Onyx Eclipse
Author: Angel Lawson
Date: 2017-12-06 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Romance; Paranormal
Description: The Darkness shows no mercy. Not to Morgan. Not to her Guardians. Not to the world. The Goddess of War has taken three of Morgan's Raven Guard as her own. Only Dylan remains and they must pick up the pieces after Bunny's devastating betrayal. Can the two of them survive on their own?

Table of Contents

- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35

Onyx Eclipse

By

Angel Lawson

Bunny

Moonlight peeks through the arched windows, casting my studio in a dark shadow. The light is different here. The lack of electricity and the ever-present candles, torches, and fires give off a yellowish glow. The difference makes for a challenge when mixing the paint, because the process must be exact. The image on one side must match the other, regardless of lighting, toxins, or weather.

Closing my eyes, I bring to mind the scene that I want to paint, the one that will bring the two worlds together. I may as well paint lightning, an earthquake or hurricane. The result will be the same.

Over the past few weeks, the cold of the castle has settled in my bones. I wonder if that’s part of the Goddess’ magic, leeching the warmth from us slowly, methodically. Surely she feeds—Morgan does—Anita, too. I know Anita drank from Morgan’s lips, taking the virus from her to spread across the city, stealing power from every victim. The true Goddess of War asks for nothing but blood and despair.

Maybe that’s why it’s so cold.

She’s sucked the place dry.

I pass the shattered remains of the mirror, ignoring the reflective shards of glass. I can’t look at myself now. I’m not sure if I ever will again. I am the betrayer of my mate, of my Guards and brothers. Even if I had my reasons, none will ever justify me to their eyes.

Or even my own.

Opening the container I brought from Tran, I sprinkle in a small amount of the powder, mixing it in with the indigo. If Dylan had stopped me…I didn’t know what to think would be the result if I hadn’t returned. I heard the blade connect with the canvas. He damaged the painting. A similar cut is slashed through the painting near the fireplace. It’s useless now. I’ll toss it in the fire.

I exhale and stare at the fresh white board before me and dip my brush in the paint.  The process soothes me. It always has, but tonight the dungeons are full and the Goddess cleverly placed my studio right above them. Casteel, the brutish head guard handpicked by the Morrigan, normally stalks the hallways. Not now. She’s finally given him playthings, and I easily hear the screams of my brothers echoing off the flat walls.

Do I feel the guilt of my transgressions? Yes, immensely, but it’s chased by the frozen reach of my mistress across the barren castle floors.

I made a choice. The call no one else was willing to make. With another breath to steady my hand, I start on the canvas mounted on the easel before me.

The war isn’t over. It’s only just beginning.

Chapter 1

Morgan

There’s little doubt in my mind that they’re dead.

That’s the thought that haunts my mind each and every day. The idea--no, the image of them alone with that malicious, spiteful, bitch worms its way into my heart, and I can’t let it go.

Why would she keep them alive? Every breath they take is a danger to her. Every day that passes, a threat. That’s what I tell myself, refusing to believe my Guardians--who are strong, ferocious warriors, created by the hands of powerful, ancient gods--would not have returned by now if they were still alive.

They have to be dead.

I cross the massive room and pass the stacks of newspapers on the table without looking down. I know the headlines.

Strange Sickness Baffles Scientists

Virus Overwhelms Local Hospitals

The Next Plague?

Surrounding the newspapers are books, dozens of books, all open, with smudged, worn paper. Dylan reads them over and over, desperately looking for the one thing that can open the gate to the Otherside from our realm.

I intended to do two things.

One, to bring the bodies back.

Two, to kill the Morrigan.

At least, that’s my plan.

I push back the curtain surrounding Dylan’s bed. The fabric creates a dark cave inside the expansive attic studio. He’s asleep, a rarity in the weeks since Bunny betrayed us. The bed is massive, a king-sized sleigh bed made of the darkest wood. I stare down at the hard planes of his bare chest, my eyes lingering over his abs and the sharp cut V under his navel. His shorts cling to his hips. I zero in on the purple blemish at the base of his neck, the one I gave him two days ago, finally fading. I should do it again. Mark him. Make it known that no one is taking this one from me, and if they try, blood will be shed.

I’m not losing another one.

He rolls to his side, muscles tense even in his sleep. His jaw is locked, resulting in tight cords down his neck. Neither of us can relax, caught in an emotional hell of worry and rage. When the Morrigan took my guardians, my mates, she stole not only a chunk of my soul but the bright flame of my power. When Bunny betrayed me, he removed any chance of us fighting back. I must have all five of my mates to complete the circle of power. Something he knew and therefore distanced himself from me so we didn’t physically bond.

Bunny.

I still can’t wrap my head around his betrayal. For what purpose? Did he truly feel neglected? Had I pushed him aside?

Despite his actions, his absence leaves a cold hole in my frayed heart. I’d meant it when I claimed him as a mate. I didn’t realize he was faking it all for a way to increase the Morrgian’s control of the Darkness and the fall of our world.

I swallow back the rage and look down at Dylan, my only guardian. My only conduit. I needed five. I had four, one is lost and now only one remains. I am thankful for his strength, for his unrelenting service to my needs; his commitment to stoking the flames. My powers are nothing but a flicker in the growing Darkness.

I drop the curtain and step in the darkness of Dylan’s sleeping chamber. I pull my shirt over my head and slip my pants over my hips. His arm is around me before I’ve hit the soft mattress. I steal his breath. He gives me his body.

Together, we survive.

*

The stairway that leads to the dungeons beneath the garage is dark, musty, and cold. Hildi stands at the entrance. Our only prisoner occupies the center cell. There’s nothing in Anita’s tiny alcove but a basic cot, a tray from her dinner, and a functional sink and toilet.

“How is she?” I wrinkle my nose at her scent. Anita needs a shower, but that’s a privilege she hasn’t earned.

“The same. Silent one minute, crying the next,” the Valkyrie says. “In the end, she gives me nothing.”

At the moment, the woman sits with her back against the stone wall and stares into space, her face emotionless.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” I say. Somehow Hildi got caught up in our battle against the Morrigan. She helped capture Anita the day Bunny betrayed us and my Guardians went missing. Since then, she’s taken over the role of watching Anita down in the dungeons.

“My Goddess does not approve of the Morrigan’s ways. She’s pushing her will and destruction on all of us. I’m at your service until this is resolved.”

I smile. “Thank you. We’re running short on people we can trust.”

“Your home is comfortable. Your servants, Davis and Sue, have been very accommodating. It’s not an inconvenience.”

I take a side glance at Anita, uncomfortable speaking freely near her. She seems completely oblivious. “Are you sure you don’t have family you need to attend to?”

“My partner is aware of my obligations.”

“Make sure he’s aware of the dangers out there—with the virus. No one is safe.”

A smile ghosts over Hildi’s lips. “She is aware. I’ve told her to take precautions.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed.”

“It’s okay. We did originally meet over my jealousy of your relationship with the Raven Guard.” She smiles wider. “I’m not picky with the gender of my lovers, just that they are worthy of sharing my bed.”

You learn something new every day, I think to myself, leaving Hildi and walking down the narrow hallway. I keep clear of Anita’s reach. I’m not sure what her actual powers entail, but I do know she has been in and out of the portals, traveling between realms. I need to know how to open a gate that will take me to the Morrigan’s castle in the Otherside. As much as I’d like to see Anita dead, keeping her alive seems like our best chance.

“Good morning.” I approach her cell. Anita is a beautiful woman, one used to extreme wealth and luxury. Or rather, she was. I can see a glimmer of her beauty beneath the stringy, dirty hair and her blank, soulless eyes. Her nails are chipped. Her skin is ashy and dry. Her treatment may be uncivilized, but what is owed to a woman whose intent is to help destroy the world?

She doesn’t reply, so I bang on the bars of her cell. “Hey, girl, wake up.”

I’d been born as a human vessel for the Morrigan’s earthly rise. Anita and her brother had the misfortune to be born as sacrifices to the Morrigan’s dark plans. Xavier was already dead—the first victim of the new plague. Anita became a carrier, spreading the virus throughout the city. Dylan is sure there is only one way to stop the virus from becoming the apocalypse: opening the gate and killing the Morrigan. But there have been other plagues brought on by the Morrigan in the past, other cures. I’m not willing to give up on any option.

The main problem is we do not have the abilities or skills to get the gate open, much less find one.  The Raven Guard spent their lives keeping the gate shut, and although Dylan had crossed back and forth, it was in his shifter form, an ability he lost when we mated.

My patience has run thin and I drop down to a squatting position to make eye contact. Her gaze never changes but I start talking anyway, like I have every other day for the past two weeks. “Tell me why Bunny betrayed me.”

Blank stare.

“Tell me what she did with my Guardians.”

Nothing.

“Tell me your role in all of this.”

Zero.

Rage consumes me. I know it’s irrational. She’s never going to tell me what I want, but I have no one else to ask. Nowhere to turn. I pull the key to the lock out of my pocket and shove it in the keyhole.

“Morgan,” Hildi warns.

I fling open the door and step inside, yanking Anita’s frail, limp body off the floor. I may not be at my strongest but I’m far more powerful than she is at the moment. When she’s on her feet I raise my hand and slap her across the face. Nothing changes. Not even in the depths of her eyes.

“I know you’re in there, fool, and you will help me. You’ll stop this insanity and you will help me bring my guardians home, dead or alive.”

The last sentence sparks something and her eyes narrow. There’s a red mark on her cheek and her mouth splits into a deranged grin.

“What?” I ask, desperate for anything.

“You think she killed them?”

Grief wracks through me but I pull on it and use it to feed my rage. “I’m not afraid of the truth.”

Again, she cackles, and I tighten my hands around her throat. She tugs at my wrists. “The Morrigan is the goddess of war—not death like your little friend over there.” She nods at Hildi. “She loves the destruction. The pain. She wants a fight. She wants the biggest fallout this realm has ever seen, and then she’ll preside over it for eternity.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” I mutter, refusing to listen to her nonsense. “If she wants a fight, she’ll get one. But she’ll have to show herself to make it happen.”

I release her throat and push her back on the thin mattress of her cot. I leave and lock the door back with a loud, echoing click. Anita stares at me with the same maniacal expression as before.

“What?” I ask again.

“Ignore her,” Hildi says. “She’s gone mad.”

Anita begins to laugh. First softly and then gaining in momentum. I walk away, unwilling to be an audience to her show. I need leverage to get Anita to talk to me. I need to find what she cares about. What she wants from all of this.

Hildi and I leave her alone in the dungeon, slamming the outer door and locking it with the enchanted keys. Hildi sets wards by drawing runes across the door.

“What do you think that was all about?” I ask as we walk up the stairs.

“I think she’s crazy and probably always has been. That’s what the Darkness does to people.” She pauses at the top of the stairs. “What will you do with her?”

“I’m not letting her out until I know what the Morrigan needs her for. After that, you’re welcome to take her back to your Goddess and drag her to the gates of hell.”

Chapter 2

Dylan

The door needs a heave to get open, the warped wood sticks at the top. I use my shoulder to knock it loose and when the door finally opens, it slams into the wall, louder than I’d intended.

I brace myself for the response. I don’t know what or even why. Everything in the house feels quiet now. There’s no music from Clinton’s second floor suite. No echo of laughter following Sam. I don’t hear Damien’s heavy boots on the stairs, or the roar of his motorcycle in the alley out back.

There sure as hell is no sign of Bunny roaming the halls at all hours of the night or stuffing his face with sweets in the kitchen.

Bunny. Damn, it still stings, like the wound of a rusty blade running through the gut. How could he? What is he thinking? We all have our weak moments; our pride or ego, our doubts and fears. But this? This was something much more and it hurt to even think of the consequences of it all. For him. For Morgan, and most of all, the world.

As suspected, no one comes from the sound of me entering the room. Even Sue and Davis have quieted—heartbroken over the situation. Food preparation is nothing but a whisper in the downstairs kitchen. Our mandatory dinner has stopped; what’s the point with just me and Morgan? We’re together constantly anyway. Working, sleeping, mating.

Even our lovemaking has turned quiet. Nothing but shifting sheets and the sound of our bodies moving together. Even if we do derive pleasure from our bonding, it seems wrong to celebrate. It seems a betrayal to my fallen brothers.

I enter Bunny’s room and take a deep breath. The room smells a little musty—the stale chemical of his paints—closed since the day of his traitorous actions. I’ve had my nose stuck in books or obsessing over the news. Morgan goes to the dungeons to interrogate Anita. I’ve been unable to even walk down the hall and step foot in the place where I allowed Bunny’s escape.

But now I’m at a loss. My books are useless against whatever magic Bunny conjured to pass between realms and shut us out. So now I’m here, hoping to find something that will help us.

I stop before the torn canvas—the one Bunny used as a portal for escape. I ripped it—ruined it—in my haste to stop him. It may have been our only way to the Otherside. For all I know, it may have been their only way back.

The Raven Guard.

I’ve no doubt they’re still alive. Suffering, but alive.

Morgan thinks they’re dead and I’ve allowed that for the time being. She hasn’t said the words, but I see it in the dark shadows of her eyes, and in the tears that slip down her cheeks when she thinks I don’t notice. It’s better that she thinks they’re gone. The alternative is worse. Being a prisoner at the hands of the Goddess of War is like standing in the fiery pits of hell. If she realized…if she understood…

I can barely think of it myself and push back the weight of guilt of knowing they’re bearing it without me at their side.

Which is why I finally caved and came back to Bunny’s studio. Why I’m searching, day after day, for a fucking break—just the smallest clue. We can’t give up on the others. They’re alive, at least physically, and it’s my obligation to bring them back.

*

I’ve completely lost track of time when I hear her footsteps on the stairs. I’ve been staring at painting after painting, castle after castle, trying to see something in the imagery for what feels like hours, when Morgan enters the room. She has smudges of dark under her eyes, either from lack of sleep or losing her power. The sight guts me. Another failure to add to the others.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the door. Her arms cross over her chest and she watches me.

“How’s the prisoner today?” I ask.

“Fucking deranged.”

“So like yesterday?”

“Maybe a little worse. Now she’s speaking in riddles or something.” She sighs and walks over to where I’m standing. “What’s going on in here?”

“Just trying to see if Bunny left any sort of clue on how he got the portal open.” I pretend saying his name isn’t a punch to my insides, and gesture to his worktable. “He took a bunch of stuff the day he left. Probably whatever I would need to figure out how to get the gate open myself.”

Morgan steps closer and slips her delicate hand in mine. Just the sensation of her skin against mine sends a shock of energy up my spine. “We’ll figure it out.”

“We’re running out of time. Did you watch the news today?”  I ask. She shakes her head. “People are getting sick outside of New York now, it’s spreading.”

I hate the look of pain and guilt on her face. It probably matches my own. She squeezes my hand and asks, “What do we do?”

“I’m out of my league here. If,” I swallow, “if Damien was here he could probably figure out the magic, but without some kind of lead, I’m clueless. We’re going to have to find help.”

“Where? Who can help us with this?”

I kiss her on her forehead. “Come on, I think I have an idea.”

Chapter 3

Morgan

If I had to choose a guardian to fight with at the end of the world, I’m not sure it would be Dylan.

Not that I don’t think he’s worthy; he’s strong and capable, quick and smart, confident and secure. But, he’s also emotionally disconnected at times, making it a struggle for us to comfort one another. We’re both a little lost, definitely on edge, and as we walk down the long, narrow hallway beneath Tran’s magic shop, I really miss my other Guardians.

“Find a table,” he says as we enter the seedy, underground bar. A flare of magic ripples over me and I give the bouncer a questioning look.

“Disarming wards. No magic in here,” the burly man replies.

“I doubt I’m much of a threat.”

He looks me over and I can’t help but stare at the twisting rope of tattoos around his neck. They look like they’re moving. “Sure, sweetheart, that’s what dangerous ones all say.”

Dylan nods as he steps through and I feel his fingers leave my back as I step into the room and he walks toward the bar.

Seriously, where’s Sam or Damien when I need them? Ugh, scratch that. The despair that lives around my heart roars.

I know they’d have us in a quiet, unassuming corner already with drinks on the table. I glance back at Dylan, who’s engaged in a conversation with the bartender, a girl with smooth skin and fiery eyes. More than one customer looks between me and Dylan, making some kind of connection. I forget that the Raven Guard is notorious. I wonder if they know what happened to the others—how fast does news travel in the supernatural world?

The place is packed and there’s definitely an interesting vibe. An energy—disabled powers or not. Having never been here, I have no idea if it’s normal or not, but I suspect everyone is aware of the virus ravaging the city and came down here to drink their worries away.

Probably like every other bar in the city.

A familiar-looking man catches my eye as I search for a table; he tilts his head my way. His eyes are so very dark, but there’s a calmness rolling off his person and something that makes me want to go over to him. Even stripped of his magic, I can tell he’s powerful.

“No,” a voice says in my ear. Dylan’s voice. He presses his hand against my back, steering me in the opposite direction. “Not tonight.”

“Who is that?” I ask, feeling the tug as we walk away.

“You don’t recognize him?” An open table appears against the back wall. I’d just looked over here. Did he conjure it out of thin air? I shake my head at Dylan’s question. “That’s the Shaman from the fights.”

“Oh,” I glance back. The Shaman is still watching me. “I thought he was a good guy.”

Dylan laughs as he pulls out my chair. I sit and he scoots it in, like a proper guardian and gentleman. When he’s in his own seat he says, “Everyone in here has various shades. The Shaman can feel your pain. He wants to cure it—but every fix comes with a price.”

“How do you know?”

“Despite this form, I’ve lived a long life, Morgan.” He looks across the room and locks eyes with the Shaman. “He is older than I am.”

The concept is overwhelming. I feel childish and naïve. Which I probably am, compared to the others in the room. Yet, I sense their awe when they look at me. They must see past my body. Past my flesh and into my soul, where I don’t feel young at all.

“So you bargained with him?”

A flicker of anger tics at his jaw. “Why do you think we agree to the monthly fights? Our talents, tactics, and weaknesses are not meant for display. They are for battles and war.”

“What did you trade for?”

“We needed information.” His jaw tightens. “On you. Just a hint about where you were. If you were alive or not.”

I reach for him under the table, grappling for his fingers that are curled tight in a ball. A tiny shard of ice around my heart melts. “You feel shame over that?”

He looks away, and even though he doesn’t answer, the truth is written on his face. A chunk of the despair I’ve felt over the last few weeks chips away as the need to make Dylan feel better, to feel loved, rises in my chest. He refuses to meet my gaze and just as I’m about to force the issue, he looks over my shoulder with interest.

“Tran,” he calls. “Over here.”

“Tran?” The owner of the magic shop upstairs approaches. The ancient (probably literally) man walks over. A heavy cloak covers his shoulders. He takes the chair Dylan offers and sits with a weary sigh.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Dylan says.

“No. I wasn’t sure I would.” His narrow eyes skirt over me. “I try to stay out of the ways of the gods and goddesses. I’ve probably already assisted too much.”

“I know, and I appreciate you meeting us,” Dylan says. “I just want to know if you saw anything that day—heard anything?”

There’s no question what day Dylan is referring to, but I lean in and press anyway. “The day my Guardians vanished. From everything we know, it took place near your shop, but our own canvassing has been futile. No one will talk to us.” Damien would have gotten the men on the street to talk—he was friendly with them. “They’re either afraid or don’t care.”

“Probably both,” he says and sighs heavily. Deep lines crease his forehead. “It sounded like the world ripped in two; I felt the moment in the depths of my chest. The air turned to ice, coating my windows with frost. I heard the shouts of the Ravens and went to assist but my door was jammed tight. It was hard to see—thank the gods, because what I did see?” He shivers. “Tentacles of smoke. Long and black. Something dark from another world.”

He stares at me. Dylan grips my hand. He fought those tentacles in the ring.

“The Morrigan?”

“Or part of her, at least. I fell to my knees and prayed.” Tran reaches under his cloak and rests a crumpled paper bag on the table. “I found this on the street after it was over.”

He slides the bag to Dylan and I hold my breath as he opens it. I don’t know what to expect, but what he pulls out never crossed my mind, even though it seems obvious. Dylan’s eyes flash to mine as he hands over the cracked black box that may hold a clue on what happened to the guardians and how to get them back.

It’s Sam’s camera.

“It’s broken. I couldn’t get it to work, but maybe there’s a way.”

“Thank you, Tran. This is very helpful.”

I try to turn on the camera but it’s pointless. He’s right. I look up and find him staring at me once again. His hands tremble on the table. “I have a warning for you both.”

“What kind of warning?” Dylan asks, but the line between his eyes tells me he already knows. I’m the only one left out of the loop here.

“Not everyone wants you to stop the Darkness. There are many others that have waited centuries, if not longer, for this world to fall to the demons.”

“What do you mean?”

“Watch your back, young warrior. As the civilians fall to the sickness, the darker elements will arise. You’re not just fighting the Morrigan.”

I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise as I look around the room. Every person, witch, demon, and angel is focused on this conversation. “Do you think any of them helped Bunny betray us?”

“Nothing is off the table. The creatures down here? They’re just the muscle and thugs. The gossips and traders. It’s the ones that live in the world up top you have to worry about. They come in all shapes and sizes. Perform all kinds of jobs.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Doctors. Police. Those that will be called upon in a time of crisis.”

I look at Dylan. Again, he’s not completely surprised. “You knew?”

“You know the history, Morgan. Who do you think Hitler used as his commanders? As his closest confidants. It wasn’t back-alley scum.”

