Morrigan slipped. I slipped.

“Excuse me,” I hear a familiar voice. My stomach turns from nervous to something more unpleasant. “Ah, Morgan. I see you got my message.”

“Good evening, Professor Christensen.” I offer a polite smile. I haven’t seen him face to face since he’d made me angry in his office a few weeks before. “I was devastated to hear the news. I barely knew Xavier but he seemed like a nice person.”

The words taste bitter coming off my tongue. I really am no better than the Morrigan. I lie and betray. She’s becoming part of me and I hate it. I stare at the elevator door as we rise to the top floor, the penthouse, and pray I get through the next few moments.

“How is your writing coming along?” the professor asks.

I glance over at his expectant expression. “Honestly, I haven’t gotten much done.”

“Oh.” The disappointment is clear. “I hope you don’t find yourself off deadline.”

“It will be fine. Just a little stress right now.” I look down the hallway as the doors slide open.

“Too much distraction at home?”

“No,” I snap. “With all due respect, Dr. Christensen, why are you so worried about my living situation?”

He pauses outside the large, wooden, front door. “I worry about all of my students. You’ve won a coveted spot in our program. It’s my obligation to the university to make sure it doesn’t go to waste.”

“So you keep track of the others the same way? Ask the male students about their roommates? Fish around for personal information?” I feel on the edge of a breakdown. I rub my eyes. “This isn’t the right place. If you have concerns about my progress I can make an appointment at your office.”

I press the buzzer. Before it opens I feel warm breath on my ear. “You should know from your story that not everything is as it seems. Our friends are not always our allies and our allies are not always our friends. Be careful where you tread.”

The door opens before I can reply but I spare a glance back at Christensen who is staring at the person greeting us, as though he didn’t just make a threat. I’m ushered quickly into the apartment and separated from the professor into a mingling crowd of mourners. Anita sits in the middle, red-eyed and pale. The guilt, along with every other emotion from the day, overwhelms me and I spin on my heel. I look for a room, any room, where I can take a breath.

The hallway is crowded. The kitchen packed. There’s a door off the hallway and I slip into it. I find myself in a small office or study. What I do see is a small array of liquor bottles on top of a cabinet and quickly pour myself a drink.

“Get your shit together, Morgan,” I mutter, taking a gulp of the fiery amber.

My nerves settle just a bit and I’m fully aware of my problem. It’s been over twenty-four hours and a major altercation since I’ve last been intimate with one of the guardians. I’m in a weakened state. My mind is a mess thinking about which man to choose for a mate. Tomorrow.

I take another gulp.

Something else is bothering me. It’s more of a feeling than a fact. Something happened when I went in that portal—and it wasn’t all bad. I have a flicker of interest—that same sense of intrigue that I write about in my book. There’s a draw to the Darkness and I’m not convinced it’s just the Morrigan pulling me. I think it may be me pushing me.

The thought is chilling.

And exciting.

A photograph across the room catches my eye. I walk around the massive desk and pick up the frame.  It’s of Xaiver and Anita. Probably around high school graduation, with their arms wrapped around one another. They look like fair-skinned porcelain dolls.

On the shelf next to the photo I spot a small box. It’s made of dark, carved wood, the edges smoothed with age. The carving matches the one on my necklace and an eerie chill creeps up my neck. Curiosity gets the best of me and I open the box. To my surprise I recognize the contents. With two fingers I pluck the shiny ball out of the case. A shadow flits across the orb.

It’s a WishMaker.

What had Tran said? It shows you your truest desires. I peer into the ball and make out the faintest of figures. It could be my imagination but I think they’re waving at me.

A noise breaks my concentration and I slip the orb into my pocket. I flip the lid on the box and spin, realizing I’m no longer alone in the room. Anita stands with her back pressed to the door.

“What are you doing in my father’s office?” she asks in a quiet, accusatory voice.

“I just needed some air. I apologize if I shouldn’t be in here.” Something in her attitude shifts and her eyes narrow. Blame. Anger. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Xavier. I really liked him. It’s impossible to understand what happened. It was so fast.”

“Wasn’t it though?” she replies. Her voice is shaky. “He was fine when he walked out of the club that night.”

“I thought so too.”

“But when he came back he was angry. Embarrassed a little. The cellist from the concert approached him.” She tilts her head. “Do you know him?”

“Yes. He’s one of my roommates. I had no idea he was playing that night.”

She walks around the room and picks up the photo of her and her brother. The one next to the wooden box. The orb feels like a ten pound weight against my leg. “We were best friends, you know. We did almost everything together until he went to business school and I started writing more seriously.”

“I’m so sorry, Anita.”

She flashes me a sympathetic grin. “Don’t be sorry for me, Morgan. We’ve always known we would be the conduit. The beginning. Remember, the prince always dies right after the gate is open.”

“The prince?” My blood runs cold. “What are you talking about?”

She steps forward and there’s an instant warring in my mind and body. Alluring. That’s the word that continues to pop in my mind. Anita is alluring….just like, “The cat.”

“Yes?”

“You took me there on purpose. You just led the way, to the club, to your brother. You knew Clinton’s music would ignite something in me.” The ramifications rock me. “He was a sacrifice.”

“There always has to be a first one. And it’s always Xavier.” She bares her teeth. “Always.”

Anita reaches for me, grabbing my top. She’s strong, more than I would have suspected, and my back is pressed against the wall. Weakened from the events that led to this moment, my attempts to fight back are lame and useless. I’ve no idea what she’s doing or how to get out of her grip, and when her mouth crashes to mine I’m stunned. I’m confused. But most of all the Darkness rears up and I’m only one thing. Hungry.

Her lips are hot against mine. Softer than any other I’ve ever felt. Her hands grip around my waist and through the haze of desire, I realize she’s not just kissing me—she’s feeding—much like I do with the Guardians. Much like I did with Xavier.

I struggle to get away, biting down on her lip with my teeth. She hisses and I’ve drawn blood. I taste it on my tongue.

“You don’t get to do that,” I tell her, spitting on the floor.

