Ebony Rising: (The Raven Queen's Harem Part 2)

by Angel Lawson

  He responds greedily, raising his hips so I can get better access. I don’t have artist’s fingers, and I fumble, missing the button on his pants. Instead I tug at his hips, feeling the hard length beneath the fabric. Fear swallows me again. But it’s the kind tinged with adrenaline and anticipation. I cling to him, needing his body next to mine, and just as I’m about to reach my hand down his pants I feel Clinton stiffen slightly, a split-second of hesitation.

  “What?” I say, barely above a whisper.

  He rolls over and I straddle his lap. I grind down a little with my ass.

  “You have an appointment.”

  My eyes flick to the clock over the door.

  “I can skip it.”

  “No you can’t.”

  I frown. “Why not?”

  “Because…” He lifts me off his body, biceps bulging. He grimaces and shifts his pants. “We’re not doing that now. Not here.”

  I laugh. Like a burst of hysterical laughter. “Wait, you’re rejecting me?”

  Because we both know I was ready to finally go for it. Like do it do it. My eyes catch the sliver of my sword and Clinton’s hand comes down on it. He wordlessly moves it aside.

  “I’m not rejecting you.” He brushes my hair aside. “When this happens between us—any of us—it won’t be on a smelly mat in the basement. Or in ten quick minutes before your critique partner arrives.” He leans forward and kisses me with a gentleness I didn’t know he possessed. “It won’t be fast. It will not be quick. Trust me on that.”

  A chill runs down my spine at his words. My nipples harden and my lower belly tightens. He’s not helping me turn away. I only want him more. Regardless of my desires, he helps me from the floor, holding the sword.

  “I’ll store this down here.”

  I nod, feeling light on my feet. God, Clinton does something to me. He has since our first encounter. I start for the door and he grabs me by the arm. He kisses me again and whispers in my mouth, “This isn’t over.”

  I don’t reply but I feel it in my bones. No, it isn’t.

  Chapter 15

  Morgan

  An ornate wood and gold clock sits on the mantle above the fireplace. The tick-tock echoes through the room, accentuating the awkward quiet between me and Anita.

  We sit across from one another at a small, square, game table. We’ve swapped questions. It’s a testy process—it’s hard not to feel under attack as a writer during any sort of critique. I do see the value in Christensen linking us up. I feel my skin is getting tougher—unlike the exposed rawness I felt in college when people like Ryan questioned my work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still ridiculously connected and protective of my story. I know that it’s part of my larger history now—the Morrigan and the Darkness—but I still have the same compulsion to get it down on paper. I want to get it right even if I can’t help but feel defensive.

  Anita; with her sapphire blue eyes and long, straight blonde hair smiles at me from across the table. “Do you want to go first?”

  No. “Sure.”

  She reads from her copy of the questions. “Why does Maverick follow the cat to the woods even though the ravens are freaking out?”

  I tap my pen against the paper. The feeling of being in the woods with the cat swallows me whole. I take a breath and say, “Simple curiosity I guess.”

  Anita’s smile slips. “That’s not good enough. Maverick is your protagonist. Your main character. She has to have some motivation other than just curiosity.”

  My fingers tremble and I snatch them off the table. “Maverick has a feeling—like a gut intuition—she needs to follow that cat. She has to. Just like she communicates with the ravens she has a connection to the cat. It feels natural.”

  “But the cat is bad, right?”

  “The cat is…” I search for the correct word, “alluring. There’s something about him that’s different. That makes her ignore the ravens. Unfortunately, Maverick has an irrational response to a bad character that leads to deadly, tragic results.”

  Anita watches me, her eyes slightly narrowed, as though she knows I’m holding something back. “You’ll have to convince the readers about that. You’re close, but I’m not sure if you’ve sold it yet.”

  “Good point,” I say, swallowing back my annoyance. She’s right.