I think of the photos I’ve seen. He’s always surrounded by a tight posse. Doctors. Generals. Educators. Which would be manageable if I hadn’t just lost most of my own posse.

“Thanks for the information, Tran,” I say, standing from the table. Dylan follows my lead, taking the camera from me and slipping it in his coat. “If you hear anything, let us know.”

The old man nods.

I feel the eyes on us as we exit the bar. I don’t miss the Shaman’s nod.  A simmering rage boils beneath the surface of my skin. I don’t like not knowing the rules of this world. Who is an enemy or not.

Bunny has opened a wound that will not stop bleeding.

Chapter 4

Morgan

When we leave the bar, I can’t help but notice the difference in the city. The streets are less crowded. Shops close early. People walk with scarves and surgical masks over their mouths and noses. The virus is here. It’s real.

We return to The Nead and Dylan takes the camera to Sam’s studio. He hopes to recover any image locked inside. Full of anxious energy, I go to the basement gym and blow off some steam. Hildi is already there, beating the shit out of a punching bag. She nods at the other gloves hanging on the wall, “Wanna fight?”

“Yeah,” I say, yanking them off the hook. “I kind of do.”

There’s a white canvas sparring mat in the middle of the room. I’ve used it many times before, mostly training with Clinton. I’ve bled on it. I’ve made love on it, and that’s when I realize that every room in this gigantic house has taken on emotional meaning to me. I blink back tears of nostalgia.

“You ready?” Hildi says, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Yeah,” I tug on the gloves and square off. “Show me what you’ve got.”

I’ve fought Hildi before, mostly just out of some kind of supernatural pissing contest to prove my worth. I won, and now we’re friends. Or at least I think we are. What if we’re not? What if she’s one of the bad guys? Is that what Tran meant? Did Bunny leave her here to watch over us? Friend or foe, I won’t take it easy on her, and when she punches me in the kidney, I know the same is true of her.

The workout tests my body. Hildi isn’t exhausted or mentally drained like I am, but I keep up, dodging and getting in my own hits. We stay in the red circle, fighting for dominance. She has me on height. I have her on instinct. Clinton helped me cultivate a natural ability to remain two steps ahead. My feet and shoulders move faster than my brain. Her punches land hard. Adrenaline spikes in my blood when she swipes my feet and I land hard on my back, smacking my head on the mat. Black spots cloud my vision and rage climbs up my spine. I want them back. I want my guardians. My mates. I want my balance of power. I want serenity. But most of all I want to throttle Bunny and ask him why. Why would he do this?

“Why?” I mutter, the black spots clearing. Hildi hovers over me, concern on her face.

Is it real? Does she care?

“Morgan?” I use her distraction and kick the back of her knee, dropping her to the ground. I pounce, rolling on top of her and ripping off my gloves in the process. I punch her repeatedly, the skin of my knuckles tearing. She cries out, fighting against me, blood dripping down her lip. I wrap my hands around her throat and something dark unleashes; vines sprout from my fingers, coiled and black, twisting around Hildi’s throat.

“Why?” I ask again, a choking sob caught in the back of my throat. “Why would you do this to us?”

“Morgan,” Hildi grunts, using both hands to pry mine off her neck. The vines tighten. “It’s me. Calm down.”

“Who are you?” I ask.

“Hildi.”

“No,” I seethe. “Who are you really? What do you want? What side are you on?”

She stops struggling, her lips slack and turning purple. My vision finally fully clears and I take in the blonde hair and feminine features. I hesitate, and Hildi uses the opportunity to break free, kneeing me in the gut. Stunned back to myself, the vines retract, slithering back into my fingers. She tosses me aside. I lay on my back, breathing heavily, disoriented and confused.

The Valkyrie stands over me for a minute, flinging her gloves on the ground. Heavy feet race down the basement steps and I hear, rather than see, Dylan in the doorway. “What happened?”

“She’s lost her fucking mind.” Hilid rubs her neck. Red welts are starting to form.

“Go rest. I’ll take care of her.”

“She’s out of control,” she mumbles. “Her powers. She doesn’t have control.”

He absorbs that and says, “Take a break. We’ll watch the dungeons. Go home. See Andi.”

Hildi disappears and Dylan stands over me for a moment, assessing me. I can’t stand the judgment on his face. “I just…I got paranoid.”

“I know what Tran said, but we can trust Hildi.”

“How do you know?” I rub a tender spot on my cheek where she hit me.

“Because even though the Goddess of War and the Goddess of Death sound like they would be on the same team—trust me, they’re not.” He touches my bruise.

“I’m fine.”

“No,” he says, bending over to pick me up. I fight against him, but he’s bigger and in a second he’s got me cradled in his arms. “You’re not fine and to be honest, neither am I.”

His words jolt me and fire boils under my skin. “What are we going to do? They’re gone. People are dying. We can’t trust anyone. We couldn’t even trust Bunny.”

He presses his forehead to mine. “We’re going to get through this and we’re going to do it together. Starting today. Starting now.”

Chapter 5

Dylan

“You can’t help me,” she mocks. “You’re nothing without them. That’s why she took them and left you here. Because together we’re a bumbling, useless mess.”

I don’t make it to the attic floor, not with her flinging words of poison every step of the way. I stop at her room, kick open the door, and toss her on her bed. Her white tank is covered in drops of Hildi’s blood. Her dark eyes are lit with fiery pain.

As much as it kills me, Morgan needs that pain. She needs to feel the anger and hatred of the Morrigan and even Bunny. Sadness has gotten us nowhere. Wallowing in our guilt—that’s what the Morrigan hoped we would do. My penchant for brooding. Morgan’s guilt-prone humanity. The distrust Tran sewed this afternoon made something in Morgan snap and I plan to bring that rage and anger fully to the surface.

She sprawls on the mattress, propped up on her elbows. Her lip is puffy from taking a hit. I lean over her, hands on both sides of her hips, my mouth inches from hers. “I know you think the Morrigan left us here because we’re weak, but that’s not possible. She does not understand the reality of our bond, because in her mind what we have is twisted and perverse. She can’t comprehend the strength we find in one another. Not fully.” Despite her busted lip, I kiss her hard and she responds with equal ferocity.

Her nails scratch down my chest, tugging at the fabric of my shirt. I lift it over my head and then strip the tank off her body. She lands on her back, her hair a dark halo on the white quilt covering her bed. Her black, lacy bra contrasts with her pale skin. A dark bruise is forming on her ribs. Hildi got in a few good punches, that’s for sure.

She lifts her hips and I strip off her exercise tights, taking the panties with it. I blink, having a vision of black wings spread across the sheets. Dear gods, I think, rubbing my eyes.

I drop my pants, kicking them off my feet, not hesitating before I grab her legs and pull her to the edge of the bed.

“She doesn’t own us, Morgan. Not our minds or our bodies. She doesn’t understand how, when I touch you here,” I reach between her legs, eliciting a moan of pleasure. “Or if I fuck you like this,” I flip her to her stomach, pulling her hips in the air, exposing her voluptuous, full ass, “that it brings us closer. Makes us stronger. Mentally and physically.”

I slip between her cheeks, coating my shaft in the wet heat of her body. When she begs, I ease inside, pushing to the fullest—the farthest possible. Her fingers grip the bedding, mine grip her hips. The silence of the house is broken, filled with cries of passion, the release of anger and fear.

“Harder,” she cries. “I want to feel you. Gods, I just want to feel more than the ache of loss.”

I comply, thrusting in and out, and feel relief when her body moves in synch. But it’s too distant, which, again, is what the Morrigan wants.  I need to see her face, see the ecstasy tremble from her lips. I pull out and she rolls to her back. There’s no hesitation, not a break in our movements. I lift her hips and lean against the bed, entering her once more. The anguish has vanished from her face, her eyes glazing even as they hold mine.

“She doesn’t have this,” I say, holding, holding, holding…

“She has them.” Her breath catches, her body quakes.

Our fingers link and the wave crashes over Morgan like Thor’s mighty hammer against a mountain. She shatters, her voice loud, her pleasure and satisfaction known.

I thrust into her, spilling the warmth of my seed and the keys to my soul. I’m still in her when I reply to what she last said. “No,” I tell the woman lying beneath me. Our bodies are still joined. “She doesn’t have them. She doesn’t have their hearts—she sure as hell doesn’t have mine—and that’s what will break her.”

Chapter 6

Bunny

Casteel arrives in my studio just past dawn. Hulking and demonic in the doorway, he makes no bother to knock. His rank gives him the privilege of coming and going as he pleases.

“The Queen wants to see you.” He glances over my stained hand and paint-covered smock. I try my best not to stare at the gnarled scar at the base of his jaw. “Now.”

I wipe my hand on a rag, leaving my paintbrush in a jar of turpentine. The painting behind me has begun to take shape. My mind is sharper in the Otherside—or at least, my magic is.

I follow Casteel out of my room in the tower and down the stairs to the main section of the castle. He wears a traditional uniform: black leather tunic, heavy pants with pockets and slits for hiding weapons. His boots are made from the hide of an animal I never want to see in person. Thick and bumpy, with soles made from the tar pits in the northern territory.

Even with the dark fabric I see and smell the blood splatters of my brothers. They are fierce warriors—the Raven Guard—and to elicit the screams of pain and misery that echo from the dungeons up to my rooms must mean Casteel has refined his level of torture.

Payback sucks, especially if you’re not the one that committed the crime.

Casteel does knock before entering the queen’s chambers, he’s not that much of an arrogant fool. I lurk behind him, head bowed, counting the stones on the floor. A slave—The Morrigan does not pretend the people in her castle are anything but owned by her—opens the door and nods for us to enter.

“Reznick?” The Queen calls from the other room. It takes me a beat to recognize my given name.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Come to me.”

I spare a glance at Casteel, who is well aware he’s not been invited to the inner chamber. He smirks, as though it may be my final act. It could be, but I don’t think so. He’s unaware of our relationship. How we work.

The Queen is still in bed, her cheeks unusually flushed. A sheen of sweat covers her overheated forehead and there’s a look of hunger in her eyes. She grimaces as if a bitter taste is on her tongue. I have little doubt what caused the reaction. I too felt the echo of pleasure rattle across my bones. Even across realms, we’re connected. Something happened with Morgan, something that increased her strength. I assume she mated with Dylan, just as she has every other day since I tore the Guardians away from her.

In this realm, the Queen pushes back the heavy, midnight blue covers draped over the bed. She swings her slim but muscular legs over the edge. She pauses, taking a moment to catch her breath. The pause implies an expectation.

I step forward and offer my hand. “Please, let me.”

She smiles, white teeth against too-pale skin. Without the flush on her cheeks, she’d look like one of the hordes of dead that roam the Wastelands. “So sweet,” she says, allowing me to help her off the mattress. “Tell me, Reznick, tell me about your dreams.”

It’s a trick question. If I tell her I don’t have any, she’ll know I’m lying. If I tell her that I do, she’ll want my head for confirming Morgan’s strength and Dylan’s virility. I hold her eye and declare, “I don’t sleep, my Queen.”

My words hold the truth, but not the reality that I feel the heat between Morgan and her Raven lovers regardless of where I am. It’s a double-edged sword. I’ve never been able to contain my jealousy over her connection to the others, but I accept the flow of energy through our bond. It makes me stronger. It keeps my hands warm and my powers alert. From the way the Queen looks at me, I suspect she hasn’t a clue to the lengths in which our bond travels.

The Morrigan passes me, entering the bathing room. The slave nods, encouraging me to follow. I step inside the room of marble and brass, observing her splash cold water on her face. The slave stands quietly in the corner, waiting for instruction. They’re to wait. To predict. Never to speak.

I watch the Queen’s reflection in the mirror, pretending not to see her flinch as she takes in the dark shadows under her eyes or the fine lines crossing her forehead. She hasn’t aged like this in over a millennium, not since she took on the mantle of her reign, which implies something has changed.

I am not sure why she allows me to see her in such intimate moments. Her mind works in twisted and depraved ways. I stay alert while giving the air of innocence. She sighs, tugging at a wiry gray hair spiraling out of the thick, dark mane near her temple. She yanks out the offending hair without a hint of the sting of pain, dropping it into the sink.

“Tell me,” she says, holding out her hand in the direction of the slave. The girl steps forward, a silver vial ready and uncorked. “Have you completed the next stage of our plan?”

“Almost. I just need a few more days.”

She tips the vial into her mouth, swallowing in one gulp. Her tongue flicks out to get the final drop before tossing the vial back to her slave. She saunters past me, slipping her robe off her shoulders. The slave lunges for the robe but I catch it single-handed before it hits the floor. The Morrigan arches her eyebrow, either in amusement or displeasure that I’d interfered with the girl’s work. It’s impossible to know. I force myself to stare at the Queen’s naked body as she lowers herself into the ice bath. It’s expected. Looking away…it would suggest I don’t find her attractive—a deadly move.

Do I find her attractive? I should, but despite my actions, my heart belongs to one woman. I don’t find the Morrigan arousing, regardless of her beauty. I can’t help but notice the wrinkles and sagging lines. Her hair hangs to the middle of her back, just above the twin dimples dotting the smooth flesh of her backside. Sinking into the porcelain tub, she exhales, clearly invigorated by cold. I know, and she knows that I know, that even from another realm, Morgan brings a fire through our conduit. The fire of lust that brags of her power, of the emotions that build against her flesh. She knows as well as I do exactly what Dylan does to Morgan, and it disgusts her.

The Queen will do anything to extinguish the heat, including submerging her body in ice.

She leans her head back against the pillow, the slave holding it between two hands. She cuts her dark eyes in my direction. “I need the gate reopened.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t make me wait much longer, Reznick, or your brothers will pay for your ineptitude.”

I swallow. “Soon. I promise.”

She waves me away with her hand and I bow before leaving the bathing chamber. Casteel waits for me, no doubt having heard every word exchanged between us.

I pass him, heading back to the hall. Casteel may know the Queen’s commands but he does not know her wants, her pains. She’s weaker than I thought, and I fight a smile as we walk back to my tower where I will continue my work.

Chapter 7

Morgan

Cool air wafts across my face and I snuggle against the warmth next to me, warding off the chill. I only want a few more minutes of peace before the day begins and I wrap my arms around Dylan, feeling something has shifted between us. We’ve broken part of the curse that the Morrigan chained us with when she stole my guardians.

Dylan rolls into me, tightening his arms. I feel the heat of his kisses across my shoulder, the hard length between his legs. I push back and raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Good morning to you, too,” he says with a smile. A bit of the angst he usually carries is gone for the moment.

His eyes look a different shade, a brighter blue, and I want to ask him what he’s thinking—about his words the night before. His jaw clenches and I think maybe he’ll say it—speak the truth--but he licks his lip and then licks mine.

I squirm beneath the weight of his body, loving the feel, loving this brief moment in the wake of war.

“Dylan,” I say, successfully pulling away from him. “Do you really think we can beat her?”

“Yes. And we’ll get them back.”

My stomach knots, snuffing out the flicker of hope. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

His hand clenches around my wrist. “I never do, Morgan.”

I brush my thumb over his lip and again the heat and intensity boils between us, the kind that fuels my power and makes me stronger. I’m realizing that I’ll need all the strength I can get when the doorbell echoes up the marble floors and wooden stairway.

Dylan frowns. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No.”

He groans and rolls over, taking the heat with him. “Then we probably need to go see who it is.”

Chapter 8

Dylan

Professor Christensen stands in the foyer, looking every bit the part of University faculty. His suede jacket is only missing the patches on the elbows, and a pipe would make an excellent prop. His gray hair makes him appear distinguished as well as trustworthy.

I’m never exactly sure if he is either one.

“Dylan,” he says as I walk down the stairs. I straighten the wrists of my shirt. “It’s good to see you. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Good to see you, too. If you’re looking for good news, sadly we don’t have much.” I do tell him about Sam’s camera and my attempt to recover the photos. “I haven’t been able to access them yet but hopefully later today.”

Christensen lowers his head and asks in a soft voice, “How is she handling all of this?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Twelve hours ago she was on the brink of a breakdown. Paranoia, rage, regret. She feels guilty and lost. She’s overwhelmed by the loss of the other guardians. But we’re working through it. I think we made some progress last night.”

“She needs to be strong.”

“I know. She does, too. She’ll be ready.”

We both look up when we hear footsteps on the stairs. Morgan slowly walks down, dressed for the day in jeans and a fuzzy blue sweater. Her hair is twisted in a knot behind her head. She’s wearing boots, ones I know have a sheath next to her ankle for a small blade Damien gave her. Her cheeks carry a reddish blush, and pride swells in my chest knowing I helped put it there.

She’s the opposite of the Goddess of War, yet just as lethal. I’m learning that. Heat makes her grow. It makes her strong, and I’ll do my part to stoke the flames, but we’ve got to get the others back.

“Professor,” she says, reaching the final step. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I got your message about your, uh, guest downstairs. Thought maybe I’d take a crack at her.”

“You can try,” she says, glancing at me.

“I’m going to get to work on the camera.” I turn and head for the stairs. “You two have fun.”

Morgan rolls her eyes. “Yeah, like talking to a psychotic bitch is going to be fun.”

Christensen holds out his arm, offering to escort Morgan to the dungeons. It’s a ridiculous pose, knowing what’s downstairs and what we’re dealing with. Morgan accepts and links her elbow to his. They’ve just rounded the corner when I hear him say, “I suspect this may be more entertaining than you may realize.”

Chapter 9

Morgan

I still find it odd that the Professor is part of all this. That he’s as old as the Guardians, if not older. His role is historian, documenting the Morrigan and her destruction through the centuries. He and Dylan hope that I will continue the trend by writing a firsthand account of the current attempt at evil taking over the world.

“Where’s the Valkyrie?” Christensen asks as we get to the dungeon door. It’s locked and I fish the key out of my pocket.

“She needed a break.”

The look he gives me is questioning, but he doesn’t say anything further. The door swings open and we’re assaulted by the smell, the stench from Anita’s cell. I flip on the exhaust fan built into the ceiling. An empty tray of food left this morning by either Davis or Sue sits on the floor. Anita’s expression doesn’t change when she sees her former supervisor, but unlike many other times I’ve been down here, she does speak.

“Came to see it for yourself? Gawk at me like a monkey in a cage?”

“I’m saddened to see it come to this. It didn’t have to.”

“No?” she asks. She bares her teeth. Maybe she is a little like a zoo animal. Is that what being caged does to a person?

“You could have told Morgan or Dylan how Bunny got the gate open. How you jumped from realm to realm.”

“And what? They’d let me go?” Her eyebrow arches. “My secrets are the only thing keeping me alive.”

“We’re not killers,” I tell her. “If anything, we’re the opposite—trying to stop this bloody virus from spreading further.”

She leans into the bars, clutching the iron with both hands. She glances between the two of us. “What if you could only get one thing from me? One secret, which would you pick?”

I sigh and rub my forehead. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re right, I do know things. I know how to get back to the Otherside. I know where Bunny is. I know how to stop the virus.” Her blue eyes skim over me. “I know where your precious guardians are being held.”

I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”

She shrugs. “You figure out what you want to know the most, and maybe we can make a deal.”

Christensen has been silent next to me this whole time. I don’t know what he thinks of his former student. Or even what he thinks of me allowing her to live in such conditions.

“What sort of deal do you want?” he asks.

“I want to go back to my mistress.”

“Even though you’ve failed?”

Her body stiffens. “I’m bound to her—like you are to your little birds. In every lifetime, we find one another.”

Christensen’s eyes narrow, studying Anita closely, as though he’s searching for a memory.

“Tell me what you know,” I declare, “and I’ll send you back—in a casket.”

“You get one secret, Morgan. Only one. Choose well.”

I shake my head. Why does this girl think she dictates anything? Is it because she’s a spoiled brat? Is she delusional? Maybe I need to let her shower—have a little sunlight.

“What will it be? What will you pick?” She begins, in a sing-song voice. “Save three and spare one. Save a million but lose them all. Cut off the head and kill the rest. Wings and fingers. Ash and bone. Mix them together for the elixir of life.” She giggles, eyes glazed, and I sigh, gesturing for Christensen to follow me out.

Once we’re outside and the doors are locked he says, “I assume that’s why the Valkyrie needed a break?”

That and I tried to strangle her. “Partly.”

“Keep an eye on her. She may admit some truth in her delusions.” He stops in the stairwell. “I’m going to do a little research. See what I can come up with.”

“We can’t let her go back to the Morrigan. If she’s part of the three, then we need to keep her far away.”

He nods. “Her and you.”

I lean against the wall. “I have a feeling there’s little chance I’m avoiding a fight with the Morrigan, don’t you think?”

“Anita may be right. Certain moves may always come into play. You thought you could hold the Morrigan back by splitting her in three. You accomplished keeping her in the Otherside, but she still managed to slip her virus through before that. To stop it all you may have to all be bound once again.”

“And then what?” I’m trying to follow his train of thought.

He frowns, a sad expression that makes me not want to hear what he has to say next. “Morgan, you have to consider what Anita has already accepted.”

“What? That I’m batshit crazy?”

“No,” he shakes his head. I’m not ready for what he says next. “It’s possible that to achieve success and beat the Morrigan once and for all, you may have to embrace the Otherside and the Darkness that rules it.”

“You want me to join her?”

“No. I don’t want anything but to stop her. You’ve just got to figure out the best way to do that.”

He speaks in riddles—similar to Anita down the hall. I’m not sure what they want and I definitely don’t know if I can trust either of them.

“How do I embrace it—her?”

Again he answers, but in a most unhelpful way. “I suspect you’ll find out when the time comes. Do everything you can to be prepared for that moment.”