“Don’t I?” she laughs. Oh god, she laughs. Long and hard, bent over and hysterical. “You’re nothing but a fool. A stupid, stupid fool that thinks she can fight fate and overpower a goddess. You’re a vessel, Morgan. A vessel. Nothing more.” She rests her hands on her hips. “It’s too late. The process has begun. There’s nothing you and your little minions can do to stop it. Dark will prevail and soon you’ll really have to decide which team you really want to be on.”

“I’ll never be on the side of evil.” But I’m hungry. So very hungry, and I know I need to get out of here before things get worse.

I push past her and she doesn’t try to stop me. Leaving the apartment is a blur but soon I’m down on the hot, busy street. I feel the shadow of wings pass over my head and the ache of loneliness in my chest.

The Morrigan is winning and there’s no doubt that I’ve allowed it to happen.

Chapter Fourteen

Morgan

I make it home and to my suite without notice—or at least anyone stopping me. The Guardians, Dylan in particular, always seem to know my coming-and-goings. As much as I know that I need their support right now, I also need a minute alone. Just a second to breathe and get my head on straight because I expect a call at any moment. The battle is looming, there’s no getting away from it, which means it’s time for me to make my choice. Pick my mate. Gain the strength that I need and perform the spell.

That’s it.

There’s just one problem.

I still have no fucking clue who to choose.

I walk into the room and notice the heavy weight of the orb in my pocket.

The WishMaker.

I pull out the crystal ball and hold it in my hand. It’s cool against my skin and the shadows that make it seem alive flicker back and forth. If there’s anything I need right now, it’s clarity. But I’ve never used something like this, I don’t possess the ability to perform magic, and the longer I sit with it in my hand the dumber I feel.

“Like a Magic 8 ball?” I’d asked Tran in the magic shop.

I lay in the center of my bed, knees bent. My head is balanced on two fluffy pillows and I hold the orb up to the light. Feeling like an idiot, in the most reasonable voice I can find, I ask, “Who should I pick for my mate?”

Knowing no clever words or phrases will appear, I shake the ball anyway. The dark mist inside swirls around but nothing happens. Not even the figure I think I saw earlier appears.

“Too good to be true. Thanks, Tran,” I mutter, resting the orb on my bedside table. Like I was going to get out of making this decision on my own.

My phone chimes. Ten minutes to dinner and for a brief second I consider backing out. Just claiming I’m too tired from everything going on, surely they’ll give me a break? But a tug in my lower belly tells me I want to see my Guardians. That perhaps I need to see them.

*

The first sign something is weird is that Sam doesn’t come to escort me to dinner me like he normally does. The second is that the dining room is empty. No food, no Sue or Davis, and no Guardians.

I’m one second from panic when I hear laughter a few doors down. I’m in the odd hallway toward the garage—away from the kitchens and library—and I stop before a door I’ve never entered.

I hear Clinton’s booming voice and turn the knob. What lies before me is instantly intriguing. The room is magnificent; wood-paneled walls, gorgeous leather chairs, And soft-looking couches provide an intimate setting. A massive, roaring fireplace is on the far side of the room, but it isn’t hot and I suspect there’s magic at play. In fact, the more I look around the room, the more I get the sense I’m one step out of reality.

“Morgan,” Sam says with a breathtaking smile. He steps forward and links his fingers with mine. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“What happened to dinner?” I ask, taking in the men. They’re dressed in their nicest clothes, looking dashing and handsome, so much so they are a little hard to look at.

My friend and lover stares back at me with smoldering green eyes. “Uh, well,” he looks at the others. “It seemed like we could all use a break from formality tonight.”

It’s an odd statement since they all look so nice and I certainly didn’t get the memo to dress down. I’m wearing the same dress I’d had on earlier that day at the visitation. It’s not unflattering but even so, the way each man looks at me appraisingly causes the strangest sensation in my belly.

They want me.

All of them.

Now.

I’d had the thought once—the fever dream on the bus—and even in my imagination the experience was overwhelming. Five sets of hands. Their lips, mouths, and cocks. I feel my cheeks heat at the idea. Everything else in my body sets on edge.

Damien walks over and offers me a drink. I take it and swallow the liquid fast. There’s a feel of expectation in the room mingled with anticipation, but as usual, I’m in control. I know this. I love this. It only heightens my arousal.

I look around the room, taking in each of my Guardians.

Sam with his perfect face and insight.

Clinton with his solid strength.

Damien, independent and bold.

Bunny with his charm and amazing skills.

Dylan, intelligent and reserved. A silent ally.

I’ve been with each of them, one way or the other—Clinton, who ushered me into womanhood. Sam, most intimately due to our bond of friendship and his healing my wounds. Damien showed me sex can be fun and exciting. I set my eyes on the other two. Although I’ve yet to consummate my relationships fully with Dylan and Bunny, that doesn’t lessen what I know and feel about them. They’ve touched my soul.

But tonight is about something different. I feel it in the air. I feel it in my bones. I have to choose, and what we experience in this room will last with us forever. It will help me make my decision.

I turn and shut the door behind me and then face the men of my past and future.

“It’s all led up to this, hasn’t it?” I ask the room.

They each nod their approval in their own way.

“Then let’s do this.” I take a deep breath. “This is about souls. About mating. Not just about sex. That’s off the table for tonight, understand?”

They all offer agreement, although some more reluctantly than others.

“I want to taste you. Feel you,” I explain. “Let me touch you, if that’s all right?”

I sound brave but I have no idea where to start. How do I do this? I was a virgin weeks ago and now I’m ready for a semi-orgy? My hands shake and I settle them against my side. Sam, always my Sam, senses my hesitation and wraps his arms around my waist. He pulls me close and says in a whisper against my lips, “Anything you want. Anything you need. Got it?”

“Got it.”

He kisses me and at first all I can think of is that the others are watching. I feel the hard length in his pants pressing against my lower belly. I feel the soft pads of his fingers as they stroke the bare skin on my shoulders and arms. Goosepimples rise on my arms. I feel the energy churning beneath the surface, the hunger and need I’d pushed off now for days.