  Turnabout is fair play and I get to go after her characters next. It feels liberating—yes, I’m a little vindictive. I almost laugh because if the Morrigan truly resides in my soul, ’a little’ is probably the understatement of the year and I’m actually doing really well with restraint.

  The thought makes me feel lighthearted—maybe I am beating the Darkness—and when Anita asks me a question on the way out the door I surprisingly consider it.

  “I’m going to a concert tonight and have an extra ticket. Do you want to come?” I do consider it—for a split second—but then hesitate because my days and nights revolve around my routine at the house. Anita notices and says, “I think it would be a great way for us to get to know one another better. Build some trust and camaraderie.”

  Leave the house? On a Thursday night? I run through my schedule in my head but I know the evening is free. I just have a session with Damien in the afternoon.

  “Come on, Morgan. It could be fun.” She gives me a flirty smile and bats her eyelashes.

  She’s quite persuasive. Alluring, even.

  “Okay. Yes, let’s do it.”

  Anita hops in excitement and squeezes my hands. “This is great! I’ll text you details, okay?”

  When the front door closes behind her and I take moment to breathe, I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into. If anything, maybe it will give me a little credit from Professor Christensen for making an effort.

  Chapter 16

  Morgan

  Dinner is a quick affair. I dodge the sultry looks from Clinton, still in a heightened state from earlier in the day, and excuse myself before dessert. Anita instructed me by text to meet her at nine. I don’t dress until after dinner and even though I’m not intentionally hiding anything, I don’t inform the guardians of my plans. They seem hesitant about anything outside The Nead, and although they are my protectors I don’t actually need their permission to leave the house.

  I stand before my closet unsure of what to wear. I’ve been in New York for over a month and I haven’t actually been out yet. I pull out my phone.

  Suggestions for what to wear?-M

  Something fun. Dressy but not too much-A

  That doesn’t make sense-M

  My phone vibrates and an image pops up. It’s a picture of Anita wearing a sexy red dress with tiered ruffles from the knees to her hips. The front plunges to a deep V between her breasts and has small capped sleeves. Her hair is loose around her shoulders and it’s not straight—she curled it in loose ringlets. The only noticeable makeup is the bold red lipstick.

  Got it-M

  I stand back in front of my closet and push the clothes to the side. I’ve got nothing comparable to that dress in here. Except…

  I dig past my winter jacket and find the plastic-covered outfit against the back wall. I tug down the zipper and smile at the contents.

  Yes, I think this will work.

  Chapter 17

  Damien

  Bed.

  That’s all I want.

  Bed. Maybe a thick piece of Sue’s chocolate cake from the kitchen.

  It’s been a long day—a long week. Forging the sword for Morgan had taken a lot out of me. The magical pieces like Morgan’s ring and sword require a huge amount of physical and mental energy to create. I need sugar and sleep.

  Sue and Davis have cleaned the kitchen when I stop in for a hunk of cake. I carry it out on a plate, licking the icing off with my finger. As I head toward the front stairs I notice someone by the doors.

  My jaw drops.

  “Have mercy,” I mutter. Morgan spins in my direction, making the fringe on her black dress swing.

  “Damien,” she says. “Yo
u scared me.”

  “Sorry.” I swallow the piece of cake that has suddenly become lodged in the back of my throat. “Damn, you look, fuck, Morgan. I’ve never seen you like this.”

  A primal urge crashes over me like a wave.

  Aware of the way I’m looking at her, Morgan bites down on her upper lip and something in me nearly cracks in two.

  “I’m just waiting for my cab,” she says.

  “A cab? You’re going out?” Like that? I almost add, but don’t.

  “I’m meeting Anita, my critique partner.” She looks at me defiantly and God, I want her even more. Lights flash out front and the cab horn blares its arrival.

  “Have fun.”

  She flashes me a smile. “Thanks.”

  I reach for her and grab her by the arm. I tilt my head and she does the same and we kiss, slowly. “You look fucking stunning.”

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “Be careful.”