Chapter 10

Morgan

When Hildi doesn’t return that afternoon, I decide to go find her. I knew I’d been a jerk, (out of control, really,) but the Valkyrie is a fighter and it makes no sense for her to hold a grudge.

Dylan stays at The Nead, close to recovering the images on Sam’s camera. He asked his friend Marcus, a security guard at the Empire State Building by day and underground demon fighter by night (Snakehead is what I’ve come to call him,) to watch over Anita. I told him about our visit this afternoon and enough of it unnerved him to make the call to keep her on closer watch.

I didn’t tell him what Christensen said, about the possibility of my embracing the Morrigan and the Darkness in order to beat her. If I know Dylan as well as I think I do, he probably already figured it out.

They probably all already figured it out.

I have no expectations when I arrive at the address he gives me. These people live in a world beyond my understanding. From seedy bars to penthouses and mansions with secret dungeons, I have no idea what to expect when it comes to my new friends in the supernatural world. Where do they get their money? How do they survive? When you’ve been around for eons, maybe you’ve got investment money in Swiss bank accounts.

I’ve got bigger things to worry about.

I take the train to Brooklyn, noticing the distinct lack of subway riders. More masks. One woman dumps a massive glob of hand sanitizer in her palm and nearly bathes in it. A discarded newspaper headline declares people should work from home until the experts at CDC get a handle on the sickness.

Even though I suspect I’m immune, it makes me paranoid and I shove my hands in my pockets and try not to touch anything—anyone—on the way out of the subway. Two blocks later, I double check the address to make sure I’m in the right place. It’s a small, hipsterish community. Definitely not a mansion. I climb the steps and ring Hildi’s apartment bell.

There’s a buzz in return, the door unlocks and I step into the building. Hildi is in unit four, so I climb the first set of stairs. I knock, bracing myself for whatever anger she has after I lost my mind the day before, but when the door opens Hildi barely glances at me. Her brilliant blue eyes are rimmed with red. I can’t stop staring at the bruises on her neck.

“Can we talk?” I ask. She nods and I step into the apartment. I’m barely in when I stop cold. Sniffing the air, I catch the familiar scent. I instinctively cover my mouth and nose with my hand. “Oh my god, Hildi.”

“She’s got it—the virus,” Hildi replies, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I came home from your place and found her like this.”

“How? Do you know?” It doesn’t matter. It’s a stupid question. “How far along is it?”

“From what we’ve seen she probably has a few days. I’m not taking her to the hospital. I’ve seen the news, it’s a cesspool there.” She sighs, but it’s more like a shuddering cry. “I don’t know what to do.”

She leads me to her room. The bed is centered in the room.  I’m sure Andi is a knockout in real life. I can tell that from her dark, red hair and the angles of her face, but right now? She looks like death. Actual death. Ashy face. Sallow skin. Her lips are pale and cracked. She’s asleep, or at least I hope she is. I notice heavy curtains cover the large windows and the lamps are all dimmed.

“Bright light hurts her eyes.”

“Hildi, I came to apologize. I am so, so sorry about what happened yesterday.” I reach for her hands and I’m happy when she doesn’t pull away and punch me. “I’m working on this. Figuring out what to do—how to save these people. People like Andi.”

“I’m not sure what you can do. It’s spreading rapidly. Half the businesses in our neighborhood are closed—either out of fear or actual sickness. I think it’s worse than what the news is reporting.”

The sinking feeling I’ve had since speaking with Christensen churns in my belly.  What it will take to end the spread of the Darkness is possibly more than I can give. It’s a sacrifice. One after the other. It took one to get it rolling: Xavier, and it will most likely take more than one to get it to stop.

And if I go…Anita goes. We’ll have to get to the Otherside together. There I can free my guardians, if they’re even still alive, and we’ll kill the Morrigan. Hildi watches me closely. “What are you thinking about?”

“How to stop this. Anita says she knows how, but she wants to return to the Morrigan’s side. I’m going to have to take her.” I tell her Christensen’s theory about reuniting the three sides of the Queen to fully kill her.

The Valkyrie shakes her head. “No. There has to be another way.”

“Splitting her up only gave us a little time.” I glance at Andi, who takes a long, shuddering breath. “A slow spreading death instead of quick and total annihilation.”

“What if you go and it’s worse? What if she’s too powerful to stop?”

“There’s no good answer here. No good solution. People are dying—people have died. I can’t let fear hold me back from at least trying to stop her and find a cure.”

Hildi sits on the bed next to her partner and takes her hand. There’s no doubt that the look in her eyes, directed at me, is nothing but pure pity. “I don’t wish the burdens you carry on anyone, Morgan. You’ll have to make the decision.”

“I feel like it’s already been made. Do I even have a choice?”

“May the gods be with you.” She stands and gives me a hug. “But if you succeed, bring me back the cure.”

I squeeze her tight. “I will.”

Chapter 11

Dylan

After hours of absolute frustration, tedious work, and three shots of whiskey, I’m able to download and print off Sam’s photos. There’s little doubt the Guardian documented his final moments in this realm so we would find them. There are dozens of shot with no organization, just a continuous shot of the grisly, dark scene.

My brothers didn’t even have the chance to fight. The Morrigan slipped in from an invisible portal, one that simply merged our worlds together. I stare at the photo—a vision?—of Clinton, bound and beaten. I recognize the hard stone floor and the chains.

“Oh my god. What…what is that? Where is it?”

I spin and find Morgan in the doorway of the dining room. I’ve spread the photos across the long table. My heart pounds--I didn’t want her to see them, but then again, it’s her fight too. The truth will help us find them.

She snatches the photo from my hand. I pretend not to see the tears in her wide, dark eyes and reach for the final, erratic shots, stashing them in a pile. Her hand clamps down on my wrist. “Don’t. I want to see them.”

I hand them to her, each worse than the last. Whip marks, lashes, and bruises. Blood pooling on the cold, stone floor. “I don’t think Sam saw them before he was taken or even had a clue what was coming.”

“Does that make it better?” Her voice is hard.

“I’m just trying to piece it together.”

“They walked into a slaughter. So the Morrigan—or at least some manifestation—was able to sneak through a completely invisible entrance and ambush them.”

I point to one of the photos with the black, coiled tentacles slipping from one world to the next. “They’re in the castle dungeons.”

“How do you know?”

I roll up my sleeves and point to the scarred tissue around my wrist, then cut my eyes to a photo of Damien chained with his arms extended over his head. Iron manacles wrap around his wrists. “It’s not the first time the Queen has taken a guardian prisoner.”

She frowns and touches the marks on my wrists. “You? When?”

I look down at our hands. “When you opened the gate before.”

“When my parents died.”

I nod. Morgan looks like she may be ill. I pull out a chair and guide her into it. “Don’t blame yourself for that one. It was all my doing.”

She doesn’t seem convinced, but drops it anyway. “How far in the future do you think these photos show?”

I’ve already studied the wounds. The scabs and reopened injuries. I see the gaunt thinning in their cheeks, the lost glimmer in their eyes.

“A few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Her jaw drops.

“I suspected all along that they were still alive.” I wrap my hands around the back of the chair. “It’s not her way to make anything quick and painless.”

Morgan stares at the photos, her mind running. I see the way her eyes move, the way her fingers clench. Her emotional reactions are why I hadn’t told her. She’s not the best at keeping in check.

She turns and lifts her chin. Her next comment catches me off guard. “Andi is sick—she caught the virus.”

Another stone sinks. “And Hildi?”

“She’s fine. Probably immune.” She exhales and glances over the photos one last time before standing. “I’m going to bed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No.” She gives me a weak, tired smile. “I’m exhausted. I probably just need a little time alone.”

It’s not exactly a dismissal or even a rejection. I’m exhausted as well. Even if we bonded tonight, I’m not sure how much energy I’d have to give.

I grab her hand before she leaves, tugging her back to my chest. I do kiss her. I’m not letting her get away so easily, and the flare of heat still rises between us. “Find me if you need me, okay?”

She nods, licking the taste of me off her lips.

“Goodnight, Dylan.”

“Goodnight.”

Chapter 12

Morgan

I don’t go to bed or even go to my room. Instead I walk up the four flights of stairs and enter Bunny’s studio. The massive, high-ceilinged room is drafty and cold and I wrap my arms around my chest to stave off a chill. I hadn’t been in here alone before. Not before or after Bunny’s betrayal.

I had seen the paintings, though. Canvas after canvas of similar, haunting scenes. Most are of the castle. The Morrigan’s castle. I’ve seen it in my dreams. Written about it. I know that in the realm where she lives it’s cold and barren—a reflection of the soulless anger that resides in her heart.

I walk to the one with the tear and touch the jagged canvas edges. Dylan almost killed Bunny that night. It’s a testimony to my confusion that I’m okay that he missed.

I walk down the long row of paintings and find a hint of obsession. What was Bunny trying for here? Some kind of perfection? Slight variations occur in each scene. A light in the castle window of one. The curved branch of a withered tree in another. Stopping at one set in the gloomy gray of the Otherside’s day, I try to figure out what I’m missing. My eyes keep going back to the light in the arched window, a faint pale yellow. A slight blur mars the middle of the glass. A person? Someone watching.

A faint, cool breeze wafts over me and I blink, realizing my nose is centimeters from touching the canvas. I feel the tingle of magic, a faint reminder of the day I stepped between realms in the park. Narrowing my eyes at the two-inch window, I press a finger against the yellow glass.

Nothing.

Just hard, painted canvas, cast in the shadow of fading magic. Bunny must have infused it in the materials but how do I activate it?

I stare at the painting for a few more minutes, quite sure I can see something beyond the glass. If there’s something in there, then I can hopefully get through there, like Bunny, Anita, and the other Guardians did. I’ll need strong magic and someone to walk me through it—not Dylan. Someone more willing to take on the darker sort of magic required for this kind of spell.

I’m not exactly sure who can help me, but I have an idea where to start.

*

The zap is familiar this time as I pass through the disarming wards of the bar. Being so unfamiliar with my magic and abilities, I’m never sure what I’m losing—they’ve only been strong under spells or in the fighting ring—but I feel a specific loss when I step past the bouncer and into the shadowy room.

The music is loud enough to disguise conversations but not overbearing. The crowd is lighter than last time, empty tables are scattered across the room. I don’t see anyone familiar but I decide to wait it out and find an empty stool at the bar.

“What would you like?” the bartender asks. I saw her speaking to Dylan the other night. She’s got creamy brown skin and a shaved head. Her features are tiny, the tips of her ears slightly pointed. I try not to stare at her teeth, sharp at the canines, but fail.

“Whiskey,” I reply, scanning the rest of the bar. I’d come to like the taste of it after being handed a glass so many times at The Nead. She pours the drink and slides it across the bar. “Thanks.”

She helps another customer and I try to search the dark room. It’s impossible, though, without looking nosy. The bartender wipes the counter and says, “You were here the other night. With the Raven.”

I nod and take a sip of the fiery drink. “I was.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Where is he this time?”

I shrug.

“He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

“Why would you ask that? I’m an adult. I can go where I please.”

She snorts. It’s a delicate sound. She leans over the bar and I see her eyes, green with flakes of swirling gold. “Tell me, Your Majesty, why are you here? Maybe I can help?”

“Why did you call me that?”

“Your Majesty? Are you not the Queen of Ravens?”

“No,” I say, but it feels like a lie. I look at my drink. “It’s complicated.”

“Not really.”

Another customer approaches and she walks down the bar length. I consider leaving, but the woman may be able to help. When she returns, I take another sip of my drink and ask, “What’s your name?”

“Cirice.”

“Well, Cirice, I’m looking for the Shaman.”

Her head tilts. “No, there’s no way your Guardian knows you’re here.”

“Do you know where he is? The Shaman? I think he can help me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he can,” she laughs under her breath. “That’s one bag of trouble you don’t want to get into.”

“Dylan warned me, but like you said, I’m the Queen and he’s my Guardian, not my boss. I have to make the hard decisions—the tough choices. If the Shaman can help me, I have to take the risk.”

The bartender hesitates but her eyes flick over my shoulder toward a darkened corner of the bar. There’s a small booth tucked against the wall. I can make out a figure sitting alone.

“Thank you,” I say, drinking the remainder of my whiskey and sliding the glass across the counter. I ease off my stool.

“Wait,” she says, holding up a finger. I pause as she grabs a glass and a bottle of a dark liquid in a green bottle. I can’t read the language on the label. “It’s his favorite.”

I reach for the cash in my pocket, but she shakes her head. “The Ravens have a tab. I’ll put it on there.”

Of course they do. Again, I nod my thanks, take the bottle, and start across the bar. I feel the eyes of the patrons watch me when I pass. There’s little doubt they all know exactly who I am. That also means they know I’m responsible, at least partly, for the sickness raging outside. Tran mentioned not everyone was opposed to the Morrigan’s war, but it’s impossible to know what side anyone belongs to, so I keep my chin lifted and walk straight to the booth.

The Shaman sits with his back to the corner, focused on a small book. An empty glass sits next to it. I approach and hold the bottle out first, silently thanking the bartender for giving me an opening line. I open my mouth but without looking up he beats me to it, pushing his glass closer to the edge and saying, “Fill the glass and take a seat.”

I screw off the lid and fill the glass to the rim. The liquid is so dark it looks like ink. I do as he says, sliding into the booth across from him. He closes his book, takes a sip of the drink, and smiles. “Remind me to tip Cirice generously. She’s worked the bar long enough to know exactly what her customers want. Is that why she sent you here? Gift in hand?”

His skin is dark as midnight. His voice deep and smooth. There’s no denying the confidence he carries, the lingering of magic even if the wards have him controlled—something I doubt as the seconds flip by.

“I thought maybe we should meet, personally.”

He rests his hands on the table and I spot the tattoos and rings on his fingers. “I figured you’d be back. Your guardian doesn’t know you’re here, does he.”

“By now? Probably.” Whatever alarms and bells Dylan has in the little bat cave of his mind have probably been triggered. “Which only means we should probably get to it.”

He smiles, and the simple act puts me at an unnatural ease. Another gift, I assume. “The Morrigan took my guardians. They’re either dead or trapped in her realm, and we can’t open the gate. It was damaged in Bunny’s escape.”

His eyes narrow for a moment. “You want in the Otherside. What about your traitor?”

“I’ll be forced to deal with him, too.”

“And you think you can just storm the Morrigan’s castle? Get inside and do what you want?”

I shrug. “I don’t have another choice.”

“There are always choices, dear. Always. Suicide by the Goddess of War is one of them.” He looks me up and down and I fight squirming under the gaze of his yellow eyes. “I’ve witnessed you fight in the ring. I saw your true powers emerge, but that was when you were complete—whole with the Morrigan.” I hold his gaze and realization clicks. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it? Your full strength.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get my guardians back and stop the sickness.” I swallow. “I know the risks.”

He chuckles, flashing those teeth. “I seriously doubt it. But I’m not here to judge. I’m here to open pathways. I can give you what you want.”

“What’s the cost?”

The smile drops from his face and his expression is blank, like a slate. “There is no cost, because I’m interested in the results. Although, I can only offer you a limited return. One for the way there and three back for your Guardians. If you’re truly up to the task of taking on the Morrigan, you can find a way back on your own.”

He wants to trap me there, force the altercation between me and the Morrigan. He offers his hand across the table, waiting for me to take it or not.

I take a deep breath, knowing that if I accept, it’s an oath I can’t get out of. That’s the price—losing control. I wipe my hand on my pants and hold it over the table, curling my fingers into a fist at the last moment. “I accept your challenge, but I’m going to need one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I need two entry tickets to the Otherside.”

His hand wavers in the air. “They won’t be able to return—not on their own.”

I unclench my fist and slip my hand into his, shaking before he can ask any other questions. “Good.”

Chapter 13

Bunny

I stare at the canvas, still wet with paint. The oil shines, malleable but firm, and I thought for a moment that the movement was just that—the oil—but when I peered closer, nose nearly touching, I know what I saw was real. Someone looking at me from the other side.

Not the Otherside. That’s where I am, locked in my studio tower. But the painting is of the other realm, my former home and studio in the attic of The Nead. It’s the opposite of here—the flip of the mirror. It’s the way back and the way in, and gods almighty I think Morgan may have just been on the other side.

My fingers coil around the paintbrush, pushing back the desire to reach through and grab her.

Not that I could. Not yet at least, and what are the chances of it being so easy? The magic hasn’t set, not from my side anyway. And the painting is one of many—hundreds—left to confuse Dylan or anyone else looking for entrance. I need to get back to The Nead. I must. If I don’t bring the Queen what she wants, her wrath will rain upon the house. Not just on me—no—she never goes after her opponent directly. No, the Morrigan is methodical about her pain.

I cannot bear another night of screams from the dungeon.

What I have done to my brothers is unredeemable. Even if Morgan ever chose to look past my actions or if I can assist in her stopping the Queen, the Guardians, my brothers? They will torture me in the ancient ways.

I deserve nothing less.

Stepping back from the canvas, I exhale an exhausted shudder of relief. It’s complete. I’ve worked day after day, night after frigid night, until my eyes blurred and my fingers cramped.

But the painting is a masterpiece, if not in subject but ability. My magic is so much stronger here. It doesn’t take the layers and layers of infused ingredients to create the gate. Here, the magic is combined in every brush stroke, every drop. Runes mixed with images, stirred with spells and paint. But even then, there’s nothing that can be done until the oil dries, which may take days with the damp chill of the castle. Glancing around the room, I spot the fireplace and the dry heat it emits. There’s little wood—I’m only given a few logs a day—just enough to keep my fingers nimble. I stare at the other paintings. The rejects—or ruses. The wood backing would make acceptable kindling. The jar of turpentine, a decent accelerant.

The Morrigan’s impatience for war has brought me to this moment. I toss the first canvas in, watching the painting melt with the heat of the fire. I watch the earth realm disappear into a puddle of goo, and direct my most recent painting toward the heat.

Soon I will cross back over, and with the gods on my side I’ll earn the good will of my mistress. If not, I think, watching the canvas vanish beneath the flames, I’ll brace for the future and the hellfire that will destroy us all.

Chapter 14

Morgan

I step out of the bar, feeling the faint tingle of my magic having been returned after crossing the wards. Again, my magic is faint—weakened by the split and being separated from my mates. Dylan is a pleasant boost, but not enough. I’m hoping what the Shaman and others have said, about magic being stronger on the Otherside, is true. It explains a lot about why the Morrigan wants me trapped over here.

I wait for the car to arrive—I’d been too chicken to drive here in one of The Nead’s vehicles. There’s little doubt that they are outfitted with trackers, anyway. Pulling out the phone, I check the app—the car is three blocks away, caught in some kind of traffic. It gives me a moment to go back over the final moments of my conversation with the Shaman, how I’ll pass through the gate and where.

The instructions were vague. He’d told me to go to the last place Bunny had been seen. Look for the “cracks.”

“The gate will still be there. It was created centuries ago. That house was built over the portal. You just have find the actual gate.”

Bunny’s studio makes the most sense. The magic is strong there. It always has been. I’d known it since that day he’d painted me with runes. The catch would be getting up there unnoticed. It’s a long way from the cells in the basement of the house to the attic. I’ll have to figure something out.

A block down the street buzzes, catching my attention, and I’m sucked into a strange sense of déjà vu. I step into the road, into a flicker of a memory—no, not a memory—a photo. One of the scenes from Sam’s photos.

The street is empty except for leaves blowing against the curb. The air is cold, but it’s nearing winter. It’s not the icy fingers of the Otherside clawing through the realm, although in my mind I can almost make out the black tendrils of smoke, the vision of Clinton bound and beaten. I can taste the sulfur in the air. The image of him is superimposed—this world over the next—and I reach my hand out, wondering how far away he really is.

Leaves crunch behind me and I center back in this world.

“Well, well, well,” a deep voice says. “Isn’t it a little dangerous to be out here alone?” I spin and face a lanky man. His skin is pale. A heavy beard covers his chin. I don’t know him.

I cut my eyes away from him, looking down the street for the car. “Why would it be dangerous?”

“Dark street, outside a shady bar. Three people went missing in this very spot a week ago.”

Ah, so he knows who I am. He doesn’t need to know that I’m aware. “I heard.”

He eases closer. I feel the brush of his leather jacket against mine. The hair on the back of my neck prickles in warning. “Plus there’s a nasty virus going around. You’re not afraid?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, wrapping his arm around my waist. I rear back, jabbing him with an elbow and stomping on his foot. I spin, kicking him in the thigh and catching the glint of silver from a blade in his hand.

“There’s only one reason for you to come back here tonight. You’re going to try to stop her.” He lunges, swiping the knife toward my gut. I jump back but he snags the front of my jacket, tearing the leather. “I can’t let you do that.”

I quickly move behind a parked car but he scrambles for me, sliding over the hood. While he’s off balance I punch him twice in the face, slamming his wrist against the window shield. He struggles but my adrenaline surges, and like with Hildi, magic rallies. My nails grow long and pointed, stabbing into the thin skin of his wrist. He releases the knife with a surprised jerk. It clatters under the car.

“Stay away,” I tell him, panicked at the nails, sharp as razors. He’s frozen, and that gives me time to race toward the main road. The metal of the car hood groans under his weight but within seconds he’s back on his feet, chasing me.

The color of his eyes darken as he runs, the hatred in his veins vibrates off his skin. He moves his hands together, creating a ball of visible energy—like fire but not quite. He tosses it in his hands before throwing it at me. I dodge and it crashes into a blue mailbox, knocking it to the ground.