I exhale, feeling a sense of relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replies and spins me around. I stumble into Clinton’s massive arms.

His hands palm my back, tugging at the fabric of my top. He drops his head, his tongue seeking mine. His kiss exemplifies everything I know about him. Strength and confidence. I touch his stomach and feel the hard muscle beneath his shirt. My belly clenches. My core aches. It’s as though my head is spinning and spinning with each deepening kiss and when I stop to catch my breath he says, “I know you’ll choose wisely, my Queen, never doubt our loyalty.”

Before I can reply, he picks me up with those bulging arms and carries me across the room. The act is silly and sweet for such a dominating presence. I wonder for a brief moment if he’s going to simply carry me from the room, toss me on a bed and ravish me. For a quick second I almost ask him to, but instead he eases me onto Bunny’s lap, my skirt hiked up around my thighs. We’re on a wide, square ottoman, an island in the middle of the room. The warmth of Clinton’s hands releases me but I feel the elegant touch of Bunny’s fingers in my hair and his copper eyes boring into my soul.

“Hi,” I say to him, completely unaware of the others. His gaze holds me tight. The hard length of manhood presses against my leg. My resolve to only kiss these men—feel them—wavers, especially when Bunny kisses my throat, then shoulders. He presses his lips to the center of my chest, right above my breasts. My nipples harden. My panties wet. I kiss him hard and shift against the steel in his pants. I’d said this wasn’t about sex but the hunger in me doesn’t agree. I need friction. I want more.

Bunny pulls me forward with his one good hand and the move presses hard against my clit.  In my ear he says, “Every day is an honor. Every breath is a gift. I love to see you laugh. To see you fight. To watch you come.”

Bunny, good lord, Bunny. He has this way. He has such an incredible intensity. I desperately want to feel him inside me. He kisses me hard, the strength rolling through every inch of my body. I climb on top of him. I lick his jaw. I only stop when he pushes me back gently and says quietly, “Not now, love.”

“But,” I start to argue, but he slips from underneath me. I’m suddenly on my knees and Damien is inches away, crawling over the leather. I perk up and meet him halfway.

“This is hard,” I confess. “Why do you all have to be so beautiful?”

He touches my cheek. “Because a Queen deserves the best. The most powerful and strong. The brightest and intuitive. Someone to make you happy in bed. Someone to fight next to you in battle. Someone that will protect your kingdom and your heart.”

His kiss is wild and brings out the feral animal in my chest. I want to run free with him. I want to strip off his clothes and mine and fuck until we’ve got nothing left. My body heats, my mind spins, and my blood boils. And just when I think things are taking shape in my mind, I feel a body behind me. I feel hands on my hips. Damien looks over my shoulder and winks at the person behind me. I hear a grunt in reply.

Dylan.

I haven’t kept track of the others when I’m with one of the Guardians and even now I find them hazy around the edges. It’s like when I’m with one, the others vanish. I sense them, but can’t see them. A veil separates us. It makes me bold.

I press my ass into Dylan’s body, finding his cock hard and ready.

He hisses this time and he steadies my body. Each of these men allows me to take control—all but this one. It’s in his nature. He’ll fight me to the end. Like Bunny, I know he won’t push it all the way tonight. He’s too proud. He wants me to make the decision based on merit—not physical prowess.

Tonight though, under the circumstances, he caves. Just a little.

I can’t see him but I definitely feel him as he pushes my hair over my shoulder. There’s the heat of his breath against my neck, followed by slow kisses over my shoulders and back. A chill runs down my spine—not the bad kind—the very, very good kind. Every nerve in my body sets on edge.

His hands run down the curve of my sides, grazing over the edge of my breasts. He grips my hips and bends me forward, until my palms are flat against the surface of the ottoman. I feel him behind me, the weight of his cock, the calculated control. I shift my ass, begging, begging for him to take me like this. I know it’s futile, he’s playing games, fucking with my mind as much as my body. The crazy thing is that Dylan knows that I like it. I want it like this as much as every other way the Guardians tease and taunt me with. I want it slow and powerful like Sam. I want it sweet and doting like Bunny. I want it carefree and fun with Damien, and I want the glorious skills Clinton has mastered.

And I want Dylan. Hard and rough. Dark and commanding.

I feel his hand twisted in my hair and he pulls me off my hands. In my ear he says, “You’re close, Morgan. So close. You feel it in your bones. In your heart. There’s one true way to break the Darkness. Only you can choose.”

I think he means that he’s caving. That he’s going to take me here on the ottoman. But his warmth vanishes and his shadow is gone. I blink and I’m alone in the room. Just me and the crackling, magic fire.

Chapter Fifteen

Morgan

It’s Sue that slips me the note the next morning, telling me to forget my normal schedule and meet Dylan at the front door in an hour. My head is pounding in a hangover kind of way.  My memories of the night before are hazy, like a ghostly, erotic dream.

I take a gulp from the coffee Sue left on the table and a bite of the gooey cinnamon roll that lured me from my room in the first place. I watch the older woman clean up from her baking. “Sue, can I ask you a question?”

She turns and the wrinkles in the corner of her eyes deepen as she smiles. “Sure, dear.”

“How long have you and Davis been married?”

“Oh.” She thinks for a minute. “Feels like an eternity, but it’s been about forty years this fall.”

“Forty years. Wow.”

“Yes.” She wipes the counter with a cloth. “I suppose that does seem like a lifetime for a girl your age.”

“How did you know he was the right one?”

The woman turns and leans against the counter. Her face takes on a faraway look and she says, “Truth be told, I’m not the most patient person. I’ve always been like this, particularly when I was younger. People annoyed me. Grated on my nerves. When I met Davis, I kept waiting for that to happen—for the part of him I disliked to come forward.” She grins like a schoolgirl at the memory. “It never did. That’s how I knew.”

“Basically he’s the guy that didn’t annoy you?”

She laughs. “Pretty much.”

I shake my head and think about the decision in front of me—the decision that has to be made today. I groan and drop my head in my hands.

“Are you having a problem with a young man?”