  She nods and kisses me once again, her lips hot with fire against mine. She slips out the door and I’m left standing in the foyer with my cake in hand. I look up and Sam stands at the top of the steps.

  “Does he know?” I ask.

  Sam nods. “Already gone.”

  We haven’t told Morgan yet that she can’t leave the house alone—it’s not that we don’t trust her—we don’t trust the Darkness, which will take any opportunity to slip through the cracks.

  “Did you see that dress?” I climb the stairs.

  Sam nods vigorously. “Holy shit, yes.”

  Chapter 18

  Morgan

  The cab stops outside a busy strip of road. A deli, a bodega, two pawn shops, and a boarded-up storefront line the sidewalk. I look at the address Anita gave me and wonder for a quick second if she’s pranking me. When I glance back at the street I spot her next to the abandoned shop, waving.

  The dress isn’t easy to miss on the litter-strewn road. The bright red draws looks from pedestrians. The minute I’m out of the car Anita pulls me into a tight embrace and says, “I’m so glad you came.”

  “Exactly where is this concert?”

  “I’ve been reading about this new thing. Secret clubs. From the outside it looks like an abandoned building but the insides are supposed to be amazing.”

  “Like a speakeasy?” I ask, referring to prohibition bars.

  “Yes!” Her eyes light up. “But each one has a theme and they only last a few nights. I managed to get three tickets.”

  “Three?”

  She points to the boarded-up wall. For the first time I notice a familiar-looking blond. He has striking features—a narrow nose and strong chin. He looks as apprehensive to be here as I feel. His eyes burn the same color blue as the girl standing next to me and I say, “Are you related?”

  “My brother!” She drags me over. “Morgan this is Xavier. Xavier this is Morgan.”

  His face relaxes and his eyes drink me in. “Nice to meet you, Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about your project.”

  Typically, my defenses rise. I’m never a fan of discussing my book, particularly with strangers. Xavier must notice because he tilts his head and says, “Only good things, of course.”

  “Your sister is very talented,” I reply. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

  He smiles and it’s breathtaking. “I have heard that once or twice.”

  “Hey!” Anita cries, tugging at his sleeve. He grins down at her and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I’m not braggy.”

  “Never,” he says with a wink in my direction. “So, are we ready for this adventure or what?”

  “I’m ready to get off the street,” I reply. The night air is still warm and hopefully there’s air conditioning inside.

  Xavier offers me and his sister the crook of his arm. It’s weird but what in my life isn’t lately? I link my arm with his and he leans in and says, “I’ll buy you a drink to cool you off.”

  Anita directs us down a small alley and takes two steps down to a rusty door. She bangs twice, smiling back at me and her brother. I glance up at him and with the street light behind his head his hair glows and I get the strangest feeling I’ve met him before.

  The door opens with a creak and a well-dressed man with flaming red hair stands in the entrance. Anita hands over three tickets and he nods for us to enter.

  I follow Anita down the steps and just like she said earlier, we step into something amazing—a whole different world.

  “Wow,” I say, freezing in the doorway. I take the whole place in. The bar to the right, gleaming with a glossy shine. Three bartenders in bow ties and starched white shirts work behind the counter, mixing cocktails. A cluster of men and women surround the bar and small tables fill the floor space. A small stage sits at the front of the room, with a single chair in the middle. A heavy black curtain hangs behind the stage. I have no idea what sort of concert to expect, but before I can say anything Xavier has bolted for the bar and Anita is dragging me toward a table with a reserved card on top.

  “This is really neat,” I tell her when I’m settled in my seat. “I had no idea places like this existed.”

  “One of the perks of living in the city. So many cool things to do. After seeing that amazing historic house you live in, I thought maybe you’d like it.”

  Xavier returns with three martini glasses. I don’t waste time taking a sip of mine.

  “So who’s playing?” I ask.

  Anita shrugs. “That’s part of the surprise. You never know. Sometimes it’s someone famous or like, undiscovered but incredibly talented. One time it was a rapper singing show tunes. Another, a Broadway star playing hard rock. It’s always something unique.”