With nowhere to run, I take a deep breath and conjure every lesson, every training session, every skill I’ve developed over the past five months, and add it to the rage boiling beneath the surface. We clash in the middle of the street, fist to fist, foot to knee, elbow to rib.

If I’m surprised at my strength then I know he is too, but the training has changed me and with every punch and jab I feel an increase in confidence. His moves grow sloppy, his punches miss. I lasso the energy and fling it at him and a rope lashes out, snapping him across the chest. He dives for me and I duck, forcing him to land on his back on the ground. I stand over him, wishing I had my sword, because I’d run it through him. My nails spike again, itching to draw blood.

“Stay out of fights you don’t understand,” I tell him.

He’s dazed, probably concussed, but he still speaks. “You’ll never beat her. Her legions are only just now assembling. War will come to this realm.”

“As long as I am alive that is not an option. And when I kill her, death and destruction will end in her world, too.”

I kick him in the side, hearing the snap of bone. Headlights flash on the street and a horn honks. I leave the broken man—or demon, whatever he was-- on the street and get in the back seat.

“Take me home,” I bark, spilling the address.

Chapter 15

Dylan

I walk the foyer, pacing like an animal in a cage. At some point, Morgan slipped from the house while I studied Sam’s photographs. She got past me. The Sentinel. Shame and disgust wracks through me. A time like this is not appropriate for me to forget my true mission.

I couldn’t just run into the city chasing her down. I’d lost my wings—my ability to fly. Where would I even begin? Angry despair takes over and I wait. I’d give her an hour before I totally lost my mind. An hour or I’ll tear the city apart.

Forty-six minutes later I hear the car pull up to the curb and Morgan’s voice lilt up the front steps. Thirty-two seconds after that, she opens the door and I freeze in my spot.

“What the hell happened to you?” I roar. She’s dirty. Covered in forming bruises and blood. My heart plummets at the same time as my blood pressure rises. “Who did this?”

She sighs with annoyance, taking off her coat. “Some minion of the Morrigan’s, if I had to guess.”

“He attacked you?” The thought is incomprehensible. I knew there were loyalists out there but to actually attack Morgan on the street…

“Yes.” She glances down at a broken nail and mutters, “Fucker.”

“Morgan.” I am seething. Beyond seething, but I need to calm down. Need to. Will try to. Failing miserably. “Are you okay?”

She finally looks at me—like really looks at me for the first time since she walked in. She takes in my anger—probably my fear—and her eyes soften. “I’m fine, Dylan. I’m sorry if you were worried about me.”

Unable to handle her nonchalance for one second longer, I explode. “You don’t get to walk out of the house like that. Not now. Not anymore. We’re on the cusp of a great war, already in one, and your days of walking around freely are over. Do you understand?”

Her eye tics, a flash, and I wonder for a quick moment if I’ve stepped over a line. I don’t care, though. Her life is worth more than ten of mine. She’s the key to all of this. Always has been and always will be—until her final breath.

“I’m fine,” she says, instead of a million other words that threaten to cross her lips. I watch her swallow them back. “I beat him, without magic, just using the skills you all have taught me. I thank you for that.”

“Good.”

I have ten other questions. Where had she gone? Who did she meet? How did the attacker find her? Where is he now? What secret is she keeping, because she has one. I see the shadow of it in her eye.

I don’t ask any of them.

She yawns. “It’s late. I really do need to go to bed now.”

I nod and watch her go up the stairs. Once she’s in her room with the door shut, I grab a chair from the dining room and carry it up three flights of stairs. There, I return to my duty. Watching over the Queen. She won’t get past me again.

Chapter 16

Morgan

I do make time to shower and change, but otherwise my body gives out on me and I crash into bed. Tomorrow I’ll go through the gate and find my Guardians. Beyond that I have no plan other than to kill the Morrigan and return home.

I have no delusions it will be that easy, and those are my final thoughts before I drift into an exhausted, anxious sleep.

The castle ripples with the angry chill emanating from the Queen’s quarters. She’s not who I’m here to see—not this time. I walk away from the throne room and turn down a side hall. I have an inkling of what I’m looking for. The castle tower with the bedroom window, like the one I’d seen in the pictures. Someone lurks behind the glass.

The halls seem endless, a continuous, twisting maze. Tapestries hang on the walls. Voices echo off the stone. I pause more than once in an alcove, ducking from the soldiers wearing all black. Their feet move in unison, stomping off the hard stone. Blades hang from their belts, polished to a gleaming shine. There’s no doubt this is another dream, but everything about it--from the sound of feet on the ground to the chill in my bones--makes me hide. When they pass, I keep on my journey, finally making it to a stairway that goes up.

I take the chance, running up the steps. It feels warmer as I go higher—a slight break in the chill. I stop when I hear an angry voice, my heart pounding in my chest, both from adrenaline and exertion.

“Is it ready?” The man asks, his voice impatient and booming.

The response is said quietly—too soft for me to hear. I risk moving closer to the arched door that’s not completely closed. “Her Majesty has grown impatient. Her needs are growing—surely you noticed that yourself when you were in her chambers. She requires you to fulfill your duties, which at the moment are only half complete.”

The sound of the voice that replies rocks me to my core. “Surely having the Guardians here have kept the decline at bay. With Morgan not feeding, at least not at her typical levels, shouldn’t that slow the regression?”

Bunny said that. Bunny is just on the other side of the door. I know it’s just a dream but I want to lunge into the room and gut him with a sword. Watch him bleed out. Shake the truth from him. From the snap in the other man’s reply, I think he feels the same. “You do not get to presume what the Queen needs or not, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Bunny replies, his voice soft again.

“How long?”

“Tomorrow—maybe tonight. The paint is nearly dry. That’s why I built the fire. Otherwise it’s too damp and cold for the oil to set.”

The response to that is a growl, low and menacing, and I truly fear for Bunny’s life. I wish for the man to lose his composure and break him with a snap. He’d deserve it, but I need that gate open as much as anyone. I glance around for something—anything, and land on the tapestry hanging at the base of the stairs. Quietly I tip-toe down and yank on the cloth, bringing it and the iron bar holding it to the ground. I’ve started running before metal hits stone.

“Who’s out there?” the man’s voice shouts, but I’m gone.

This time I head down. Down, down, down. The warmth of Bunny’s fire vanishes and I’m plunged into freezing temperatures. The scrape of metal catches my attention. My feet stick to the floor and I glance down, looking at the dark, congealed fluid. A groan—low and painful—ricochets down the hall. A sick feeling lodges in my throat and I know, I know what is behind the bars at the far end of the wall.

Footsteps echo down the stairwell, angry commands. I can’t go down the hall—can’t see what’s waiting down there. I also can’t go back up. I press against the wall and close my eyes, wake up, wake up, wake up….

My eyes pop open. It’s daylight and my bed is a soft cushion beneath me. My hands tremble—fingertips cold. The dream was so real. More so than any I’d had before. I sit, feeling a presence in the room. Not human. Not Dylan. No, magic. Magic filled that dream. It was sent to me. By the Shaman? By the Queen? I don’t know, but I now have a timeline. Tonight or tomorrow the gate will be open and Bunny will try to pass through.

I slip from the bed, figuring out how I’m going to get everything in motion. It’s going to take a lot more than magic to make this happen.

Chapter 17

Dylan

I doze in the chair outside Morgan’s room. Half in, half out of sleep. I’m tugged fully awake by what feels like a shift—magical in nature. I hold my breath and listen, but there’s nothing and no one unexpected in the house.

I hear the click of the lock before the door opens. My main emotions lately have been frustrated and angry. Exhaustion outweighs both of those. But looking up at the tense, hungry expression on Morgan’s face and the thin pajamas she’s wearing catches my full attention.

“Keeping watch?” she says.

“I’m just worried.” I sit straighter in the chair. “Something’s building. Do you feel it?”

She nods and stands directly before me. Her T-shirt is so thin it may as well be a second skin. Her shorts leave nothing to the imagination. She’s bare beneath both and if she’s trying to knock me off my game, it’s working.

Her lips are pink and her hair is a curly mess around her head. Energy vibrates off of her—the same one she’s struggled with for months. She basically needs to feed, and my body reacts accordingly.

She steps forward, our knees touching. “Do you trust me?” she asks.

“Always.”

“Even when I do things like last night—wandering off on my own?”

I touch her hip. “That’s not about trust. That’s about safety.”

She licks her bottom lip. “Do you understand that sometimes I have to do things on my own? Make my own way in this battle with the Morrigan?”

She’s asking a lot of questions, but her scent, her proximity, and that damn tight shirt are making it hard as hell to focus. It only gets worse when she tugs at the string holding up her shorts and they fall to the floor. Blood rushes from my brain, building to an ache between my legs. I swallow and skim my thumb over the flesh of her hip. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“The time has come for me to deal with the Morrigan. You’ve trained me. You’ve educated me. I’m as ready as I ever will be.”

I shake my head, fighting through the fog of lust. “We need more time—we don’t even have access to the gate.”

Her hands reach for my belt. Mine go to her ass. I knead the skin as her fingers unleash me from my pants. A graze of fingertips sends a jolt through my body, I pull her on top of me, her legs straddled over mine, our bodies hot and wet against one another.

I push at the hem of her shirt, moving it over her head. I take her left nipple with my mouth, her right with my fingers. She exhales, resting her chin on my head.

She whispers, “When I get the gate open you have to stay here. Do you understand? We’ll need someone on this side of the realm to keep watch—to be ready for our return.”

She lifts up and my cock follows her like a magnet, angled up. She lowers herself quickly and I clench my jaw, feeling the most intense connection between us. I can’t speak, I just listen as she tells me her plans in a breathless rush. “You’re the anchor, Dylan. The rock that keeps us tied to this world.”

I nod, even though my brain knows it’s a fool’s errand. There’s no way she’ll get the gate open any time soon. My research has come to a screeching halt. But she’s got me mesmerized with the rocking of her hips and in her sheath of tight warmth. “You’re the bond,” I tell her, our lips touching as we move together. I will do everything in my power to keep her safe, to protect her role in the future.

Her dark eyes lock with mine, holding as the pleasure builds. There’s no question in her voice as she says, “You’ll follow my command and together we will shut down the Darkness. Shut the bitch down.”

I’m not a weak man. I’m a warrior. I’ve killed and slayed, but as the ecstasy jolts between us, an intensity of magic, lust and power, a different kind of thrill overtakes me. My Queen is here. Commanding. Demanding even as she succumbs, crying loud enough to echo the bottom floors of The Nead. Shockwaves roll through her body. She bites my lip, trembling, and I cling to her like a lifeline from one world to the next.

I spill inside of her, our bodies twitching in kind. Warmth runs through my veins—her cheeks are red. I hold her face between my hands and say, “As you wish,” although I have no idea what the next days will hold.

She smiles, regal and wise, a different look than I’ve seen on her before, and says, “Thank you, Guardian. Soon we will rule the world together.”

Chapter 18

Morgan

He follows me to my room and I ask questions. So many questions.

“Tell me everything about the Otherside. Tell me about the Morrigan. How did you get away? What are her soldiers like? The dungeons. Describe the dungeons.”

Dylan grits his teeth and answers, out of obligation. Hesitation tugs on every word—each answer. It goes on for hours.

“In her realm, the Morrigan looks like a woman. A queen. Her castle is where she spends the majority of her time as the lands around it are desolate and spoiled.”

“Why is it so cold?”

He shrugs. “In general, I think she wishes it to be that way, but I have theories that go back to her relationship with Cu. When she was a young goddess falling in love. There’s a heat to passion and when she shifted and embraced her title as Queen of Ravens, her blood ran cold. She thrives on it.”

“So she’s afraid of heat?”

“She’s afraid of everything.”

“Tell me about the dungeons,” I ask, leaning forward.

“Do you want to know about the dungeons or about the prisoners in them?”

He can’t say their names. I’m not sure I can, either.

“Both.”

The dungeons are under the castle, he tells me. Deep in the belly, under the tower on the north side. There is no daylight. No plumbing or electricity down there. The air is a different sort of cold. “Although we reside in human vessels, we were molded into cold-blooded birds. The cold doesn’t help. The inflicted wounds simply freeze.  The blood hardens into ice. Because we can survive the conditions, it just provides more opportunity for torture.”

I ask the question I’ve kept to myself for weeks. “Do you think they’re dead?”

“I believe they pray to the gods that they were dead.”

So no. Just like Anita implied.

“Why would she keep them alive—give us any hope to get them back?”

He reaches for me, taking my hand and resting it on his chest, above the heat of his heart. “We’re bound. Connected. In all the ways we can help one another, we can also hurt each other. She’ll use their power for her own gain. The longer they are away from you, the more damage it does.” He chuckles. “I am a strong and virile man, Morgan, but even I can’t fulfill your ravenous needs.”

“But if I get them back,” I say. “I can heal them, right? I can fix this?”

He gives me a hard look. “It’s not so easy.”

“What makes you believe I think anything will be easy? We don’t even have access to the Otherside yet.”

“If you ever, by a miracle of the gods, got to the Otherside, the Morrigan would capture you in moments. Her guards and soldiers are legendary.”

I glance at the scars on his wrists. “You beat them.”

“I had one chance and I took it. I have little faith that if I saw Casteel again I would survive.”

“Casteel?”

“The Morrigan’s Commander. She may have eschewed love, but if she has anything close to a partner, it’s him.”

“And he did that to you?” I point to the scars.

His blue eyes have become hard like sapphires. He stands and walks across the room. “I paid him back.”

“So it is possible to fight back—and to escape.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t get your hopes up, Morgan.”

“So you’ve just given up?” My anger flares.

“I’m doing what they would want me to. Keep you safe. Fight to stop the virus.”

“Did they not come for you? Is that what this is about?” As soon as the words leave my mouth I know they are the wrong thing to say. He clams up and strides for the door. “Dylan, wait. Stop. I didn’t mean it.”

He looks at me sadly, neither of us happy or content. We’re in a shitty situation. A mess that is drowning us both. But unlike Dylan, I refuse to sink any further.

*

Fortified on the strength of my guardian, I spend the afternoon preparing for my mission. I got Dylan’s approval—at least for the moment. Sure, I know he basically agreed under the duress of magic and pussy, but it’s the best I could do. I wanted him to know. I need his strength. Most of all, I must have his cooperation.

As afternoon nears, I ask if he’ll visit Hildi and Andi and see if they need anything. While his jaw has the lax muscles of a man freshly fucked, his eyes carry shadows of concern. He’ll try to stop me, it’s in his nature and I adore him for it, but I need Dylan out of the way.

He leaves out the front door and I wait behind my closed door until he’s gone. His keen sense of my whereabouts failed the night before—I doubt it will again.

When I’m sure he’s off the property I slip downstairs, sneaking past the warmth of the kitchen. I take the stairway to the depths of the house, to the dungeon, where Marcus sits in the small lounge outside the cells.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing his eyes. It’s a boring job, but we set Hildi up with a computer and a comfortable bed. “What brings you down here?”

“How’s she doing?”

“The same. How long do you plan on keeping her down here?” Marcus glances at the monitors, checking up on Anita, who is sitting on her cot with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her hair is a mess. Her clothing is wrinkled and dirty.

“It’s been a week. I’m going to take her for a bath—see if a little reward will get her talking.”

He snorts. “Unlikely. She hasn’t said anything coherent since I’ve been here.”

“Any incidents?”

“Other than rambling nonsensically, no. She’s pretty docile.”

I’d hoped he would say that. I give him the signal to flip the lock and he does, the metal bar clicking when it springs. I’m hit by Anita’s stench the instant I enter. Marcus follows me in. “Maybe you can clean her cell while I’ve got her upstairs?”

“Upstairs?”

“There’s no shower down here.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “What does Dylan think about this?”

“It was his idea. He’s waiting upstairs.” I check my phone for the time. “He’s probably wondering where I am.”

Anita watches us as we approach her cell. She’s sitting the same as in the monitor. Knees bent, arms wrapped around them. Her eyes dart between us with mild interest.

“Get up,” I say, wrinkling my nose. She doesn’t move. “I know you’re used to your new digs but it’s time to clean up. Come on.”

She stands, slowly as though she’s not fully coherent. I hope it will make her more docile on the way up the stairs. I don’t have time for any of her bullshit. “Unlock the door, Marcus.”

He holds the ring of keys. It’s old fashioned but so are the cells. I suspect they’ve been down here way longer than the house above. Marcus hesitates. I get it. Anita is deadly. She’s an active contagion. I hold out my hand for the key. “She can’t infect you. It doesn’t bother the supernatural—just humans.”

Anita’s eyes light up at that and she laughs, baring her teeth.

“Turn around, psycho.” I fish the zip-tie out of my pocket. I’m not a fool. I won’t take her upstairs unbound. Marcus sighs with relief when he sees my measures. “It’s going to be fine.”

I hate lying to him. Just like I hate the fact that I’m a betraying liar when I yank Anita out of the cell and shove him inside, slamming the door between us.

“What the hell?” he screams.

I get my hands back on Anita, moving her where I can see her.

“Sorry. I can’t risk anyone coming upstairs right now.”

Marcus swallows, his dark eyes watching me. “What about Dylan?”

“We’ll be gone before he gets home.” Anita starts giggling next to me. I’m not even sure if she knows why. “I’m sure he’ll find you. Eventually.”

He shakes his head. “He’ll kill me.”

“I’ll tell him I was responsible. Don’t worry—he knows I’m a loose cannon.” I give him a sympathetic smile. “I’m not doing a bad thing. I’m trying to fix it, but I have to do it alone.” I glance at Anita. “Well, almost alone.”

“Whatever you’re about to do, Morgan, don’t. The Darkness is no joke.”

I spin and stare at the man behind bars. I barely know him. He’s an ally but to what extent? “I’m aware of the seriousness, Marcus. I opened that gate the first time. I let the Morrigan and her evil in.” I walk back over to him and his yellow-green snake eyes watch my every move. He flinches as I lean in. “I’m taking Anita. I’m saving my men, and I’m gonna make the bitch on the Otherside pay.”

He opens his mouth to speak but nothing, not a word, not a breath comes out when he realizes what’s about to transpire.

*

I turn the shower on and shove Anita inside. She’s still dressed. It’s not like those clothes won’t have to be burned anyway.

She shouts from the heat, getting a mouthful of water. I grab her hand and squeeze in nearly a full bottle of shampoo. “Clean up. I’m not spending the day next to you reeking like that.”

I’d laid out my outfit before I went downstairs. I didn’t want to tip Marcus off with the clothing I found in the training room supply closet. I’d been shocked when I found the sleek military pants with dozens of pockets and slits for weapons. The shirt is made of a durable material—halfway between summer and winter. Thin, but sturdy. It appears waterproof if not flame resistant. The boots are lightweight, good for fighting and running. I found my size amongst the much larger outfits clearly made for the Guard.

The fact I discovered them was no mistake. After breakfast, Davis asked me to find something downstairs—specifically suggesting I look in the closet for a length rope he needed. I found the rope, as well as the battle gear. He made no comment when I handed him what he’d asked for.

Maybe I’m not the only one that knows I need to make this move.

Anita showers and I slip into the outfit. The pants and shirt fit like a glove, seemingly sewn to fit my measurements. I look in the mirror, aware that the clothing alone makes me look like a badass. I feel like one, too. There’s a sheath for the sword Damien made me. I fasten it over my back, sliding the sword into place. When the water stops and Anita emerges from the steamy shower, her eyes pop when she sees me.

“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” she says, water dripping down her neck. “The Morrigan is going to eat you alive.”

I move quicker than lightning, clutching her chin with my hand. “I wonder what she’ll say when she sees you? Nothing more than my prisoner and pet.”

“The Morrigan loves me.” Her voice is a squeak but I see the calculation in her eyes. “She needs me.”

I laugh. “She needs me, too. And I’m going to be ready when she comes for me.”

I toss Anita clothes and watch as she tightens the belt around her skinny waist. Everything is too big. Anita is a waif. But when she’s finished, I tie her wrists back together, even though I know she desires going back through the gate more than I do.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. “Why are you going to her? Because you can’t win, you know that, right?”

I decide to answer truthfully. “She took the men I love. She poisoned one into betraying me. I have debts to pay and bridges to burn because she used me. Used me to take out people like Xavier. Like Andi and thousands of others around the city. I’m not waiting for another death, for her to make another move.” I push her through the door before adding, “I’m not trying to win, Anita. I’m just trying to hold on and do what I can for the people I care about. Even if I don’t make it back, I can assure that they do.”

Chapter 19

Bunny

Casteel waits outside the door, just as he has for the last twenty-four hours. Obviously, the Queen wants me to know the pressure is on, that she expects the portal to reopen soon. I don’t mind. I’m eager as well, but I have no control over the slow-setting oil paint or the elements of magic infused in every brush stroke.

The commander of the Morrigan’s army doesn’t trust me. I see it in his face, in the way he watches my every move. I trust it’s both from his encounter with Dylan previously and the fact I betrayed Morgan. Sure, I did it for his Queen, but spies make people nervous and I know he’d have no qualms taking my life if it weren’t for the value of my skills.

I press a finger against the canvas, feeling for the stickiness. The hardened fabric springs back—implying it may finally be dry. With a glance at the doorway, I mutter the words that will bring the portal to life, barely registering the shadow on the other side. The colors swirl, all my efforts in creating the perfect image now a mess of impressionism. The runes lift, interlocking with one another until they twist and separate. I feel the familiar gust of my former realm, the heat on my face.

I have one task on the Otherside and I plan to accomplish it today. I’ll bring the third back to the Morrigan and seal the gate forever.