Make that five, not-so-young men. “Sort of. I just need to make a decision and I’m having a hard time.”

She crosses the space between the counter and the table. She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Follow your heart, Morgan, but also your brain. You’re a smart girl. I can tell you’re wise.”

I laugh. “I’m not sure wisdom will help me here.”

“Wisdom always helps. It’s when you follow other body parts that things get tricky.”

I feel my eyes widen at her boldness, partly because it’s so true. She doesn’t seem remotely embarrassed. Her eyes carry a wisdom of their own.

I stand and take my cup to the sink, washing it before she can. “Thank you for that,” I say. “I just needed someone to talk to.”

“Anytime, dear.”

I pause for one more moment in the cozy, peaceful kitchen. Once I leave this room I’ll have to face Dylan and the reality of the day. I’ll have to tell him about Anita and the truth behind Xavier’s death, prepare for the spell, and finally choose a mate.

Chapter Sixteen

Dylan

“Slow down.”

I glance over my shoulder and see Morgan in a half-run, trying to keep up. I slow my stride, annoyed with her short legs.

She evens up with me, breathing heavily. “You should be in better cardiovascular shape—with all the training.”

“Dude, don’t blame me for your tree-trunk legs.”

I snort, but hold back a reply. We’re both on edge. I’d already known it was possible Anita and Xavier had greater roles in Morgan’s life. Each interaction could be the one that tips the scales. The Darkness always has a reach into the world she wants to conquer. Xavier was a sacrifice—a blood offering to a hungry goddess.

“Tell me again about the kiss,” I prompt. She gives me a suspicious look. “Not in a perverted way. It’s just very odd.”

“It was odd,” Morgan replies. “She seemed very desperate and the Darkness was needy too.”

“So you—or rather, she—liked it?”

“She did.” But the expression that ghosts over her face tells me Morgan enjoyed it too. Not sexually. The energy exchange, which is definitely more alarming than sexual exploration. No, despite our best efforts, the Morrigan is growing stronger. We have little choice but to act immediately.

I direct her up the flight of marble stairs, lingering just a bit to get a long look at her ass. Her legs may be shorter than mine but they’re exquisite, and although I’d held back the prior evening, my willpower is close to snapping.

It all depends on who she chooses. If it’s me? I’ll relish breaking her in. Feeling the tight warmth of her body around mine. If not? The gods did not intend it to be.

“Dylan!” she hisses from the top of the stairs. Her hands clench around the straps of her backpack. The book with the splitting spell is inside. I’ve stopped moving completely, absorbed with my thoughts. “What the hell are you doing?”

I don’t bother with a reply, but climb the stairs quickly and lead Morgan through the entrance, past the front desk, and to a small elevator obscured by a long row of books.

“Seriously though,” she says, eyes lingering over the stacks of books. “Where are we going?”

We’re in the New York public library. The smells of paper and the inevitable layer of decay that comes with so many in one place. The elevator arrives and I follow Morgan into the lift.

“There’s a special collection upstairs reserved for sensitive topics.”  I press the button for our floor. The elevator begins to rise. “The occult, magic, witchcraft, ancient supernatural histories.”

She frowns. “Wait, so the library knows about this stuff?”

“Some of the librarians do. Not everyone. Not that clerk at the front desk.”

“And these librarians think it’s real?”

I shrug. “Some are probably skeptical. These books do exist and they deserve a place in the library.” The elevator lurches to a stop and the doors open. We step into a small hallway. A small sign directs us toward “Special Collections” and I lead Morgan down the hall to the unassuming door.

A small keypad is mounted on the wall and I punch in a code.

“How did you get that?” she asks.

I shrug again. “It’s my job.”

The lock springs with a loud click and I open the door. The room is a spectacle. Rows and rows of dark leather with cracked and faded bindings. Parchment mounted behind plexiglass cases, alongside artifacts that carry mysteries we may never unlock. The librarian sits behind a large desk, flipping through a book. Her hair is blue and the glint of light reflects off the hoop in her lip.

Morgan tugs my hand and says, “This is crazy, you know that right?”

“As crazy as a portal gate opening in the middle of Central Park two dasy ago. Or a mystery virus killing a man, spread from nothing more than a kiss. Or you using the WishMaker last night, bringing an entire guard to their knees—”

“Right. Got it,” she cuts me off, apparently not wanting to go into the details of the night before. She definitely pulled a fast one on us all. I’m not even sure where the magic orb came from or how she came to possess it.

We approach the desk and I take a request slip from the stack. I write down the name of the book I’m looking for and slide it over.

“One second,” the librarian says, her eyes sliding between me and Morgan. She looks at Morgan appraisingly and a flare of jealousy ripples under my skin. I’m willing to share the Queen, but even I have my limits.

Five.

That’s where it ends.

The librarian returns, handing over the massive book. I lift it from the counter and nod my thanks. “Can we use one of the study rooms in the back?”

“Sure.” She fishes a key out from under the desk. “Let me know if you need any other assistance.”

“Thank you,” Morgan says. The librarian winks in reply.

As we walk away from the desk I look down and notice a red tint to Morgan’s cheeks. “What? You’re embarrassed by her attention?”

She grimaces. “I know this may be hard to comprehend from a guy with a face and body like yours, but until I moved up here no one ever paid me the slightest attention.”

“I find that hard to believe. You had other boyfriends.”

“Nothing serious, and none of them seemed inclined to drop everything just to be with me. More like the opposite.”

The study rooms are along the back hall. They’re private and quiet. I slip the key in the lock and we step inside. I place the book on the table and the key in my pocket. I turn to face Morgan, cupping my hand under her chin.

“You’re beautiful. You’re strong. Any suitor in your past that didn’t understand the gift that you are wasn’t man—“ I glance to the desk—“or woman enough to see it. And if they did, they were terrified of the power you possess. I won’t pretend I’m sorry you didn’t find love with another before it was time for you to come here. You weren’t made for other men. You were made for one of us.”

“Is that your way of trying to convince me to pick you?”

I laugh. “Sweetheart if I wanted to convince you, I wouldn’t use words.”

