by Angel Lawson
“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.
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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?”