Chapter 20

Morgan

Even Anita can’t hide her awe when I bring her into Bunny’s studio. His work is amazing. Overwhelming, even. It’s like being in the presence of a truly gifted master, and I know now that this gift is what doomed us all.

I drag her before the painting that called to me the last time we were here. Something in my gut tells me it’s the right one. I don’t know if the Shaman gave me that sense or if I had it all along. It doesn’t matter now.

“This is your big plan?” Anita asks. “Taking me back to my Queen? Sure, sign me up.”

“You’re a means to an end,” I snap back. “But I’m glad you’re happy to be headed to the gallows.”

She laughs, the same cackling, deranged one she’s had since her brother died. “How much of your soul did you pay to access the gate? Fifty percent? All of it?”

“Shut up.”

I step before the painting, already feeling the churn of magic. I put on a good face but I’m terrified. Petrified, really, of what’s on the Otherside. But there’s no other choice—not that I can see—not that Dylan has given me. Christensen told me this would be the way. I would make the sacrifice; so even in my fear, I’m ready.

I’m ready.

The word the Shaman gave me is on the tip of my tongue when a cold gust blows through the studio. Frigid air tosses papers and tips over jars of brushes and tools. Canvases crash to the floor. I glance at Anita, but she’s staring at the painting, a look of gleeful delight on her face.

I follow her gaze and see that the painting is no longer of a castle, it’s a twisted swirl, shimmering and alive. Focusing on the tiny window, the one I’d seen a figure in days before, I watch as it moves from yellow to gold and widens larger and larger until the whole space is consumed by a gaping hole.

I step forward, dragging the still-bound Anita with one hand as I unsheathe my sword and hold it before me. Only the gods know what waits for us, but that cold air and dank smell make me think it’s nothing friendly.

“Don’t try anything,” I say to Anita.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” the girl says, her blue eyes vibrant with life. “But I can’t say the same about him.”

*

Bunny stands in the portal, copper eyes behind his askew glasses and hair gleaming. He looks drained and exhausted, but there’s something else. Something dangerous, like a wounded animal or desperate man.

Something tells me he’s both.

I hold the sword between us, the jewels Damien forged in the hilt glinting. “How dare you come back here,” I say. “I should gut you.”

“But you won’t.” It’s not a question. The cold wind of the portal still rips through the room. “Give her to me. That’s all I want.”

“I’m sure it is.” I shake my head. “You fooled me once, Bunny. You don’t get the option to do it again.”

“Give her to me,” he says again. “It’s how we end this.”

“We?” I laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me, how are the ’we’ living in the dungeons? Are they still alive? Do their hearts still beat? Or do you listen to their cries of pain and continue with the bidding of the Morrigan?”

He pales at the mention of the Ravens. “I’m giving you a chance, Morgan. Go, take Dylan and go. Leave this place. He can help you hide and you’re both immune to the virus.”

The reality of his words slam into me. “You’re suggesting we run and let the world succumb to the Darkness? You think I’m a coward? You certainly know better than that about your fellow Guardian.”

He glances around the room.  “Don’t pretend Dylan knows of this venture. He would agree with me.”

“I doubt that.” But Dylan had said it himself. The others wouldn’t want saving. They would want me safe and protected. Is that why this has taken so long? Is he keeping me from going to confront and destroy the Morrigan? My head hurts from the confusion, the betrayal and deceit.

I take a step closer to Bunny. He doesn’t budge and his hand coils into a fist. “Understand something, former Guardian. I’m going to save my mates. I am bound to them, I will heal them, and I will not allow them to be used by the Darkness as long as I am alive.”

“You’ll find nothing but shells,” he tells me. “There is nothing to bring back.”

“No. They are stronger than that. Dylan survived at the hands of the sadistic soldier, Casteel. They can too.”

He flinches at the name of the soldier. “Do you really think so? Do you think Dylan came back whole?”

“Yes.” It’s a lie. A bold lie about my lover and guardian. My sentinel. Everything in Bunny’s comment makes complete sense. Why Dylan’s so guarded. Why it’s taken so long to tear down his walls. Why his passion is so intense, much more than the others. Every moment with Dylan is a struggle, but we’re making progress. We’ve made progress. “I will heal them. Each of them.”

Something in Bunny’s eyes falter. He looks like a man searching for a lifeline—a string of hope. I know what he wants, but I can’t give it to him. The fear and rage built up inside takes over and I use his brief distraction against him, pushing him with one hand and dragging Anita with another.

Together we fall into the cold, heartless, dark.

Chapter 21

Morgan

Ice fills my veins, chilling me in a way I never knew was possible. It’s not like the air is cold—the world is cold and bleak. I feel it in every inch of my body, my brain, and my heart. The stone floors do not give and Bunny’s head cracks when we land. My sword clangs and skitters across the floor, buried beneath a pile of unused canvas. I’d go for it but I’m sprawled across Bunny’s body and trapped beneath Anita. She jabs me with a bony elbow.

“What have you done?” Bunny asks, his voice a hiss.

“Fixing what you messed up.”

His good hand wraps around my arm and he squeezes just as the sound of footsteps echo across the room.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he mumbles. His eyes are more frantic than I’ve ever seen. I turn to see what scares him and see the dark leather boots and the black uniform. It’s not the first time I’ve laid eyes on the man or the uniform, but it is the first time awake.

Casteel. I know him before he utters a word and there’s little doubt he’s aware of who I am too. His jaw is square, his shoulders massive. I eye the jagged scar under his jaw. I have a suspicion who gave him that scar.

I’ve no doubt there’s demon blood running through his veins. Something inhuman, despite his good looks and expressive eyes. He looks over my shoulder and Bunny tosses me and Anita on the floor with a one-handed heave.

“Two for the price of one,” Casteel says, looking us over. Anita quakes with excitement, like she’s won the lottery. “Well done, Guardian. You’ve sped things up considerably.”

I won’t deny that I have no idea what to do from here. How could I? I didn’t expect Bunny to try to stop me. I didn’t anticipate anything about this situation. I’m off-kilter—not something you want entering a battle, so I do the only thing I can: pick a fight.

Bunny is close enough that from the ground I shift to my hip, swiping my legs to knock him off balance. He falls, allowing his useless arm to take the brunt of the landing. Without remorse, I punch above the cheekbone before lunging for the hidden sword. My fingers graze the hilt but massive hands pull me back. My entire body slides across the floor. I use the momentum and skirt between Casteel’s legs, then kick the commander in the back of the knees, forcing him to buckle. I take two paintbrushes from the worktable and stab both into his neck.

Anita watches the fight happily and Bunny looks stunned. Too stunned, and I pick up a jar of turpentine and toss it at his face. He ducks and it hits the smoldering fire, glass shattering on impact. The combustion behind his back is furious and hot. I use the distraction to dart for the door. The stairwell I dreamed about is on the other side. If I follow it down, it will take me to my men. To my mates.

Even I know that’s not going to happen.

Not now.

Casteel roars like a lion, pulling the shards of broken wood from his neck. I raise my hands to call on the magic I’ve used twice before, but he flicks his wrist and my vocal cords squeeze shut.

I grasp my throat with both hands. Within moments I’m deprived of air and fall to my knees. Casteel walks over, blood dripping down his black tunic. He yanks me to my feet and narrows his eyes.

Black spots fill my vision. Suffocation is close. Through the haze, I see Bunny’s expression. It’s made of stone.

I blink and smell the reek of his demon breath against my cheek. “Looks like you need a time out.”

And then the world turns black.

Chapter 22

Dylan

The apartment smells of the final stage of sickness that soon will cross over into death. Hildi sits on the edge of the bed, holding her lover’s hand. The Valkyrie doesn’t look much better, but her heartbeat is strong, even if her emotions are weak.

“Do you know? Can you tell?” I ask, trying not to be insensitive.

“She’s got a little time. The goddess hasn’t asked me to bring her home. Not yet.”

It’s an odd position to be placed in—working between life and fate. Before Morgan knew her true destiny, I felt torn between the two; preserving her innocence while championing her future. From the look of Andi’s translucent skin and gray lips, I don’t see much of a future here.

“How’s Morgan?” Hildi asks, obviously wanting to change the subject.

“She’s struggling,” I admit. “Probably more than I understand. She’s carrying a lot of guilt and anger.”

I don’t reveal the details of our intimacy but there’s no doubt what transpired between us earlier was an act caught somewhere between hunger and control. I’m attuned to Morgan’s needs and I will comply with my duties as her guardian and mate, regardless of her motives, but I’m worried.

“She’s impatient,” Hildi says. “But she hasn’t had centuries to understand that although today is a crisis, it’s just one of many days to come.”

I smile at the Valkyrie. Behind the beauty and brawn, she’s wise.

“She cares for you a great deal, and Andi’s illness is weighing on her. What can we do to help you?”

“I think there may be one thing,” she replies. Her fingers tug at the hem of her shirt. “But it may be asking too much.”

“There’s no such thing. Tell me, and we’ll make it happen.”

*

With Davis’ help, we move Andi from the apartment to The Nead. What Hildi needed was assistance. With the looming battle and hospitals being out of the question, she’s afraid she will be called into service with no one left to take care of her partner.

Davis arrived in a windowless black van, often used by Clinton for his instruments. The unconscious woman is light as a feather and we gently carry her into the back. The neighbors watch, surely wondering if we’re loading up a dead body.

Not yet, but it’s a reasonable conclusion.

Sue waits at The Nead, directing us to a small suite on the main floor. The bed has fresh linens. The shades are drawn. Andi can rest here peacefully and Hildi can have the support she needs while remaining on the front lines of the war.

“Are you sure Morgan will be okay with this? That it won’t just be another reminder of what’s happening?”

I look across the room at the dying woman. Sue is fussing with her blankets. “Trust me, I think she’ll be pleased.”

“Maybe you guys can toss some of that healing energy down here.”

I raise an eyebrow in question.

“Gods, don’t even pretend like the whole place doesn’t shudder when you two go at it. Even I get a little bit of a high.”

“I don’t think the healing powers are transferable.”

She stares at me blankly and it takes a second for it to click that she’s telling a joke.

“Oh, you were kidding. Well, right.” I look down the hall. “I’m surprised she hasn’t come up here yet. She went downstairs to relieve Marcus for a few hours.”

“I’ll go, if you want. I can explain why I’m here but give you all the credit for being kind and generous with your home,” Hildi says.

“No, stay here.” I frown. “Why would I need credit?”

Hildi leans against the door, her eyes skimming from my head to my toes. “Because you’re made of stone and even though that girl has spent months chipping it away, there’s a long way to go. Doing something like this? Even if it is just to make her feel better, it’s a step in the right direction.”

“What direction?” I ask, still a little confused.

“To becoming a real man.”

Chapter 23

Morgan

I don’t know what to expect when I open my eyes, but this isn’t it. The room is still freezing, but it’s a room, not a cell. I’m propped on a bed made of the softest down, a blood-red canopy overhead.

My throat aches, sore from whatever Casteel had done to me. Magic, I suppose, a level I’d never encountered before. He never hesitated—never even thought about how to use it.

Rubbing the tender flesh around my throat, I sit, taking in the room. It’s opulent, like something out of a gothic fairy tale. Gilded mirrors, velvet fabric. Candles and lanterns cast the room in a shiny glow.

A movement catches my attention and I look to my left, both hands reaching for the blades stuffed in the pockets of my suit.

“I removed all the weapons,” Casteel says from the chair next to the bed. His blond hair glints in the candlelight. Two bandages cover the wounds I’d given him on his neck. I’d suggest we’re even, but from the angry spark in his eye I suspect he doesn’t feel the same.

I swing my legs over the bed. “I don’t need weapons to fight back.”

“I’m aware,” he says. His voice is a slow drawl. Not the harsh tone he’d used in my dream about Bunny. “You’re quite resourceful.”

I stare at the scar under his jaw. “I learned from the best.”

The snarl in response is faint—but there—the beast is just beneath the surface. I have no doubt picking just a little will bring him out. I restrain myself. I’m not ready to fight him. Not yet.

“Why the finery?” I ask, gesturing to the room. “I thought I’d wake in a cell.”

“Contrary to your beliefs, Morgan, you are not an enemy of the Queen. She’s been trying to get you to come here for a very long time. She gave you the key as a child, she sent guides in the form of the cat and prince to guide you through the gates. She opened portals, giving you the chance. And you almost took them—all of them—but your little flock thwarted you every step of the way.”

“You make it sound so peaceful. So easy.”

“Ultimately, she had to get extreme. Take what you cared for the most to get you here.” He smiles, two rows of perfect, white teeth. “It worked.”

“If I’m not the enemy of the Darkness, then what am I?” The question is naïve and I know the answer. I’ve felt her tug for months—if not years. The way it felt to spread the virus to Xavier. The loss I felt after we performed the spell and split from one another.

Casteel doesn’t answer anyway. He just stands and says, “You’re to stay here. There’s a servant here for your needs. Food, clothing, entertainment. She’ll get it for you.”

“And what if I don’t?” I didn’t come here to be a guest of the Morrigan. I came to find my Guardians.

With barely concealed restraint he steps forward and reaches for my chin. I bat his hand away, which raises his ire, and he clamps both of his hands around my wrists. “Dangerous things live in this castle, Morgan. I’m only one of them. Don’t stray from your rooms, do you understand?”

It’s a thinly veiled threat, letting me know exactly how much he would enjoy paying me back for the wounds to his neck. I’m not afraid of him; he’s nothing but an obstacle between me and my mission.

I nod anyway, letting him know I heard him, and watch him walk out the door.

Chapter 24

Bunny

Cloaked in the shadows, I listen to Casteel walk away from Morgan’s room. I heard every word of their conversation—the small threats and the restraint in Morgan’s voice. I, too, had been surprised when they brought her to the living quarters, far away from the dungeons below. Especially after attacking Casteel so viscously.

I stand outside her room for the briefest of moments, feeling the familiar longing—I may have betrayed her, but we are still bonded. There’s only one way to cut the ties with a mate: death.

Casteel’s boots echo off the hallway. I leave Morgan’s door and follow him. I don’t trust him not to turn around and make Morgan pay further for the wounds she inflicted. He’s petty. Brutal, but weak.

He travels down the hall, turning at the corridor that leads back to my studio and the stairway to the dungeons. He passes the soldier at the landing, who calls out, “What happened to your neck?”

Casteel spins, quick and agile. His hand is around the soldier’s throat. He squeaks, unable to breathe. This time it’s not by magic but by sheer power.

“Mind your own fucking business, soldier.”

“Yes, sir,” he replies, gasping for air. I slink further into the wall.

“Get the prisoners ready,” Casteel barks to unknown soldiers below. He vanishes around the corner but his voice echoes back up the stairwell. “I need to blow off a little steam.”

Chapter 25

Dylan

It’s not until I reach the observation room that I realize there’s a problem. The monitors have been shut off. The room is empty. Keys hang from the lock.

My heart kicks into gear along with instincts and adrenaline. The instant I get the door open, I hear a voice.

“Dylan. Down here!”

My racing heart plunges into my gut and I run down the cells. Anita is gone and Marcus has taken her place in the filthy cell. “Where is she? Where’s Morgan?”

“She left, man. Locked me up in here and took off with the crazy chick.”

I look at my friend and try to process what he’s saying. “She’s gone? She did this to you?”

He nods. “Said the girl needed a shower and that you were up there waiting. I didn’t think it was a good idea.” He shakes his head. “I knew something was off.”

Why the hell would Morgan do that? What was she thinking?

“Can you let me out?” Marcus asks. He rattles the bars. I slip the key in the lock and release him. “Thanks.”

“Any idea where she was going?” I ask.

“No, but she took the prisoner with her. I don’t think she lied about the shower, though.” He waves his hand under his nose. “Start there.”

I pat him on the back. “Go upstairs. Get Sue to give you some food. I’ll be back.”

“You need any help?”

“I hope not, but stick around just in case I do.”

*

There’s no sign of Morgan in her room, but her bathroom looks like a bomb went off. I step over a pile of towels, nudging the clothes Anita wore in the cell. It couldn’t have been that long ago; the room still feels humid and the towels are damp. I exit the room, wondering where she could have gone.

Her bed looks in order but that doesn’t quell the unease in my chest. I sit on the edge of the bed and close my eyes, hoping to catch her final scent, but the room is filled with too much her and a lot of someone else. Apples and fruit dominate the air—shampoo—Anita most likely. There’s zero proof that they left the house. They aren’t in the dungeons, kitchen, or first floor.

I decide to start at the top, in the last place I saw Bunny slip from one world to the next. His studio.

Chapter 26

Morgan

Under the watchful eye of my silent servant--who I suspect is no more than a slave in the eyes of the Morrigan--I check the room for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. Casteel did his job thoroughly and there is nothing useful I can pry, break, or twist for my own purposes. The room is a sham. Staged decorations to make me feel like a guest. It’s just a different kind of cell.

I sit on the blood-red velvet chair and try to settle my emotions. Even if my entrance into this world was a bit rocky, I’m here, just like I wanted. Casteel poses a problem and I have no idea what to do about Bunny. Seeing him cut me to the bone…I didn’t expect it. I was so focused on getting to the Morrigan and back to my guardians, I hadn’t considered what seeing Bunny again would do to me.

I wrap my arms around my waist and feel the heartache and pain. Something I’d pushed aside, fueled by rage and anger. But seeing his face, his eyes, and his stupid hair…something cracked inside.

Better than ever, I understand the Morrigan’s rage after Cu left her on the riverbank. I understand her raw pain. The bitter acceptance and the unrelenting wrath she fed on for an eternity.

But I’m not the Morrigan. Not fully, and I have four other guardians that need me. They need my love. And my compassion. They do not need me going off on a destructive bender. That won’t help any of us.

I lean back in the chair, pulling a blanket over my knees. Part of me, the vengeful, angry part, wants to gut him and let him bleed out for what he did to me and our imperfect family. But another part, I don’t know if it’s my heart or my brain, tells me something else—that Bunny is a key player in all of this—and if I kill him it could hurt us even more.

*

“What’s your name?” I ask the girl holding a bucket over my head. Her expression is blank as she dumps hot water over me and I jerk up in the bathtub, howling.

“I’m sorry. Too hot. I’m sorry. Let me get something colder.”

“No.” I reach for her arm and she flinches. I release her. “No, I like it hot. This place is too freaking cold. It just surprised me.”

The worry lines smooth by her eyes and she lowers the metal bucket to the floor. She lathers soap in her hands and begins working it through my hair. The smell of lavender is strong and I settle back against the tub, beneath the suds.

When no one returned to release me from the room, I decided to clean up. I’d started to smell a bit ripe. The name- and emotionless slave stood in the corner, waiting for my instruction, and she jumped eagerly when I asked her for assistance in the bath. The Otherside was definitely lacking in modern technology, or parts of it. The faucet ran, but only cold water. No electricity that I could see. It didn’t make sense to me, but then again, this is a world of magic users, so maybe they don’t need it.

I peel off my suit as the girl draws the bath, filling it with warm water and powdery soap heated over the fire. She keeps her eyes averted but modesty had been lost with me over the past few months. My guardians had seen me in a variety of states of undress. They worshipped my body, built my confidence. I don’t need a servant girl’s approval of my figure. I know I’m strong. The lean muscles in my arms prove it. The tight dip of my belly is evidence of my change.

The water sloshes when I get in, spilling over the sides. The warmth soothes my aching muscles, my chilled bones.

She’s just finished washing my hair when I hear footsteps on the stone floors and the bathroom door swings open. Casteel stands in the doorway. I glance at him, pretending I’m not annoyed at his presence in a private moment. I can’t let him know I’m bothered or the slightest bit unnerved.

“Move,” he tells the girl, and her eyes cloud with fear. I nod in agreement and she moves to the edge of the room, blending in with the walls. I’m aware that I have no control over the girl. That’s the point of him being here, isn’t it? Letting me know I’m nothing but a prisoner with no freedoms or rights.

“Hello, Casteel,” I say, resting my arms on the side of the tub. There’s nothing but the cloudy film of water between us.

“The Queen asked me to check up on you.”

“Well, you can tell her I’m clean.” I take the sponge and scrub my legs. “Anything else?”

“Tomorrow there will be a ceremony to bind you back together.”

Interesting—so that gives me a timeline—less than a day to get out of here. “I won’t pretend I’m happy about that.”

“Once you realize your true powers, I think you’ll come around. What you experienced in your realm is nothing but a blip of what it’s like here.”

I have experienced my full strength, in the ring at the fights. Magic is allowed and the rush I felt from fighting Hildi that first time still tingles in my veins. Again I felt it when Xavier kissed me, and then another time when Anita stole the virus. My instincts perk at the idea of such power, especially after being dulled recently.

In a move that is overtly casual, Casteel sits on the edge of the tub, fingers dipping into the heated water. The wounds on his neck are no longer bandaged, only red scabs remain. At this distance, the scars under his jaw are visible, deep and jagged. How Dylan didn’t kill him, I don’t know.

His tongue darts out and his eyes darken.

“She gave me full control over you until the ceremony tomorrow.” I hear the clink of metal as his hand reaches for his belt. “She suggested I break you in as I please.”

I swallow in an attempt to get the fear dislodged from my throat. And because royalty speeds through my veins I can’t help myself when I reply, “Do you think that’s possible? Breaking me easily?”

“What makes you think I want it to be easy?” Casteel reaches for me and I’m slippery and wet, nowhere to run and definitely nowhere to hide. I’m pulled from the bath, water rushing down my body. He eyes me greedily, unaware that the slave in the corner has run out of the room, panic and terror written on her face. This is surely not the first time she’s seen the Commander take what he wants.