To prove my point I kiss her on the mouth. I know she feels it across every inch of her body, down to her toes, because that’s where I feel it too.

Chapter Seventeen

Morgan

One kiss is all I get because Dylan has willpower made of iron and is focused on the books on the table. He scribbles occasionally on a notepad while I go over the spell in the book I found weeks ago, making sure I’m prepared.

The spell seems complex; a combination of the ingredients we’ve been collecting, a series of runes, and then the incantation. Dylan assures me it will be fine, but I see the hint of worry in his eyes. He’s still not convinced.

“Did you see this?” I ask, pointing to a particular passage. “The Morrigan often comes as a trio of three sisters, each with their own power and authority. Combined they create the Goddess of War, separate they prevail over different imagery: Land and livestock, fertility, and of course, war.”

“I’m aware of the mythology,” Dylan replies, studying the passage.

“Do you think it’s possible to remove her soul from mine? What if there’s another?"

“It’s a risk we have to take. But the myths are always vague. The Morrigan probably hoped future generations would fear her more by thinking she had triple the power.” He grimaces. “As though we need to fear her more than we already do. She’s quite the threat as is.”

He finishes his notes and closes the book. I pack up my own book but pause when I find him starting at me. “What?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No, but I don’t think I have a choice.”

“We’ll remove her soul and destroy her. The spell isn’t that hard. Bunny and Damien should be able to handle it easily.”

I nod. “I have faith in them.”

“And you?” He studies me carefully. “You’re ready to pick your mate? You’ll need strength before the ceremony.”

I swallow. “I’ll be ready.”

*

We walk back to The Nead, traveling through parts of the park and along the street. I’m wary after the situation with the gate, but Dylan assures me it will be fine.

I’ve developed a theory about Dylan’s habits and as we walk down one of the more populated paths I ask, “Why have I never seen you in a vehicle?”

“Excuse me?” he asks.

“You always walk or you know, fly,” I add quickly. “Are you afraid of driving?”

He stares straight ahead. Dylan pretends he isn’t interested in me but I know better. I’m aware that he watches me when he thinks I can’t see him and that his commentary with me is always calculated. I wait, giving him a chance to answer and he finally says, “I’m not afraid of much—particularly cars.”

“Then why are we walking?”

“Because it’s healthy. And good for the environment. And it makes us stronger and keeps our hearts pumping.”

We cross a bridge that takes us to a more isolated side of the park and I tap my hand on the iron railing. “How conscientious of you.”

A flash of white comes from the side and before I can blink I’ve been hit. I fall to the ground, stumbling to my knees. I catch myself and recover quickly—my reflexes faster than before. Standing over me is Hildi, the Valkyrie, her white blonde hair blowing in the summer breeze. She still has a bruise on her cheek from where I clobbered her.

Dylan steps between us.

“Move, you fool,” she grinds out at him. Her eyes are dark as night. She’d come for payback. “This little girl and I have a score to settle.”

“Not here,” he says.

“I’m not a little girl, bitch.” I’m now on my feet and I press a hand to my guardian’s back. “Yeah, move.”

He glares at me with ice blue eyes. “Not a chance. Not now.”

Of course we have important things to do, but Hildi brings out the fire in me. The Darkness flickers to life, wanting a fight. The Morrigan always wants a fight.

Dylan holds his hand up to Hildi and she looks like she may just bite it off. He turns to me and says in a low voice, “If you do this it has to be you, Morgan. Just you. You can’t cave to the Darkness this time. Are you up to that?”

I think about what he’s saying. Can I do it? The look of skepticism on Dylan’s face makes me even more eager to prove myself. “I think this is one of those times you don’t get to tell me what to do, Sentinel.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes, a cross between anger and desire. He nods and steps out of the way. “At least move under the bridge. The last thing we need is a crowd.”

Hildi smirks and leaps over the railing. I hear her feet land quick as a cat on the ground. Dylan raises his shoulders as if saying, I warned you. I take a deep breath and mount the railing. The ground looks so far below and I hesitate.

Kill her.

I blink, mentally swatting the Morrigan out of my head. I take one look at Dylan and jump, feeling the sharp twist of my belly but land on both feet—way more gracefully than I expected. Although not as skilled as Hildi.

Hildi waits for me at that bottom, her face made of stone, like a warrior. Her muscles are lean but developed. Her abs tight. She clenches her fists and I drop to a defensive stance. Dylan lurks in the shadows silently watching—assessing. I don’t wait for her to make the first move, instead launching myself at her.

Her fist clips my chin and her foot cracks against my knee. I manage to punch her in the side and it’s hard enough for her to recoil. She aims for my nose and I catch her fist with my palm. Her eyes widen in surprise at my reflexes but I’m in the zone and kick her hard in the gut, with more strength than I knew I had.

Hildi flies backwards, hitting a stone pillar under the bridge. Her head cracks against the hard surface and her eyes narrow. She’s pissed. Super pissed, and I need to think fast. Spotting a small ledge I race toward the wall, jump up with one foot and flip back toward Hildi, who is coming at me full force. Coasting through the air I feel free for the first time in ages, my mind completely zeroed in on the moment. When my feet land hard, punching the Valkyrie in the chest, I instinctively know what to do next.

The fight is quick, a series of kicks, punches, and jabs. I taste blood in my mouth, feel the ache in my side. I also hear silence in my head. I’m fighting Hildi—not the Morrigan. The realization of this clicks in the Valkyrie’s head when I sweep her feet from under her.

I’m breathing heavy and bend over. She squirms on the ground but the fight is over. “Are we square?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She winces. I offer her a hand and she takes it warily. Dylan comes out of his hiding place as I’m helping her off the ground. He assesses my body for injury, but his eyes hold mine, searching for the Darkness.

“We’re done,” I declare, brushing my hands together. “You’re a worthy opponent, Hildi. We’d be better on the same team than apart.”

She studies me for a minute. “You think you need a team?”

“I hope not, but if I ever do, I’ll give you a call.”