  “And after a few days they’ll close it down?”

  “Yep,” she says. “And then move somewhere else.”

  While we wait for the show to start I learn a little more about Xavier. He’s an investment banker—doing things that make zero sense to me even when he explains it in explicit detail. “Working on the stock floor is sheer pandemonium. I love it though. It’s a rush. The clock is ticking—numbers are flying. It’s like mental marathon every day.”

  Even though Xavier is very attractive there’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s the ego or smug confidence. He’s exactly not my type, which after a month of living with five amazing men is a little refreshing. Honestly, just being out of the house feels good. There’s so much energy and tension between me and the guardians. I didn’t even realize how much I needed a break.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” I say to Anita. “I’ve been a little cooped up.”

  She gives me a sly grin. “Not sure I blame you. I’ve seen a couple of those housemates. Yowza.”

  Xavier makes a face but the lights dim, keeping him from any comments. The chatter in the club comes to a halt and even the people by the bar quiet. A spotlight arcs over the ceiling and lands on the chair, which, to my surprise, is now occupied.

  By a familiar face and body.

  Clinton sits in the chair, his cello angled between his legs. His hair is loose, swaying by his jaw, and his muscular biceps strain against the fitted, black button-down.

  The crowd applauds at the sight of him, seeming to know or recognize him. They only settle back down when he lifts his bow and begins playing a deep, haunting melody.

  It’s certainly not the first time I’ve heard Clinton play. His music lured me from my room weeks ago. The vibrations creep over my skin and into my soul. I may be in a packed room filled with other people but instantly I’m transported. It’s like the club around me disappears and it’s just Clinton and me. Watching him now, I remember the way his mouth feels, the way his body lights mine on fire.

  His gaze isn’t on anything in particular. His jaw is tense. His fingers are deft and precise. A heavy weight moves across the room, something I now recognize as magic. Ancient and powerful. I lean forward, feeling the energy rising in my body.

  Xavier shifts next to m
e, his arm brushing against mine. Heat tingles across my skin—fiery and alive. A powerful need—a want—shocks through my system. It’s the music. The crowd.

  It’s the Morrigan.

  I glance over at Xavier, who’s staring at me with hungry eyes. The Queen wants to respond, but I push her back down, calling on the lessons of the last few weeks.

  I focus back on the stage. I focus on Clinton, who has the crowd so enthralled they never notice when he lifts his eyes and stares out into them. Our eyes lock. I know they do. I feel it when the runes flare. In the twist of my stomach. He can’t see me in the dark—not with human eyes—but the guardians are not exactly human and I know for certain he’s aware of my presence.

  I blink and bang my elbow on the table, knocking into my glass, sloshing the contents across the top.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, breaking the magic of the moment. Anita looks at me in annoyance. Xavier stares. I stand and mumble, “Excuse me.”

  I push through the tables, stepping on toes, issuing apologies. The bartender points me to the small hall in the back and I find the doors leading to the bathroom and one that has a broken exit sign overhead. The door sticks but I slam my shoulder into it and the hinges give, tumbling me into the alley.

  I take a gulp of air.

  “You don’t control me,” I say to the Goddess inside. I understand it now. She wields her power with an iron grip and if I don’t find a way to release the energy she’ll come forth. How? That’s the scary part. I don’t know.

  The back door opens and slams into the brick wall. The energy in the air spikes and I turn, thankful that Clinton’s performance is over.

  “Thank God,” I say, spinning around but it isn’t Clinton, it’s Xavier.

  He understandably misinterprets my statement and lunges for me. He doesn’t wait, pressing his lips to mine. The Goddess roars, eagerly consuming the energy of the man before me. I tug the hair at the back of his neck and bite his bottom lip. He pushes his hips into mine, pinning me against the wall.

  This is how it should be done, the Morrigan whispers in my ear. The rune painted over my heart flares. Feed from him.