With my wrists clamped in his hands, he leans forward and says, “This one is for your Sentinel. Payback is a bitch.”

Chapter

Bunny

Pacing the studio, I stop every pass and stand before the painting. Wondering. Wishing. Hoping.

I’ve fucked up. Worse than I thought. Morgan wasn’t supposed to be here. Just Anita. My plan had been to kill the Queen and pawn, then restore the only survivor to the throne.

That was the plan, but now it’s gone all to hell.

There’s one thing I could do. It’s worth a shot and the gate taunts me, beckoning me to go back through. Get help. Find Dylan.

He’ll kill me, maybe before I can get him back here. And if he doesn’t? The Morrigan and Casteel will string me from the rafters. A bunny caught in a snare.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What have I done?

With a deep breath I focus on the painting, pressing my palm flat against the surface. I whisper the words, the ones that activate the runes built into the image. The center bends, swirling the colors from dark to light, light to dark, breaking down the barriers from this realm to the next. I feel the gust, the warmth from home, the smell of my studio on the other side, but a tug draws me back.

“Master! Master!” the voice calls. I look away from the gate, from my home, and see the girl in her gray uniform, eyes pleading. I yank my hand away and the opening shuts with a harsh, cosmic slam.

“What!” I regret my tone instantly. This girl—the slave—doesn’t deserve my anger. “I’m sorry, what is it?”

“She’s in trouble.”

She. Morgan.

“What kind of trouble?” There’s only so much I can do and even then it will never be enough.

“The Commander is in her room.” Her hands shake. “He’s going to hurt her.”

I nod and thank her. I’m no match for the Commander—his magic or his strength—even if I had both hands. I kick the pile of canvases, scattering them across the room. The disruption uncovers metal, sleek steel with a bejeweled hilt. I lunge for the sword, recognizing a gift from the gods when I see it, and hope I’m not too late.

Chapter 27

Dylan

The painting parts before me, spinning like a tsunami. Paint and magic separate, splitting our worlds in two. I’d seen it before but not like this. Not so unexpected. I’d walked into Bunny’s studio expecting to find little to nothing and instead I find this—an opening portal—just waiting for me to step in.

I hesitate. There’s no guarantee the gate leads where I want it to. It could be a trap. Taking me straight to the dungeons. Maybe to the zombie pits on the south side of the realm, or to the darkest depths of the deadly, frozen sea. The Otherside is not contained to just the castle, but this could be my only chance to find Morgan and my brothers. It could be our only opportunity to take the Morrigan out, once and for all.

I step closer, feeling the rush of arctic air, my eyelashes freezing into stiff points. I pat my pockets for my weapons. I unsheathe the blade I always carry from my hip. Just as I’m about to take the leap the air softens, the gusts slow, and the gate shrinks before my eyes.

“No,” I mutter, pressing forward. “No!”

I shove my hands into the gate and toss myself forward, forcing my way into the dark, praying to the gods I land safely on the other side.

Chapter 28

Morgan

Water runs down my body, slippery and wet from the soap. I’ve got no defense against Casteel’s forceful, grabby hands. “It’s going to be a pleasure breaking you down, little thing.”

Desperate, I yank hard, using my soapy skin to my advantage and slip from his grasp. I fall backwards from the force but steady my hands on the tub. He doesn’t care, I’m definitely not in any sort of dominate position. I’m naked and unarmed. He leers at me, taking time to unbutton his pants. The belt clinks to the floor and I look away.

“Don’t act shy,” he says, tearing off his shirt first. Black fabric falls to the floor. I fumble around the edge of the tub, touching the sponge, the soap, the shampoo. “Rumors of your lustful activity is legendary in the castle. Each time you fuck your guardians, the Queen falls apart—did you know that? Takes a little piece of her power. So much fucking over the last few months. Made the palace unbearable. So she figured she’d steal your guardians and strip you of that little bit of control you have over her.”

He’d removed his shirt to make me see his strength. The broad, hard lines of his chest and shoulders. His muscles are massive. Bigger than Clinton. Bigger than any human man for certain. His hard length is visible underneath his trousers. His cock as much a weapon as any blade. I brace myself and wrap my fingers around the nearest thing. Something—anything.

He grabs me by the neck, pulling our bodies together. I recoil at the feel of him against me. He hardens and smiles, twisting his fingers in my hair. “The gods gave you beauty. I can’t wait to see those sweet, perfect lips wrapped around my—“

I smash the soap in his eyes, spreading the lather with my fingers. He yelps at the sting—the lye burns—and I push him with both hands, slamming the bathroom door between us and then shoving a trunk in front of the door. It’s only buying me a few moments. I try the main door—locked.

Frantically I look around the room, already knowing there are no weapons. I must defeat him on my own—using my powers. I fling open the closet door, rummaging through the clothing left for me. I toss a shirt over my head, aware that it barely skims my thighs, and pull the wooden hanger from the rack.

Casteel roars from the bathroom, banging hard against the door. Wood splinters and the force wrenches the door knob clear off. The trunk flies across the room, spilling the contents across the floor. I press my back against the wall, holding the wooden hanger like a lifeline, trying to gather a spark to fight back with.

He doesn’t speak as he prowls toward me. His face has taken on demonic features. Sharp teeth, an elongated jaw. I blink, thinking I must be making it up, but I’ve seen the Otherside demons in the fighting ring. Casteel may have more than one form. And I have absolutely no idea how I’ll fight him.

He closes the gap, ripping the hanger out of my hands and tossing it across the room with a clatter. I whisper a quiet prayer. To the gods, to my guardians, to Hildi’s goddess, begging for this not to be my last moment and for the moments between now and death to be swift and merciful.

He flicks his wrist and I fling up my hand, protecting myself with an invisible shield. It only holds a second, flickering, but he’s faster than me, casting power in my direction, and I’m struck with the same paralyzing sensation that he inflicted before. Amused, he smiles, and when he’s close enough I feel his breath on my cheek, smell the sour stench of his skin. He’s hard-packed muscle and as much as I don’t want to acknowledge it, the length between his legs seems bigger, harder, and I shudder when he presses it against my lower stomach. Violence and fear turn him on.

“Don’t fight, unless you want it to hurt more.” His smile--the disgusting, awful smile--drops when a weight slams against the hallway door. “I saw the slave disappear. Who do you think is going to help you? There’s no one here for you, Morgan. Not one person.”

I was a fool for coming here so impulsively and I have no doubt I’ll pay for my decision. Frozen under Casteel’s power, I’m pressed against the wall and something or someone bangs against the door again and there’s scratching against the lock. Shouting bounces against the walls and I dig deep inside, feeling the dregs of my own power—remnants from being with Dylan. A flare sparks, enough for me to wiggle my fingers. The commotion continues in the hall and I use the distraction to wedge my hand between our bodies. My nails elongate and spike. His eyebrow lifts when I wrap my hand around his cock, caught between confusion and pleasure.

The door crashes in and Bunny fills the doorway. I see the spray of blood on his face, the glimmer of my sword in his hand. I claw at Casteel, my nails ripping through the fabric of his pants to the flesh, and then I kick him in the gut.

“You came,” I say, watching Bunny stride toward the bent over Casteel, who is howling in pain. He’s down, but not for long.

“Always,” Bunny declares.

The Commander stands, a beast compared to my smallest guardian. Bunny swings the blade in his hand like second nature. He glances at me before Casteel’s fist makes contact with his jaw and my world turns upside down.

*

Shaking off the punch, Bunny shifts into warrior mode, something I’ve only seen a few times. He always presented himself as the gentlest of my Guardians and it takes me a moment to reconcile the force in the doorway, that he came back to help me, and that no, I’m not alone.

“You do not get to touch her,” Bunny says, voice laced with possessive venom. “You should not even look at her. If anything, you bow and grovel in her presence.”

“Show me, weakling, what you plan to do about it.” Casteel growls and lunges, the two men clashing in the middle of the room. I use the distraction to pull on pants and my boots. What else am I going to do, where am I going to go?

Bunny gives as good as he takes but he’s smaller—and lacking the benefit of two functional arms. Casteel pummels him, slamming his fists into his face and kidneys. I lift my hand at a wooden chair by the vanity and by the power of the gods, I heave it overhead, slamming it down on his back. The wood shatters, barely stopping him, but he turns his back on Bunny and leers in my direction.

“Fucking whore. Gods dammed, fucking whore.”

Bunny’s on the ground but through swollen eyes we make contact, a brief moment of understanding, and he reaches for my sword and in a quick motion, slides it across the floor. Casteel turns at the sound of metal scraping across stone. He may be huge but I’m light on my feet and I dive for it, barely missing it. The tip of the sword lands in the fire. On my hands and knees I crawl toward it, getting my hands around the hilt.

It’s heavy and my position is awkward and Casteel is hovering over me, breathing heavy.  “What do you think you’re going to do with that, little girl?”

I roll over, bringing the blade with me. My sword, the one given to me by Damien, infused with magic by Bunny. It feels light in my hands, the hilt curved to my dimensions. The sword moves effortlessly through the air, slicing down on Casteel’s forearm. He jumps back, yelping, and I scramble to my feet. The rage on the Commander’s face is unquestionable, and even with the sword, I know his wrath will be deadly. He lifts his hand, ready to use his magic against me again, but a presence appears in the door. Just as tall and twice as deadly.

The fighting stops as we all look up at Dylan standing in the doorway, ancient rage consuming him.

“Hello, Casteel,” he says, withdrawing a blade. “Good to see you again.”

Chapter 29

Dylan

I stare at my enemy and thank the gods that Bunny opened the gate. Did he mean to? I doubt it, but from the scene I find them in, there’s little question it may have been fate and my link to Morgan that led me here.

Casteel snarls when he sees me, blood dripping down one arm. He’s inexplicably shirtless, but I note the dishevelment of Morgan’s hair. The anger and rage on her face and the heightened protective stance Bunny maintains tells me that something dangerous has happened here.

Morgan is savvy enough not to waste the distraction of my entrance. Her sword arcs through the air, aiming for his throat. He reacts quickly, jumping out of the way. Casteel earned his title of Commander for a reason, just as I earned mine as Sentinel.

His movement disrupts his use of magic—the forceful ability to manipulate another person—and I waste no time in catching Morgan’s eye. “Go. I’ll take care of this.”

My wish for her to leave and go back to the safety of The Nead is futile. I know this without a word passing between us. She came here to complete a mission. The best I can do is give her the time to accomplish it.

Bunny follows her out the door and I stop him with an outstretched hand.

“You harm her and I will peel your skin off with a knife and leave it to the wolves surrounding the castle for feed.”

“I won’t hurt her.” He swallows. “Not again.”

It takes everything I have not to pierce him in the heart. But that is not my job to handle. Morgan will have the final say on the consequence of his betrayal and right now is not the time.

With them safely out of the room, I turn and face the soldier that tortured and held me captive the last time I was in this realm.

“I never thought you’d return,” he says. “After you ran so quickly the last time.”

I step forward, assessing everything about the room. The layout, the furniture, the scent of lavender shampoo in the air. Morgan’s hair had been wet. And there are damp spots on Casteel’s pants.

“Did you harm her?” I ask, unconcerned with his petty taunts.

“The little princess?” He runs a hand down the jagged scar. “Not yet.”

“And the Morrigan wanted you to…defile her?”

“No, that was all on me.” I hear the sharp click of metal and see he’s found his own weapon, stashed away on his body. “I figured she could pay your debt.”

“My debt?”

He laughs. “For letting you live.”

I take him in. The weak point of his injured arm. His ego. The fact he doesn’t even understand what’s going on here and how much bigger all of this is than petty grudges. I let him laugh and then give him a smile of my own.

And then I launch my attack.

Chapter 30

Bunny

There’s no hesitation when Dylan tells me to run. My behavior is out of instinct—out of the need to keep Morgan alive. Now that all hell is breaking loose and any semblance of control I had over the situation is gone, I have little choice but to get Morgan out of here alive.

At the turn leading to my studio—back to the portal—she stops, refusing to go further.

“Take me to them.”

“To the dungeons?” I shake my head and keep an eye over her shoulder. “Not a chance.”

Her grip tightens around my fingers and her voice turns cold. The glint of her sword, still tipped in blood, hangs at her side. “Fine. I’ll go alone.”

“Morgan, this is your chance to escape—get away from the Morrigan while you can,” I plead but she pulls away, disappearing down the dark stairway that leads to the dungeons. In seconds her boots are nothing but an echo and I curse, chasing her down.

By the time I arrive on the floor, she’s taken one soldier down by surprise and has another on his knees, her sword at his neck. “Hand me the keys,” she says.

He spits in her face. She moves with efficient speed and indifference, smashing him in the head with the hilt of the sword and snatching the metal ring of keys from his waist. Her chin juts forward in defiance. Her are shoulders straight. I feel like I’m seeing a different side of Morgan—the one that wants her Guardians back. Someone who will stop at nothing to protect those important to her.

The magnitude of my betrayal rains down on me as she approaches the gate leading to the dark cells. She will do anything for her Guardians. Maim and kill. Travel from one world to the next. I’m terrified to think of how far her sacrifice will go.

And how in one defiant, selfish move, I endangered us all.

She fumbles with the keys and I step forward and take them with steadier hands. The stench from the cell is inhumane and it’s so dark, I can’t see any of my brothers. “Are you sure about this?”

I expect wrath. Rage. Anger or some smart remark challenging my question. She just says, “Yes.”

“Okay, just…it may be…just be prepared.”

She looks at me, searching for intent, but I have none other than to serve her. If she sees that, I don’t know. The emotion reflected back at me is intense confusion and pain.

The lock flips, echoing off the rock walls. Morgan takes the keys back and steps over the threshold, peering into the dark.

“Hello,” she calls in a nothing more than a whisper. “Damien? Sam? Clinton?”

The response is the clank of chains. The scrape of metal against the floor. She pushes deeper into the cavernous dark and I wait at the entrance, keeping guard. She doesn’t speak but chokes back a sob, and I know she’s found them.

I’m moving to help her when I hear footsteps on the stairs. I take a deep breath and prepare for another fight.

Chapter 31

Morgan

I see Sam first, his pale skin stained with so much dirt that it was hard to see him. He’s curled in a fetal position and my heart nearly cracks at the sight. I fight back a gag at the smell, then the tears when I look at the sores on his back.

“Sam?” I touch his shoulder. He flinches but doesn’t respond otherwise. “I’m here. I’m getting you out of here, okay?”

Again, no reply. I reach down and touch him, feeling for the cuffs around his wrists, and shove the key into the lock. Then I do the same for the ones around his swollen, stiff ankles.

“Hey,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. The faintest energy pulses between us. “You’ve got to get up. I can’t carry all three of you out of here.” His eyes flutter and he blinks like he can’t fully focus. I kiss his brow. Then his nose. My lips are wet from tears of anger. I kiss him on the mouth and finally, I get a reaction. It’s nothing more than a sigh and a deep groan but he’s alive. I kiss him again, pressing my warm lips against his chapped, cold ones.

“Stand up if you can—or at least sit. I’m going to get the others.”

He nods, like a man coming out of a dream, and as much as it pains me, I leave him to feel around the dark crevices of the cell. It only takes a moment before I bump into something solid. I hold my hands out, palms flat and hear a hiss. He’s chained to the wall, upright. He sways back and forth.

“Clinton?”

I feel his chin, his chest. A low growl rumbles in his throat and I say, “It’s me. Morgan.”

“Don’t trick me, witch.”

“What?”

“Kill me if you want, but don’t put on the face of your enemy.”

I touch his cheek and he flinches, turning away. “Clinton, it’s me.” I stroke his chest, feeling the bumpy, raw scabs that have recently healed over. He fights me but the energy burns between us—like it always has. He may think it’s magic or the Morrigan fucking with his head but I push on, lifting on my toes and whispering in his ear. With every word his shoulders loosen, and he turns his face in my direction.

“Morgan?” His voice is a whisper—a hope.

“Yeah. It’s me. We’ve got to get out of here.”

I unlock his chains and thankfully he’s stronger than Sam, able to move a bit faster, but I don’t know how long it will last. What’s happening with Dylan upstairs? Where are we even going to go? And Bunny? He said he would guard the door, but I sure as hell don’t trust him.

“Damien’s over there,” he says, pointing toward a small window. It’s dark outside but faint moonlight filters in the glassless, barred windows.

It doesn’t take as long to find him. His body is lit by the moon. He’s asleep on the floor but wakes seconds before I reach him. Dark rage fills his eyes but it shifts immediately when he sees me. “Babe?”

“Yeah.”

“You came.”

“Of course I came,” I say, relieved I don’t have to convince him it’s really me. He moves slowly, but he too can move. Blood clots at the edge of his swollen, bruised mouth and I touch his head, feeling unfamiliar stubble from the weeks of growth. I nearly burst into tears when I see him. I’m just so happy to have him and the others back.

Or almost back.

“Bunny,” Clinton says, his words slurring. “He…”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what happened. Why?”

“Me either,” I say, walking back to the front of the cell and stooping to pick up Sam. I touch his hair, his face. He’s weak and so skinny. Damien bears some of the weight. “But we’ll figure it out.”

Bunny is gone when we reach the front of the cell, but I hear voices and touch my sword, thinking I don’t have anything left to put into a fight. I just want to get my men to safety. A shadow turns the corner and I muster the strength, lifting the blade before me and keeping the Guardians behind me.

Bunny rounds the corner and Clinton grunts and tenses when he sees him, but I hold up my hand. “I don’t know where Bunny stands, but at the moment he’s all we’ve got.”

“He can’t be trusted.”

“I know,” I stare him down. “I know what he did. But he saved me upstairs and we don’t have much choice.”

Bunny does nothing but gape at the Raven Guard, nearly shrinking at the sight of facing the men he betrayed.

“Who were you talking to?” I ask, keeping myself between him and Clinton. Before he can answer, I spot the smaller figure behind him. The form is familiar, slight, as though it’s nothing more than a wisp. She steps into the faint light and I see it’s the servant from my rooms.

Footsteps rumble overhead. Not Dylan. No, a group, probably the rest of Casteel’s soldiers now that they realize the carnage in the hallway outside my room. I don’t want to be here when they find the fallen men down here.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I say, fighting back the panic. I know I don’t have the energy to fight much longer.

The girl steps forward, stepping between me and Bunny. “I can help.”

“How?” The footsteps are closer, I hear Sam shudder behind me. He’s fading fast.

“Come,” she says. “Follow me.”

It’s not like we have a choice. The soldiers’ angry voices echo at the bottom of the stairwell, discovering the body of their men. The girl walks in the opposite direction, toward the stone wall. I think maybe she’s crazy, traumatized from gods know how long of living as a slave of the Morrigan. But a foot from the wall she turns, facing the side wall, and touches a stone. There’s movement, the sound of stone grating on stone, and a small, narrow passage becomes visible.

I sigh, knowing that it’s a risk. It’s all one risk after the other. But it’s for a bigger goal--stopping the Morrigan--and I can’t do it without my Guardians, and there’s no way any of us will survive another altercation. Dylan isn’t going to save us, even if he’s still alive.

I nod at the girl and make a decision that could either save or kill us, and climb into the passage.

*

The tunnel is long and incredibly dark. I blindly follow the sound of the girl walking in front of me, and listen to the labored breaths of my guardians coming from behind. The smell goes from musty to damp as we travel and the floor slants, taking us deeper and deeper beneath the castle. Just when I think we’re going to have to stop and rest, the girl calls for us to stop. A hand grips my shoulder. I’m not sure which one of my guardians it is, but I feel the instant surge of power between us, helping him heal just a little bit.

I hear a series of knocks, light tapping on what sounds like a wooden door. Light seeps through a crack, then a long shaft down the tunnel, bathing us all in a yellow glow. I can’t see what’s on the other side, but it has to be better than where we are.

Bunny and I help the Guardians toward the exit, blinking as we acclimate to the light and the strange, humid warmth wafting our way. The girl waits for me and smiles as I pass. “You’ll be safe down here and can stay as long as you need to recuperate.”

“Down here” is a cavernous world beneath the surface, an entire community built into the ground. From the looks of it, a thriving community. For the first time since I passed through the gates, I feel safe.

“Thank you,” I say, squeezing her hand.

With a glance behind me, she says, “Your men need help. Follow me.”

Chapter 32

Morgan

“What is this place?” I ask Nevis. The slave finally agreed to tell me her name after she got my guardians safely to the medics. “Why are you helping us?”

We’re standing outside a small cave dug into the black-brown earth. A swarm of men and women sprang into action the instant we appeared, following Nevis’ directions to clean up and look over the wounds. I’d pushed to enter with them, but she held up her hand and told me to let them do their work. Bunny stood to the side, awkward and silent—too many questions surround him.

“My people built this community many centuries ago—when the goddess first went mad. When her heart was broken and she declared war on all people, there were few survivors. She scorched the land, turning it into nothing but barren ash and bone. The only place to survive was underground, in the caverns beneath the castle that had been in existence since the beginning of time.”

“Does she know this place is here?”

Nevis shakes her head. “She’s too vain to consider that life flourishes in her place of destruction—especially under her nose. We’re protected down here and a few of us always maintain positions in the castle to keep an eye on things. It’s a job traditionally carried down from one generation to the next.”

I look around the open space. The air is warm, damp with humidity. For the first time in days, the chill in my bones disappears. Several small ponds of fresh water are fed by a stream coming from an outside source. Light shafts stretch from the high, rugged ceiling. It’s gray like the sky above, but it reflects off the water and the gardens filled with plump, unfamiliar vegetables. Homes tuck into the walls; some natural crevices, others dug into the surface. People mill about, in the middle of normal daily activities. Cooking. Tending the gardens. Caring for children.