“You do that,” she replies, squaring her shoulders with pride. She wipes the blood from her lip and walks away.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asks.

Instead of telling him how I feel, I push up on my toes and kiss him. Heat fires between us but not the desperate kind. Nothing dark.

His fingers skim my cheek and I feel the warmth of his healing touch.

“What just happened?” I ask Dylan, who has pushed me back up the hill to get on the path toward home.

“I think that actually was a test,” he says. “And you passed.”

Chapter Eighteen

Morgan

Back in my room, I feel better than I have in weeks. Maybe since I arrived in New York. The sense of balance that started the night before with the WishMaker and proceeded through the day until my fight with Hildi makes my head clear and my heart at peace. The lustful hunger that normally taints my every move seems to be soothed, even if I haven’t had sex with my Guardians in the last few days.

Something has changed.

There will be no skipping supper tonight, despite the fact our after dinner activities include splitting my soul. Sue made it clear with a message left in my room. I assume the others received a similar one. Dinner will be ready at seven sharp.

I’m changing when my phone rings and I’m pleased to see it’s my friend Shannon from back home.

“Hey,” I say, holding the phone between my shoulder and ear. “I’ve got ten minutes before I have to be at dinner.”

“So you’re still doing that roommate dinner thing every night?”

“Mandatory. Well, other than yesterday.”

“Ooh, what happened to break the rule?”

I sit on my bed. The WishMaker is on the bedside table. Crystal clear at the moment. “The last few days have been really weird.”

“Weird? What’s going on?”

In a moment of honesty I tell her the truth—well sort of. I tell her about Anita and her brother’s death and how I’d been with him right before he fell ill. I tell her about going to a fight club with Clinton and spending time with Sam in the park. I go into detail about Dylan taking me to the special collections room at the library. Without the death and darkness and magic it all sounds pretty normal.

“So seriously,” she says. “It sounds like you’re dealing with five amazing men.”

“Truly amazing.”

“But five? I can’t imagine juggling all that. One guy is enough for me.”

One guy.

One mate.

Shouldn’t that be enough?

“Yeah, but…” I stop.

“But what? You want them all?” She laughs.

“I mean, do I really have to choose?” I say the question to her, but the words resonate in my mind—my heart.

“Okay, Morgan, if that’s the game you want to play. What do they think?”

They want what I want. They want me to be happy. Safe. Powerful. I think about how I’ve felt since the night before when I had a taste of them all. I’ve been more balanced. More controlled.

I can’t tell Shannon that so I just say, “They think I need to choose. And believe it or not, they’re like really cool about the whole thing. But yeah, I need to choose.”

“You’re just a girl that wants it all.” She’s quiet for a moment. “You know that’s not a bad thing—not really. Don’t settle until you’re ready.”

My phone alarm rings, giving me notice that it’s time for me to head downstairs. I say goodbye and consider that after the decisions I have to make tonight, things will change. I hope when I see my friend face-to-face I’ll have made the right ones. I pick up the WishMaker one last time and peer into the glass. This time there’s no doubt about the figure staring back at me. At long last I know the truth. The one that belongs to my heart. It’s been obvious this whole time and I’m a fool for not realizing it sooner.

I drop the orb on the bed and head to the door.

It’s time for dinner.

Chapter Nineteen

Bunny

I don’t know why or what happened, but I am certain the moment a shift occurs in the house.

Morgan has made a decision.

I’m sure the change in energy is partially from the runes I’d placed on her body. An alarm and security system of sorts, but even so, we’ve all become so attuned to her emotions, her body, that it’s not a surprise I felt it.

Nerves flare as I button my shirt, using one hand, as I’m used to. The gods blessed me with dexterity and precise skill—for working in paint as well as managing my disfigurement. Who will she pick? Me or one of the others? I’d heard the Morrigan the other night, spewing her hate and paranoia, but she’s got nothing to lose and the truth always lurks in the lies.

Does Morgan feel guilt when she sees me? Pity? It wasn’t pity in her eyes when I brought her to a violent orgasm on my work table. Nor when she saw what my runes could do.

I adjust my glasses in the mirror, touching my copper brown hair one last time before heading downstairs to find out my fate.

Chapter Twenty

Damien

The tremor hits and I cling to my workbench. An earthquake? No, I know better than that. I’ve survived hurricanes and tidal waves, erupting volcanoes and fault lines that cracked to the center of the earth. I look toward the house—up to Morgan’s window. That wasn’t an earthquake. It was a decision. The one we’ve been waiting for.

Respecting her wishes will be a challenge. Fighting in her army will not. We’re bonded to her regardless, and my heart and soul belong to her no matter what her choice. When we rid the world of the Morrigan—tonight or in the future—that’s when I’ll take my leave, if she doesn’t choose me.

It’s hard to think she won’t. The way our bodies work with one another. The fearless smiles she gives me from the back of my bike. We fit. We’re good and I want nothing more than a lifetime of her body and mind.

The clock on the wall shifts toward seven and I grab my jacket.

It’s time.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sam

The clock says ten ‘til seven, and I think I can process at least one more photo. I’ve been in the darkroom all day, looking over image after image. The future is changing and I’m not sure if it’s because Morgan has chosen a mate or if we’re going to be successful with the split.

Because the future looks good. Really good.

I hold up the photo I took this morning from the rooftop. The sky is clear. The park, bright green. The typical signs of the apocalypse are gone. Something happened during that encounter with us all the night before. She’d definitely used some kind of magic but whatever it was, it was strong enough for her to see more clearly.

I hang the photo to dry and exit the darkroom.

Between the experience with Morgan the night before, the photo, and the warm sensation in my lower belly I’m feeling good. Feeling right. I’ve come to treasure Morgan so much. I’d never want to lose her but I want her to fulfill her heart. That’s what is most important to me.

I’m a Guardian first.

A friend next.

And a lover third.

And it’s time to go face a brighter future.

Chapter Twenty-two

Clinton

After a long workout the steamy hot water from the shower feels divine. I like the burn on my skin, cleaning away the sweat and grime. My time is limited—dinner is in a few short minutes. Even though I’m in a rush my mind wanders to Morgan. Her strength, her beauty, and gods help me, her body.

I’m a man of maximum control. I’ve been this way for centuries, since I was nothing but ash. But the woman upstairs breaks my resolve. Everything about her keeps me focused. I want to protect her. Fight her. Love her.

It must be the steam that’s making my head spin—filled with images of the night before. My cock grows hard at the memory.  My size may give the impression I’m a brute, but I’m skilled in many ways. Music flows in my blood. As much as I’m greedy over my time with Morgan, the way her skin feels against mine, she’s just as alluring when she’s with the others. I like to watch her move. Her face is a mystery as she struggles against each of us.

A mystery I hope to have an eternity to unlock.

I run a hand down my growing length, thinking of the way her lips taste, the way her ass curves. My hand presses against the tile as I recall the gentle swell of her breast and the scent that is uniquely hers.

Tonight is important. She’ll make her choice. I feel it in my bones as well as deep in my loins. I close my eyes and think of her, stroking myself into a heightened ecstasy.

There’s no room for distraction tonight. No time for lust. I groan under the blast of the shower, preparing myself for the next step in the battle.

Chapter Twenty-three

Dylan

Sue sets the table. Soups and salads first. She’s aware tonight is important. An evening to memorialize. How much she truly knows, I haven’t the faintest idea, but along with the secrets of this house, the Guardians, the magic, the history, she and Davis seem to be part of it. They may be pawns of the gods as well. I’m not privy to all things. It’s my job to be on the lookout.

Which is why I’m first here, waiting for the others to arrive.

We spent the hour before dinner preparing for the separation spell. The ingredients have been mixed. The incantation is ready. Once Morgan announces her mate, we can begin.

I feel the tension growing in the house. The Guardians are aware that what we’ve been waiting for—training for—is finally coming to fruition. One of us will be chosen. The others will focus on the spell—the battle ahead. It will be an honor to serve Morgan in either capacity.

I hear the first footsteps on the stairwell and brace myself. I may be the only one that is hesitant to become her mate. I may be a man of conviction but I’ve known from the beginning this woman could destroy me. If I win her heart it means she will consume mine—and if I let her inside will I be able to fulfill my duties?

On the other hand, if there’s one thing I detest, it’s losing.

Chapter Twenty-four

Morgan

We dine together like a happy household. Everyone in their seats; Dylan across from me, the others flanking the sides. Conversation is light—we talk about the gorgeous weather. The fantastic meal. I hold each of my Guardians’ eyes, letting them know I hear them. I’m with them. No matter what happens at the end of the night.

When the chocolate soufflé has been consumed and our plates are bare I pick up my glass of wine and say, “I’d like to make a toast.”

I stand, making it a dramatic moment—shouldn’t it be? I’m changing all of our lives. Holding my glass high, I begin. “I won’t bore you with a long speech about what tonight means. You all know—probably more than I do. I never dreamed this is where my life would end up—okay, maybe I dreamed it—wrote it in my journals, but I did believe that was a fantasy. I had no idea there was truth and history behind my words.”

I gaze at the men. “It’s been an adjustment,” I confess. “And frankly some would say I adapted too easily. That I fell into insta-lust and easily in love with my handsome roommates. But it was never that simple. I knew in my heart that we had something different. A bond. People outside this house would never understand. But we understand each other.”

“That we do,” Sam says, his green eyes twinkling.

The lustful desire I carry for these men grows in my belly. I’d been at peace all day but the more I talk about it—them—the more restless I become.

“I won’t drag it out any longer. I’ve made a decision.”

The men lean forward, all but Dylan, who looks a little ill.

“I’ve decided not to choose.” The words hang in the room. “I want you all. Each one of you. In my bed. In my heart. I know it’s the right thing to do.”

Clinton’s eyebrows rise to the top of his head. “All of us?”

No!

“Yes.” The feeling grows in my chest. A sharp twist. The flicker of a whisper in my ear. “You each bring me something equally important. But most of all, it’s exactly what we need to fight the Morrigan. At least right now.”

My final statement is accompanied by a sharp stab to the temple. I’d wondered if this would happen, when she would appear. I’d beaten her down but this was too much. I drop my glass, the wine spilling across the white table cloth, and clutch my head.

“Morgan?” Damien cries; he’s closest and gets to me first.

“Prepare the spell,” I direct through gritted teeth. “She’s coming.”

Bunny hops from the table—he and Dylan already in motion. The Morrigan screams in my ear.

You fucking idiot. All of them! What are you trying to do? Shatter my heart times five? This won’t work. It won’t keep me away. One. One is all you get. You may not share the power of five. You cannot beat me down with love and lust.

Sam crouches next to me and holds my hand. “Stay with me, babe.”

“With only one of you she can control me. Manipulate me,” I say through the pain. “But not all of you. She can’t penetrate me when I’m bonded to you all. I realized that last night. Ah!” Another stab of pain. It’s like she’s clawing at me from the inside. “Today was much better. Calmer. This is all she’s got and we need to kick her out for good.”

A thunderous crash brings my attention to the table. Clinton has cleared it in one dramatic swoop. Bunny and Damien carry the ingredients for the spell. Dylan, the parchment for the incantation.

“Ready?” I ask, feeling the Morrigan squirm inside. She doesn’t want out—she wants to take over.

If you let this happen, you’ll never get to that castle. You’ll never meet your destiny. You were born to rule worlds! The Otherside and this one! Don’t be a fool.

Sam brings me to my feet and I feel unfamiliar hands on my back, tugging at my skirt. With a pounding headache I spin and find Sue and Davis stripping me of my clothes.

I start to argue but Sam presses his lips to my ear and says, “Stay calm. It’s okay.”

It doesn’t feel okay—yet none of my Guardians stop them. In seconds, I’m naked and lifted from the floor on top of the mahogany table. Flashes from my fever dream return. All five men surrounding me, loving me. It had been a vision—not a dream.

Last chance, the Morrigan hisses, before you lose it all. You need me to access the castle. You need me for power.