“You didn’t answer my other question,” I say, watching a small group of children run past. They’re clean and look well-fed. “Why are you helping us?”

Nevis toys with the end of her braid, her hair as dark as my own. Her eyes are a deep blue and I notice this is the coloring of most of the people down here. Including much paler skin. “Legend tells us the tales of the Morrigan and how she came into existence. The stories of how her heart was betrayed. How she used her pain to wage war and wrath on Cu’s armies.” She leans closer. “There are other stories. Ones about the three sisters. That the Morrigan is only one part of the powerful Goddess that rules over this realm.”

“I’ve heard the myths.”

“My people have always believed in this version and have waited centuries for the reuniting of the three.”

Embrace, the Shaman had said.

“You believe the myths.”

“Yes, and you must know your role in all of this. I knew it the moment you crossed through the gate. Before, even. When the Queen brought the mythical Raven Guard here to torture and imprison, I knew you must be gaining strength in your own world. Enough for her to panic. I’m helping you because I know you may very well be the key.”

The key.

I think back to my story—the one that haunted me for years—consumed my daydreams as a child. The cat and the prince and the ravens watching me from above. The key that opened the gate from one world to the next.

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“You may be the only hope we have to save this realm.” She nods over to the structure that holds my men. “You and your Guardians.”

I know enough that there could be truth to her ideas—that I am part of something bigger, but there are things she may not know. “She’s doing a lot of damage back home, horrible things. I am here to stop that—to find what will stop the sickness back home.”

“A virus?” she asks. I nod. “Tell me about this sickness.”

I describe the symptoms. The way it sucks the life away from a person and the way it’s transmitted, starting with two of her own minions using me as a conduit. “Not only are my friends in danger, the whole world is. The Morrigan has made her move to cross realms.”

“So you didn’t come here to save us.”

I reach for Nevis’ hand. “I didn’t even know you existed. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you, too. I’m just not sure I have as much power as you think I do.”

Dylan and the others seem to think I’m the answer—this woman, too. But other than some mediocre fighting skills, a few magic tricks, and an unusual bond between me and four men, I’m not really sure what these powers are or how to use them.

Nevis doesn’t seem as apprehensive. She smiles, revealing a chipped tooth that doesn’t detract from her quiet beauty or the expression of hope filling her eyes. “Then let’s make you strong and take the rest from there.”

*

Bunny watches me closely as I walk away from Nevis and toward the small hut. I want desperately to ignore him, but now that we’re relatively safe, the emotions of the last few hours crash over me: Casteel and his assault; Dylan showing up to finish the fight; Bunny protecting me. I dare a glance and find him walking toward me. I push down my confused feelings.

“Are you going in?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He shoves his glasses up his nose with one finger. “I know now is not the time—”

“No. It’s not.”

“It’s not. I know, it’s just that I’m sor—”

“Bunny.” I cut him off. “If we get out of this alive and Dylan the others don’t kill you first, we can talk. That’s when I’ll decide what to do about everything that’s happened between us.”  I swallow back the rage building in my chest. I am not over what Bunny has done. Not even close, but I have bigger problems and some major healing to apply to my Guardians, and right now isn’t the time.

“Take care of them,” he says, knowing what I’m about to do. “I’ll guard the door.”

I nod and leave him to begin the healing process with Guardians and prepare them for the next phase in the war.

*

A few members of the underground community are in the room when I enter. Their clothes are shabby but clean. The building itself seems to be a very small clinic. Vials and bottles line the shelves on the wall. Wooden boxes filled with bandages and other supplies are stacked neatly.

The whole place seems surreal, but I have little option other than to trust them and to trust Bunny.

Calling it a hut is generous—it’s basically a cave. How do these people survive down here? All three of my men are sleeping on a pallet of blankets and furs on the floor. Sam, looking weak and frail, is in the middle, flanked on both sides by Damien and Clinton. One healer remains, wiping down Sam’s feet with a towel. Glasses of half-consumed, clear liquid are on the ground.

“Call for us if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” I look down at my men. They’ve been cleaned and their wounds tended to. I choke back a wave of emotion. “For everything.”

The door closes with a click.

I undress as I walk toward the bed, kicking off my boots, lifting my shirt over my head, and dropping my trousers to the floor. I’m bare underneath—the battle upstairs gave me little time to dress. I feel the appraising gaze of eyes on me and look up to find Damien watching my every move. Dropping to my knees, I crawl to him while the others sleep.

He reaches for me with a rough hand. I take it, kissing the raw skin on his knuckles. Lifting the blankets, I slip beneath and snuggle next to his too-skinny body and run my hands up and down the tattoos on his chest. Skin to skin, we connect.

He presses his lips to mine and breathes, “Gods, I missed you.”

Chapter

Damien

At first, I don’t think she’s real. I think it’s another dream. Another fantasy I used to stay sane during the weeks of imprisonment and torture. I only thought of her face. Her eyes. Her body. I dreamed of her bursting through the door and snapping Casteel’s neck. I knew she would come. I knew my Queen would not allow me to fester and die in his rotting cell.

Even so, her voice sounds so far away. Not real. Certainly not of this realm. But she says my name. She touches my skin and the charge of energy that only exists between Morgan and her Raven Guard bolts like lightning through my limbs.

I’m unsure how long ago that was. An hour? A day? But I’m clean and a team of strange healers tended to my wounds. And I’m about to slip into sleep when the door opens and she appears, back in my life like she’d never been gone.

She a goddess, stripping away her clothes and walking to me like a shimmering sun. The heat of her flesh calls to me and all I want is to quench my thirst, to drink from the well of her everlasting soul. I hate the tears that roll down her cheeks.

I will soothe her pain as she heals my wounds.

Once whole, I promise I will lead her down the path to victory, helping guide Morgan to her fullest potential. That is why I’m here—and why the gods chose me eons ago.

I touch her, feel her, and know that I will claim her--no, we will claim her--and triumph over the evil that dared to tear us apart.

Chapter 33

Morgan

“I am so sorry,” I tell him. “I am so sorry it took me this long to get here.”

“Babe, this is not on you. Not one bit.” His fingers stroke down my arm and the energy between us flares, like a smoldering fire being stoked back to life. “I knew you would find us. I had no doubt. I bided my time and saved my energy for when you would arrive.”

“You knew?”

“I knew.”

I kiss his mouth. “Now that I’ve got you, all of you, I’m going to make everything better.”

There’s no coyness behind my statement, no doubt in what I have in mind even though my belly is filled with nerves, and I anxiously glance at the other two men. But Damien, even in a weakened state, is the least judgmental being I’ve ever known. He senses my apprehension and says, “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out together. We always knew one day it would come to this, didn’t you?”

I nod, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “I’ve dreamed about it. More than once. I just thought it would be all of us.”

He touches my chin. “It will be. It’s how we’ll take the Morrigan out once and for all, but for now, we need to heal, grow our power so we’re ready to fight. Understand?”

I do, and I let him position me so I’m pressed against his belly and chest and I’m relieved with I feel his hard length. I exhale, feeling steady for the first time in days. There’s no doubt I’ve been running on fumes, and this is only confirmed with the surge of power when Damien touches me.

I feel his lips on my ear and he says, “I’m going to take care of you, while you take care of Sam, okay?”

I look at Sam. My sweet, adorable Sam. His eyes are blackened, red marks ring his neck. He’s even skinnier than Damien because he had less meat on him before they were locked up. I’m tentative when I reach out to him, terrified I’m going to hurt him even more.

“Touch him,” Damien whispers. He’s begun moving his own hands, skimming them down the curve of my hips around to my belly. I shiver and he kisses my neck, causing my nipples to tighten and point. I ghost my hand over Sam’s face, his swollen neck, and smile when his eyes flicker open. There’s an innate conflict—I want to sink into the pleasure of Damien’s touch while also focusing on doing the same for Sam.

I’ve never been an amazing multi-tasker.

“Morgan?” His voice gritty and hoarse.

“Hi.”

“What…” he has no voice and the thought of what caused it breaks my heart. Screaming? Begging? Fucking Casteel and his sadistic bend. I press a finger to his lips.

“Don’t talk, okay? Just let me take care of you.”

His eyes shift over my shoulder and Damien says to his brother, “It’s time.”

Sam nods and licks his dry, cracked lips.

Damien’s hands wander to my breasts. I press my ass closer to his ridiculously hard cock. I’ve missed his body and his touch so much that I have to fight back a cry of relief from feeling him close to me again. I rest a hand by Sam’s head, establishing myself in the middle of a Sam-Damien sandwich. Good thing I’m hungry, and I’m not the only one. These men have been starving for days. Not just for food and water, but for the essence of what keeps them alive: Me and the connection I bring to them.

With every ripple of pleasure Damien gives me, by tweaking my nipples or kissing my shoulders, I do the same for Sam. I take my time with him, rousing him gently, licking his skin and lathing my tongue over the red marks on his neck.

I skim my hand down his stomach, toward the soft hair below his belly button and nearly cry when I feel the hard length waiting for me. “So you’ve got a little left in you after all, don’t you?”

His eyelashes flutter, giving me a view of his beautiful green eyes. “For you? Always.”

I lift on one elbow and arch my neck to get a better look at Damien. He’s watching me closely. I beckon him over and kiss him on the mouth, feeling a second set of hands reach for my body. An intense shiver rolls through my body and I know that it’s time.

Chapter

Sam

Her lips taste like salt. Her breath, like the very essence of life. It’s through hooded eyes that I watch Morgan, sitting above me like a queen. Her breasts are perfect, her stomach soft, and the beckoning patch of heaven between her legs call me like an angel’s song.

I’ve spent weeks rotting away in that filthy cell, wondering if I’d ever have the pleasure of seeing her face or touching her body once again.

I never should have questioned it. I never should have doubted.

I know immediately, instinctively, that we have moved to another level in our relationship. She’s here to heal; I feel the aches slipping away with every touch, the bruises fading. I see Damien’s hands. I watch my own. I feel. I feel. I feel, and know what will bring down the bitch sitting on her throne.

I am sure that Morgan always thought that we would be the ones that would save her—she had it wrong. She’ll be the one to redeem us all.

Chapter

Morgan

We move fluidly. Damien follows me as I move to straddle Sam. I kiss his mouth, then his chest, lingering over his sensitive, brown nipples. I feel Damien behind me, hands firmly on my waist, as I make my way downward, grazing my teeth across Sam’s sharp hip bones. He’s still weak, but he watches me, hand clenched on my shoulder. When I’ve shimmied down every inch of his body, I rock forward on my knees, offering my backside to Damien. He doesn’t hesitate, gripping my cheeks and spreading them wide.

Although it seems impossible, I focus on the hard and eager shaft between Sam’s legs. With one hand on my head and another on the base he guides me toward it and I lick the tip, tasting the familiar saltiness. He shudders when I do it again and I cry against the heat in my mouth. I never knew if I’d see them again, and to have the honor of helping bring them back to full strength is almost too much.

I lick and suck and nibble and stroke, never missing a beat. Not even when I feel the pressure behind me, when Damien rubs his fingers between my legs, making sure I’m slick and ready. Not when he slips his cock between the slick folds at the entrance to my core and eases himself inside. I gasp from the sensation, never knowing—never understanding what it could be like.

Like every encounter with my Guardians we’re in tune, in synch, with the pace and tone of our movements. Sometimes it’s about fun. Other times it’s about anger, rage, or pain. Now it’s about healing—unifying. Damien and Sam fill me in two different ways and I’ve never felt so complete.

Damien settles for a minute, giving me time to adjust to the sensation and balance it takes to handle both of them at once. When I feel I’m ready I rock back, moving my mouth and hand at the same time. It’s a slow movement and Sam props up on his elbows, fully alert and watching intently.

I like the way his eyes feel on me. I love the way Damien pushes in and out, slow and steady, hyperaware of my needs. We set a rhythm, the three of us, and soon we’re a chorus of groans and pleasure. With every connection our bond rekindles and power reestablishes. I sense movement next to Sam, the shifting of the blankets, and Clinton, who’d been out like a rock, slowly wakes.

His gray eyes take in everything, lingering on my exposed breasts, on my mouth as I work Sam into a state of sheer delight. He watches Damien who grunts with every thrust.

“Damn,” he mutters, fire igniting behind his eyes.

I lick my way up Sam’s cock and release him, keeping the friction with my hand. Sudden nerves take hold. Two men I can handle, but three? I have no idea what to do or how to do it. But I shouldn’t be nervous, because instinct takes over and I reach for Clinton, ready to bring this circle closer.

Chapter

Clinton

Gods above, after centuries of life, after plagues and battles and endless wars, I know for certain I’ve died. The Morrigan finally got me. Killed me in her filthy dungeon. I know this because an angel that looks like my soulmate is before me.

It makes sense that she’d be naked. Stripped of everything but her magnificent body. Sam’s dead too, I’m sure of it; the look on his face as she runs her tongue up and down his cock is nothing short of bliss.

Damien’s breathing comes hard, louder than a standard fantasy. I see the sweat on his chest, the exertion on his face, the red marks on Morgan’s hips from where he grips and holds her as he pounds into her relentlessly.

Even in death I grow hard at the sight of her, at the sight of this majestic scene, but dreams slip into reality when she glances my way. Her dark eyes peer into whatever remains of my soul.

Without the slightest hesitation, she reaches for me. I blink, my ears rushing with blood. Real. This is real. She is real.

I shake away the pain of the dungeon, the death and destruction fostered by a ruthless dictator, and stare at the members of my family. They’re alive and rekindling the power that will end it once and for all.

Morgan beckons and I come.

Chapter 34

Morgan

Clinton wastes no time and moves toward me, kissing me hard on the mouth. The blanket falls, revealing his erection. He may have been asleep but he’s ready now. Sam nudges my hand, encouraging me to go to him. Damien whispers in my ear, “Fuck him. Give him your light and love, Morgan,” and pulls out, leaving me crying out with sudden loss.

The despair is short-lived. Clinton is more than up to the task, lifting me over his lap until I’m straddling his hips. I have no desire to wait, lowering myself onto his throbbing erection. Damien moves to one side and Sam, stronger now, does the same. They stand next to me and while Clinton and I quickly set a pace, I reach for both of their glistening cocks as they each fondle my breasts. I feel them everywhere. Inside, outside, down every limb. I feel the heat and power from their hard, pulsing cocks. I hear the want and connection in their labored breathing. I’m raw and ready, charged and feeling the surge of power coursing through me—through us. Sam clutches my shoulder, Damien pulls my hair, and Clinton, he stares at me with such intensity it’s insane I ever thought I’d live another day without them.

We’re one.

We’re together.

We’re powerful.

In the real world, spirits don’t collide. Bodies do not work on the same time and space. But in that little cavern the three of us reach a level of pleasure, one where we stop being three different souls and forge into one ultimate power. The orgasm races up and down our bodies, tickling our senses, fraying each and every nerve. I feel it in Clinton’s final thrust, hard and pulsing. I hear it in Sam’s throat, his breath caught from his ecstasy, a groan so deep it makes me tremble. I sense it in the thick, white spurts of Damien’s cum, warm and sticky all over my hands and arms.

And it rocks me to the core, every inch of my body, across my skin—deep in the very essence of my heart. My head spins and I grow numb, my senses on complete and utter overload.

But it doesn’t matter. Three sets of hands catch me, cradle me, and love me unconditionally.

Together, we’re a united force, and I dare anyone to attempt to come between us.

Chapter

Dylan

The castle shudders. The stone shifts underfoot, like a giant sighing in relief. Casteel groans, blood trickling from the wound on his chest. Just as I have no doubt what shook the castle like an earthquake, I have no doubt the Morrigan will be here soon, looking for the cause.

Casteel makes one last effort to raise his hand at me, but I feel the buzz, a glorious, powerful buzz, and I swing my blade, lopping off his hand at the wrist. He howls in pain and swears, “She’ll castrate you for this, Sentinel. All of you.”

He grips his wrist, blood flowing quickly from the wound. He crawls toward the fire—cauterizing is his only option. The Morrigan can save him or look for me. It’s her choice. There’s another rumbling, this time cold and bitter, a storm coming from the higher parts of the castle.

Time is running out.

I run from the room, the smell of burnt flesh followed by screaming pain chases me down the hall. I turn in the direction I came in. I know where the dungeons are. I spent weeks down in the dark pits beneath the castle. Another tremor ricochets off the walls, nearly knocking me off my feet. I right myself and continue down the stairs, following the vibrations. They’re down here. I don’t know where and I don’t know how my girl pulled it off, but she got them together. She found her mates and opened conduits of energy and power. I feel it. I know it.

Now I just have to figure out where they are so I can get us all the hell out of here.

Chapter

Morgan

Wow.

That’s all I can think or even feel. I coil my hand into a fist and then open it, nails elongating into sharpened points. I relish the surge of complete power flowing through my bones.

Wow. Fucking. Wow.

Three Guardians at once and I know they took it easy on me, there could be more, and like an addict wanting a hit, there is no doubt in my mind that if we survive this hellhole, it’s something we’ll explore again. Next time we’ll do it at home, slowly, taking our time.

My skin tingles, even now that my breathing has returned to normal and my cheeks have lost the flaming heat of exertion. The men laze around me, catching their breath and going through the final stages of healing. The power that ran through me to them and back again was nothing short of epic. Together we are at full power. What will happen when Dylan joins in? Or Bunny?

If we even allow him to return.

I completely understand now why the Morrigan did what she did—why she kidnapped my men. What I don’t understand, even more than before, was Bunny’s betrayal. To what end? What was his point?

A knock on the door breaks me from my thoughts and I stand, wrapped in nothing but a blanket, and cross the room. I glance back and see my Guardians shift into alertness.

I open the door and Nevis stands on the other side. Bunny lurks nearby, keeping watch. He’s placed a rune of protection on the door. He’s trying—or at least pretending that he is.

Nevis’ eyes dart from me to the men, who have relaxed, aware we’re not under any threat. “Feeling better?”

“Absolutely.”

“I brought you something.” She reveals a folded-up outfit in her hands. I shake it out, and realize it’s my suit from back home. I smile and take it from her. “I have something for them, too. Can I bring it in?”

“Thank you. And of course.”

I step aside and two men enter the dwelling, carrying stacks of clothing and boots. They hand an outfit to each of my three guardians and have two extra. The material is familiar. I walk over and hold my own next to it. The fabric matches, everything from the weave to the stitching. I’ve seen them before—in the closet of the training room in the basement of The Nead.

“How did you get these?” I ask.

“Our people have served the Queen since the beginning—regardless of what realm they reside in.” I study her hair. Her face. I think about the way she carries herself. Her strength and the lack of fear she has, despite her position.

“You got these from Davis and Sue.” I look at my Guardians. They seem as surprised as I do. “I knew there was more to them than just…”

“Servants?” she says. “We’re the heartbeat tying the two realms together. We’ve bided our time for centuries. Toiling away, working for the Morrigan, waiting for the day our savior would come and free us from oppression.”

“Me?”

She nods. “Davis and Sue are impressed, which isn’t easy. They’ve known it for some time.”

The enormity of the moment slams into me, and if I hadn’t just juiced up on Raven power, I’d probably crumble under the pressure. Nevis and the people down here think I’m going to save them. I look at the grim expressions on the Guardians and realize that is wrong. They think we’re going to save them.

Which, I guess, is exactly what we had planned. There’s just more at stake than I ever knew.

I steal a glance at my men, who are in the midst of dressing. In a low voice I say, “I’m going to need your help.”

Nevis’ eyes twinkle and she curtsies. “At your service.”

*

I ignore the questioning looks from my men as I take one of the extra suits and carry it outside. I’m already dressed, and I slide my sword into the sheath on my back. Bunny stands near the house, alert though obviously exhausted. I walk over to him and note that the purple shadows under his eyes are deeper than before. I expected him to get at least a contact boost from my encounter with the others, but instead he looks worse.

Good.

I toss him the suit and he catches it.

“What’s this for?”

“We’re getting out of here. Thought you may need it.”

He stares at the fabric in his hands. “You want me to go with you?”

I take a step closer. “Not really. But I need you.”

“I need you, too.”

Without the slightest bit of hesitation I slap him across the face. Hard. Gods, that felt good. “You’ll do everything I say. Follow every command. Each direction. Without question. Do you understand that?”

“Yes. I understand.” He swallows and casts his copper eyes at mine. “Morgan, I meant it before. I’m sorry. This got out of control. It’s such a mess.”

He flinches when he says it, waiting for another assault. This time I rein it in.

“Stop.” The feeling of power fills me in a way I never have before. I’m not even sure of how far it will reach—what I can do. “No talking. No apologizing.”

He nods.

“Seriously, Bunny. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Go change. We’re leaving when Dylan gets here.”

“Dylan? Does he even know where we are?” I hear his real question. Do I really think he’s alive?

I nod toward the tunnel entry across the expansive grounds. Nevis has placed someone at the entrance. He moves when the door swings open and Dylan appears, blinking into the light. I smile and start toward him, but Bunny grabs my arm. “How did you know?”

“I felt him coming. Didn’t you?” But I know he didn’t, because just like the fact he didn’t feel a boost from my connection with the others, he couldn’t feel Dylan anymore. The damage Bunny has made to his bond with the five of us runs deep.

I shake away from him. Dylan sees us. Me. His heartbeat quickens at the sight of me but his eyes darken when he spots Bunny nearby. “Change,” I say again, and walk toward the Raven soaked in blood and craving my attention. We’re almost whole. Well, as much as we’re going to get.