“Shut up!” I cry, swiping at the shadows creeping in the edge of my vision.

I feel the hands on me now. I look up and see Dylan speaking in a deep voice, the words a confusing language. I feel Bunny’s paintbrush slide across my breast. I feel Clinton’s hands on my belly. Damien’s calloused fingers on my feet. Sam holds my hand and whispers words of love warring with the Morrigan’s awful barrage.

There’s a battle in my soul, fighting, pushing, punching and I get loose, taking a swing at Bunny. I tag him across the cheek before Clinton can subdue me. I fight. I cry. I scream.

And the Morrigan does the same.

Her face hovers over mine—a mirror image of my own. Her eyes are darker and filled with hate. I break free once again, slapping her across the cheek.

She smiles with pleasure at the pain.

You’re foolish, don’t you know? she asks in a calmer voice. There’s so much more out there, so much I can offer you.

I don’t want your destruction.

You think that’s all it is? We’re the Goddess of War, Morgan. We didn’t create such a thing—we clean up the mess. We conquer the weak. You realize that in many cases, we’re heroes.

No, I tell her. I don’t believe that.

Images flash before my eyes. Kingdoms. Conquerors. Rebellions. The stench of smoke clogs my throat. The symbols are familiar, filled with hate and a history of violence. I want nothing to do with it.

But her pull is strong. Her tentacles deep.

You’re so stupid, don’t you know that? So very stupid. You’ll rip me from your side but that won’t stop me. You’re not the only one. Contingencies have been made. You slipped through my grasp once before. If you spit me out the regret you’ll have will make the angels weep. I don’t need you, mortal, you need me.

Dylan’s voice rises above her threats and my body is pulled in a million directions. My hands. Feet. Fingers and skin. My scalp burns, my hair stretches, pulling flesh away from my body. I scream and scream and scream until my voice is swallowed by hers and we’re screaming all at once. Her nails scrape down my arms, gouge my cheeks, until the sound of a soaring bomb splits my eardrums like glass cracking. My eyes burn with a sudden flash of light, much like a nuclear detonation. I’m blind. I’m ash. I’m nothing more.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Bunny

Three weeks later

The scabs are healing.

The bruises faded.

The visible wounds, at least. Internal? I’m not convinced. I know Dylan isn’t either. So we wait and watch.

“What is she doing?” Clinton asks. We’re sitting on the rooftop enjoying one of the final sunsets before summer.

“Cartwheels?”

“I think that’s called a somersault.” I have no reason to know this but I do.

“Ah right.”

She jumps from the ground, hair springing around her. She looks like the sun—bright and beaming.

“And things are progressing? She seems okay?”

“Dylan says so,” I reply. “He’s always the most skeptical, so if he thinks she’s better then I trust him.”

The spell worked, although with some consequences. That’s normal for magic though. There’s always a price to pay.

He looks at me for a long moment so I ask, “You don’t?”

He doesn’t reply, just glances back across the rooftop, staring at our girl.

Sam approaches her with the camera. He takes a series of snapshots, getting her to smile in at least one. His face never betrays him, but when he thinks no one is looking I catch the frown as he looks at the pictures. He doesn’t like what he sees.

“She went to Damien’s workshop last night,” Clinton says. His gray eyes follow her every move.  I straighten at his revelation. I didn’t know that.

“Did she?” I’m dying to know what they did behind closed doors. We all are. We aren’t ruled by sex, of course, but ever since the spell we’ve been careful, letting her heal.

Our bond is based on friendship, love, and intimacy. It’s only become stronger since that night.

“She wanted to ride on his motorcycle. He took her around the city until dawn.”

My muscles relax. “Good. The fresh air should help her.”

“I agree.”

Damien comes and sits next to us. Dylan a few moments later. The sun slips to the edge of the city, casting us all in a pinkish-orange glow.

I feel like there are so many unanswered questions. What do we do now? How do we proceed with our duties? I know I’m not the only one but no one wants to rock the boat. Not yet.

She links her hand with Sam’s and they walk over to where we’re sitting. He takes a seat on the ground and she nestles in the middle of the bench. Clinton tosses a protective arm around her shoulder and I wrap my hand around hers, relishing her heat. Damien leans against her thigh and she strokes his head. Dylan, like always, stands just above all of us.

Watching.

Waiting.

And that’s what makes me nervous.

Hope you enjoyed reading part three of The Raven Queen’s Harem. I’m love writing this series!

Make sure you join my Facebook group or mailing list for updates and announcements!

Readers,

I can’t tell you how much I love writing this book, engaging with readers and being part of this amazing community. I’d like to give a special thank you to my editor Vanessa (VCedits) for finishing up this draft minutes before having a baby! Congrats on Baby Vivienne! (Sigh, I hope I spelled that right. Where’s my editor when I need her?) I’d also like to thank Angstyg Designs for the amazing cover. The Arc Readers for The Raven Queen’s Harem that are so enthusiastic and chatty and fun! It makes writing a pleasure. I’d also like to thank the amazing readers in the Raven Queen Readers Facebook Group. Again, the energy you put out in the world helps me write and publish and work hard! Thanks for the motivation!

I’m excited to share the rest of this world with you!

Angel

Angel Lawson Books

Raven Queen’s Harem:

Raven’s Mark (Part 1)

Ebony Rising (Part 2)

Black Magic (Part 3)

Obsidian Fire (Part 4)

The Death Fields:

The Girl Who Shot First

The Girl Who Punched Back

The Girl Who Kicked Ass

The Girl Who Kissed the Sun

The Girl Who Broke Free

The Girl Who Saved the World

Creature of Habit Series:

Creature of Habit (Book 1)

Creature of Habit (Book2)

Creature of Habit (Book 3)

A Vampire’s Seduction (Ryan’s Story Book 4)

A Vampire’s Fate (Sebastian’s Story Book 5)

The Wraith Series:

Wraith

Shadow Bound

Grave Possession

Urban Fantasy

The Lost Queen

Vigilant

Contemporary Romance:

FanGirl-A Girl Who Shot First Companion Novel

For the Win