Chapter

Dylan

I follow Morgan’s signal, feeling the vibrations through the stone walls in the dungeons. The path is darker than a moonless night but her soul sings to me and eventually I reach the end.

I have no idea what to expect on the other side of the passage but it certainly isn’t an underground society. The gatekeepers welcome me—as though they’d been expecting me. I spot Morgan immediately, speaking with Bunny. I nearly launch myself across the caverns and kill him.

But Morgan gives me a look and I get it. Hands off. For now.

I sag against the door, catching my breath. I’ve suffered a loss of blood. My battle with Casteel wasn’t without injury.

She’s at my side in minutes. Bunny watches with a guarded expression. I don’t blame him—we have unsettled business—but if Morgan has allowed him to come down here with us, I’ll trust her.

“You found us,” she says, touching my face. My stomach. Blood seeps through the fabric of my shirt.

“Always,” I tell her, leaning against her. “I’ll always find my family.”

“Casteel?” she asks.

“Not dead. Severely wounded, but not dead.”

She looks up at me with concerned, powerful eyes. “And the Morrigan?”

“Coming.” I look across the cavern and see the members of my Guard. They’re healthy and full of vigor. Morgan truly had saved them. “We need to move fast.”

“I’m working on a plan.” She pulls me into a kiss. I feel it in every molecule of my body. Every nerve and every muscle. “I need you strong.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Yes,” she says, taking my hand. “You will.”

Chapter

Morgan

I don’t have time to give Dylan the full treatment, but I lead him to the clinic and assist him while he cleans up. I press my lips against every wound. I stroke his skin until the ache in his muscles ease. I do my best to ignore the hunger in his eyes and below the belt. It’s impossible to turn that on and off. We don’t have the luxury of immersing ourselves in one another right now.

By the time he’s suited up, wearing the all black uniform and matching the other members of the Raven Guard, Nevis is knocking on the door. She asks if she can come in. I give her a welcoming nod as Dylan secures his blades in the suit. Bunny slips in behind her. He’s suited up and my heart cracks a little seeing him unified with us, at least for now.

She’s followed by one of the healers I’d seen in the clinic earlier. He’s a small man with graying hair. “I’d hate to meet any of you in a dark corner of the castle,” she says, giving us the once over. “I’d like you to meet Kuwan. He’s our lead healer. His wife is the Morrigan’s personal assistant.”

These people are like an army of spies. No wonder their community has survived so long.

I step forward. “Thank you for helping, everyone. I know it was unexpected and probably taxed your resources. We will do whatever we can to repay you.”

Kuwan nods his thanks and says, “Nevis told me about the virus that the Morrigan is spreading in your world. It sounds similar to a sickness we had here, many years ago.”

“Years ago? You mean no one gets sick from it anymore?” I ask.

Dylan chimes in. “Was it cured? Eradicated?”

“No. Not exactly,” Kuwan says. “When the Morrigan unleashed her fury on this realm, she destroyed all living things. After the wars were over there were still survivors, but she solved that when cold and dark days rolled over the land. Sickness wiped out the remaining clans.”

“Except this one,” Clinton says.

Kuwan nods. “Yes, except this one.”

“How did they manage that? Just by coming underground?”

“No,” Bunny says. We all look at him in surprise. “The Queen drinks from a vial like those on the counter. It keeps her young. Vital and strong—especially when faced with Morgan and her power.”

“Is that true?” I ask

“Yes,” Kuwan replies

“What does she take? What keeps your people alive?”

“You notice the heat—the warmth. Our ponds are filled by warm springs of clean, clear water that warms the air as well as provides sanitation for cleaning and drinking. The people on the upside were freezing to death. The water sources were contaminated. That only sped up the plague set loose by the Morrigan, and they died.”

I look at Dylan and then Nevis. “You’re saying the water saved your people.”

“Yes,” Kuwan says. “We believe it has healing properties.”

“The water heals people,” Damien repeats.

“Yes. Healing, longevity…”

Dylan’s expression is neutral but I see the wheels turning in his head. “You’re serious.”

Nevis smiles and her eyes twinkle. “How old do you think I am?”

Upstairs, when she was nothing more than my servant, I thought she was a girl—a teenager. Younger than me. Her skin is smooth and her black hair is sleek and shiny. Once she saved me I saw more wisdom in her eyes but not much more age. I take a guess and high-ball it. “Twenty-five.”

The others agree.

“Sixty,” she announces. “This is the year I turned sixty.”

“Years old?” Sam asks. Bunny watches the whole thing from the side, unable to hide his incredulousness.

“Yes.”

“That’s what you used on their wounds right? I noticed they’d started healing before I even came in here.”

“Water,” Kuwan says. “Nothing else.”

There’s a moment of quiet as we reflect on this. Dylan is the first to speak. “So you think this water may help cure the virus plaguing the realm we’ve come from?”

“The properties may shift from one realm to the other, but it’s worth a shot.”

The idea is exciting, liberating, but introducing a miracle cure back on Earth seems too good to be true. It’s also life-changing—the kind of thing that alters the fate of mankind. The uneasy look on the Guardian’s face tells me they realize the ramifications as well.

“Are you offering this to us to take back to my people?” I finally ask. The glance between Nevis and Kuwan make it clear it’s not that easy. I didn’t think so.

“We’re willing to share—at the very least you can take it to your medics and they can assess its purposes,” Nevis says.

“But…” I prompt.

“But the Morrigan must be destroyed.” Kuwan stares at me. “And we can’t do it alone.”

I feel every male around me tense. Every single one of my guardians shifts into protective mode. A low growl rumbles behind me and I’m not sure who it comes from, but I hold up my hand. “So you want to trade our services for the cure?”

“Possible cure,” Clinton bites out.

Nevis flinches from his tone, aware of the lethal power behind his words. She speaks in a calm voice. “It’s not like that. We know you’re already here to stop her and cure the virus. We can help with the virus, but please don’t just take it and leave. We just hope that future generations can live above ground—free and not bound to the Morrigan.”

I assess my men. Their expressions are hard, complicated masks. But I know they’ll do what’s right. Or at the very least, try. Sure enough, Dylan confirms this.

“Then we fight her,” Dylan says. “We’re strong.  A forceful unit at maximum power. It should be easy to take her out.”

“After, we’ll leave,” Sam says. “We go back and give the cure to the sick.”

Damien nods. But his face is stoic—staring right at me. I mutter my agreements and look away, securing the blade in my boot.

It’s solved. Easy as that.

Or so I want everyone to think.

Chapter

Morgan

The tunnel is different—leading from another part of the cavern. Nevis declares it will take us directly to the Queen’s quarters. Dylan demands to go first—as is his position. The others will follow. I’ll take the back—the safest place. If it goes wrong, I can run—Nevis and her people will keep alert.

She hands me six vials of water, each capped tight and wrapped in cloth.

“Just in case,” I say to them. Now that we know what it can do, every soldier should carry it on their person.

I hold back emotion as I tuck a vial of water in each and every one of their breast pockets. I take a moment to check their gear. Kiss their mouths. I’m almost at full strength, only lacking the final link in the circle. Bunny’s betrayal has weakened me—us—in a way I didn’t know was possible. It helps me understand the pain the Morrigan felt when Cu tossed her aside at the river. Sympathetic, even.

We stand before the tunnel and the Ravens enter. Dylan, Sam, Damien…Clinton waits for Bunny to enter but I tug my betrayer by the sleeve and say, “Go first,” to Clinton. He narrows his eyes and hesitates.

“He’s a traitor.” Clinton makes no effort to lower his voice. Damien looks over at the sound of his voice.

“He is and I’m going to deal with that. That’s my job. You all have a different one.”

“Deliver the cure,” he replies. “It won’t matter if Bunny fucks it up.”

“It will matter. But that’s not all I need from you. We’re going to need to build an army.”

“An army?” He laughs. “Where the hell are we going to get one of those?” I don’t reply and finally he sighs. “We should bomb this place and never look back,” he says, finally stepping into darkness.

“What was that?” Bunny asks.

“No questions. Follow orders. Remember that?”

He silently nods.

I grip his arm tighter, my nails threatening to spike. “The choices you make today will determine your future, Bunny. Don’t fuck that up. Not again.”

His eyes burn with pain and I release him. He’s not the only one that will have regrets by the time the day is over.

*

One of Nevis’ men leads the way down the long tunnel with a torch doused in oil. Once my men have travelled deep, I allow them to get a bit ahead. When no one notices, I stop abruptly. Bunny crashes into me and whispers quietly in my ear, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” The air shifts near me, turning cool. Bunny tenses behind me. He feels it. I reach out my hand, searching for the wall that should be there—and was moments ago. Now there’s an empty gap.

“What?”

“Turn right.” I glance over my shoulder. The faint light of the torches fades into the distance. My voice is barely above a whisper. “Now.”

He does as I say, his toes clipping my heels. There’s the faintest sound of grating stone. I reach back and the opening is gone. I count to ten and Nevis appears, holding a torch.

“They can’t find us?” I ask her.

“No. And I’ve barricaded the entry into the caverns as well. There’s only one way out and that’s through The Nead.”

“Good,” I tell her. “Bolt that door, seal it or destroy it. Whatever it takes, and no matter what, do not let them back in.”

“What have you done?” Bunny asks. His forehead is furrowed in confusion.

“That tunnel will lead them back to The Nead. Sue and Davis will intercept them.”

“And what about us?” The fear in his eyes tells me he already knows. He shakes his head in disbelief. “No. This is not a good idea.”

“It’s the only idea,” I tell him, gesturing to Nevis to lead the way. She takes us to a ladder bolted into the cavern walls that leads straight up into a dark hole. “It’s the only one I’ve had since I gained passage into this realm. I never intended on going back.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. My goal was to come here and save them.” I stare at Bunny in the flickering torch-light. His glasses reflect the flame. “Do I have your trust, Bunny?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then get ready to earn back mine.”

Chapter

Clinton

I feel rather than hear the shifting of rock against stone. I spin, looking down the passage behind me. It’s pitch black and I know instinctively that Morgan is no longer behind me. Neither is Bunny.

“Morgan?” I call. The only response is the echo of my voice.

I feel along the walls, searching for a hidden alcove or exit. The floor is clear. She didn’t drop a thing along the way. I want to blame Bunny but I know that it’s greater than him. Morgan has been calm and controlled since she saved us from the dungeons. She’s changed since we’ve been gone.

Footsteps and heavy breathing meet me from the opposite direction. Dylan holds a torch and pushes it in my direction.

“She’s gone,” I confess. “Right from behind me.”

“And Bunny?” Sam asks.

“Gone too.”

Dylan’s face clouds over and he kicks the wall, sending rocks flying. Damien begins examining the passage. When he finds nothing, he returns and says, “What did she say to you before you got in the tunnel? I saw her whisper something.”

Three faces wait eagerly for my answer. I think back—it hadn’t meant that much to me, I was too pissed about Bunny. Too worried about her.

“She said we needed to find—build--an army.”

“Those were her last words?” Dylan asks.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, running his hand through his hair.

“You think she’s gone,” Sam says. It’s not a question. “She took off.”

“She left me at home. Taking Anita with her—locking up Marcus in her cell. She’s been different. Losing you all changed her. Her relationship with Hildi has been tense, and Hildi’s partner, Andi, is sick. She feels responsible about more than just the virus. I have no doubt she think she can fix this on her own.”

“If she can do it on her own, then why does she need us to gather an army?” I ask. “Why would she take Bunny and send us back home?”

Dylan’s eyes shine in the torchlight, his cheeks hollow and sharp. “Because she knows she’s going to lose.”

Chapter

Morgan

“You knew all along it would come to this.”

“I suspected as much,” Bunny admits. “But it’s never what I wanted.”

“That’s why you did what you did, you took everyone and locked me out. You didn’t want me to come here, but the Queen wanted something and you thought you’d give her Anita.”

“I needed you weak. Dylan, compromised.” His eyes are on the stone floor when he says, “I won’t let her destroy you.”

“You tried your hardest—just in other ways.”

He’s silent.

“Why didn’t you come to me? Tell me? Why did you think trickery was best?” I ask, watching him closely.

“Would you have listened? Taken the time away from the others?” The muscle in his jaw tics. I feel the bitterness rolling off him in waves.

“You don’t understand me very well, Bunny. Don’t blame me for your weakness. Your jealousy.”

Knowing my Guardians are on their way back to The Nead frees me to focus on the plan ahead. Despite our tension, I give Bunny the specifics of how I want this to go down, handing him my sword and allowing him to bind my hands. We enter the castle through a grate on the floor hidden beneath a heavy woven rug. It’s impossible not to ignore the wide swipe of blood covering the floors. Casteel’s blood, if I had to guess.

“Go to the throne room,” I say in a quiet voice. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

Bunny stands behind me. I feel his heart beating like a drum in his chest. He hates every part of this plan. It’s risky, and the odds of us pulling it off are slim. Even if we do, it’s unlikely we’ll both make it out alive.

I’ve only seen the throne room in my dreams. The entry is huge and arched, stone pillars flanking the open double doors. The Queen is holding court even as her prisoners get away and her fierce commander bleeds out elsewhere in the castle. The voices inside sound strained, like false merriment. I’m not surprised. These people fear for their lives. Their entire existence is to humor the Queen. Soldiers spot us before we’ve even made it to the lush purple carpet acting as an aisle.

“Stop!”  One of the men yells.

Bunny does as he’s told. “I’ve caught a prisoner of the Morrigan’s trying to escape.”

He looks me up and down. Bunny holds the sharp blade so close to my throat I feel the edge against my skin. The soldier steps forward and lifts up my chin. The instant he sees my face he steps back, muttering a prayer to a god I’ve never heard of.

A second soldier tries to force me from Bunny’s hands but my Guardian hisses disapproval. “No. I caught her. I’m turning her in. You won’t take the glory for my prize.”

I don’t know what his expression looks like, but it must be enough because they both back off. Bunny straightens, yanking me with him, and leads me down the center of the massive throne room. We’ve clearly interrupted celebrations of some sort, and the people eating and drinking at the tables dispersed throughout the room come to a quick and abrupt halt, words frozen on their tongues.

Until I pass and they get a good look at my face and the whispers begin.

Who is that?

Who is that girl?

Where did she come from?

That man? I’ve seen him before!

All their questions come in a hurry, hushed and quiet as though they fear retribution.

The music near the throne never ends, not until the Queen herself looks up. I’ve waited so long for this moment, to meet her face to face. To see the woman that haunts my dreams, orchestrates my moves and dominates my life.

We lock eyes and for a moment I can do nothing but stare at the woman I share a soul with.

I’m shocked at her youth, at the lack of any lines on her face. No scars or blemishes. She’s physical perfection, and although I see the resemblance, I’m nothing but a human duplicate. Sure, power runs through my veins, helped by my immortal lovers, but the Morrigan is a warrior on her own. She doesn’t need anyone else to make her strong.

Or at least, that’s what she wants everyone to think. She takes the elixir from underground to keep her young and virile.

There’s another person on the dais that I recognize and I have to force away any reaction: Anita. She sits directly next to the Queen, in a smaller, less magnificent throne. There’s no denying who should be in the empty seat on the Queen’s other side, most likely set out in celebration for the ceremony Casteel mentioned. The one where we join.

I sense the presence of the weapon Bunny shoved in the back of my pants, refusing to leave me unarmed. It was foolish. I regret it now. She’ll detect it immediately.

“What do we have here?” she asks, staring down at us from her massive, obsidian throne. Her eyes are deep pools of hate and anger. I force myself to hold contact. “Where is Casteel?”

“There’s been a breach,” Bunny says. “Casteel has been injured. Your prisoners are gone.”

“Gone?” She doesn’t blink.

“Yes,” I say. “And I would be gone too if I hadn’t taken the time to hunt down this little worm.”

She watches us carefully. “You bested her?”

“Yes,” Bunny replies. “She was distracted.”

A wide, deranged grin splits the Morrigan’s face, making her look like a jester or clown. She leans forward, laughter on the tip of her tongue, and she says, “I felt them. I felt them together. Their power and strength, it shook the castle like an earthquake. I know about Casteel. What do you think this celebration is for? It’s a death watch, you see. He failed me miserably and when he finally bleeds out for good, we’ll dance on his grave.”

The audience cheers and everything about the moment is perverse and wrong.

She tilts her head. “Do you really want to tell me you bested her at the height of her strength?”

“I did, just like I stole her Guardians out from underneath her. Just like I opened the gates over and over again without her understanding or notice.”

The Morrigan thinks this over, resting her chin on the back of her hand. “So tell me, Fallen Guardian, what am I to do? Reward you for delivering back what is mine? Punish you for allowing the others to escape? I’m not exactly sure what is happening here.”

There’s a pause, the entire audience is waiting for what comes next, but not even I am sure what will happen. I reach for the hidden blade and slip out of Bunny’s grip. I toss him to the ground, punching him twice in his confused face, and then hold the dagger to his throat. Staring at the Morrigan, who is watching the scene like a patron at the theater, I flick my wrist, allowing the spikes to extend on one hand. She doesn’t react to the move but I know she’s impressed.

I press down on his chest, curving my nails like spoon to dig out his betraying heart. Without looking at the queen, I say, “You’re right. I let him catch me to give the others time to get back to the other realm. They’re on a ticket provided by the Shaman back home. I needed them out of here and it was easier to trick them than to kill them.”

“Why?” she asks. The soldiers are inches away. “Why would you do all of this?”

“Because this is about me and you, Your Highness. It always has been, don’t you think?” She doesn’t look convinced. I nod at Anita. “I delivered the Third. Why would I bring her here if I didn’t plan to unite with you?”

The Queen looks down at Bunny, who is frozen under the points of my blades. “What about him?”

“Kill him, hang him from the trees, use him for target practice.” I spit in his face. “But you may want to thank him first.”

“And why, exactly, would I do that?”

I stare down at Bunny, not having to make up an ounce of the anger and venom I feel just looking at his face. Rage rolls across every inch of my body and I make no effort to hide my emotions. “When Bunny betrayed me, I finally understood everything you went through. I felt what it was like for you that day, eons ago when your wrath took hold.”

The Morrigan moves, slinking down the dais to stand before me. Her dress is tight and long, fabric trails behind her like snakes slithering across the carpet.

“Tell me what you felt.”

“He was my mate. He used me. He humiliated me. He…”

“No!” Bunny shouts, his face red. “You favored the others. You never cared about me like you cared for them.”

Quick as a viper I slap him across the cheek, my nails scraping the skin and leaving red, angry welts. I stand and face the Queen.

“The pain from what he did…it’s too much. The anger…is consuming.”

“Even with the love of the others?” she asks. “I know you fornicated with them earlier today. Your pleasure radiates off you, even now.”

“To get them to leave and to build my power.” I glance at Bunny, who hasn’t moved even though I’ve released him. “And to make him jealous.”

She stares at me for a long moment and then jerks her head. “Take her to my quarters. We’ll see if she’s telling the truth.”

The soldiers move quickly, surrounding and unarming me. “What if I’m not?” I ask.

The Morrigan shrugs and waves Anita to join her. “It doesn’t really matter one way or the other. You’re here. You’re unprotected. Your world is crumbling as we speak.” She steps toward me, so close I can see the faintest cracks beneath the surface. A piece of gray hair. The thinnest of wrinkles. She smiles, linking one arm with Anita and one with my own. I fight the urge to recoil at her touch. “This way will be a lot more fun.”

Chapter 35

Morgan

The room is similar to my other one, but up in the highest floors of the castle along the same corridor as the queen. Just before I enter the room, Anita slips into her own chambers, adjacent to mine. I pause, noting that a soldier remains outside her door. I have no doubt mine will be guarded as well.

This one, unlike the other, has an arched window. I walk over and take a look out. The barren landscape of the Otherside sprawls for miles. Nothing but death and decay exists where the eye can see. I lean out, smelling the sulfur and rot, and know this is what the Morrigan wants to do with my world. Trash it with hatred and bitterness. Little does she know that miles underground, life and love and happiness flourishes.

She’s not as powerful as she thinks she is.

I flick my wrist, extending my nails. But that’s not all. The black mists that the Morrigan controls slither from my hands and around my ankles. With the strength of my men rolling through my veins and the conviction of an entire realm at my back, all I have to do is hold her off, keep her appeased until my Raven Guard can return with an army.

Then, we will be prepared to take this world back and stop her reign of terror, once and for all.

Hope you enjoyed Onyx Eclipse! The next and final installment of the series, Midnight’s End will be available on Amazon in early 2018! It’s currently on pre-order, HERE.  Make sure you join my Facebook group or mailing list for updatesand announcements about future books, sales and a little bit of fun!

Dear Lovely Readers!
Thank you for coming on this journey with me! It’s been a fast ride and I can’t believe we’re nearing the end (TBH, if you know me, there’s no such thing a real end. Just a new ride to enjoy!) I know our heroine and her heroes are still in dire straights! I’m hopeful they can solve their problems, save the world and keep their love together as their trials continue.

It’s late where I am and I’m desperately trying to get this book submitted so let me do a quick thank you! To AngstyG for the fantastic cover. To VCedits for her tireless work fixing my millions of errors. To Jennifer and her beta help—keeping me straight and in line! To the Chat Group With Pep! For indulging my ranmblings about Riverdale, book teasers and harrassments about ARCs. And to all the fantastic friends in The Raven Queen’s Harem Facebook group (click that link to find us!) you make my social media days a little bit brighter! Thank you for all your support!

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)

Onyx Eclipse (Part 5)

*Raven’s Gift (Holiday Novella)

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