Chapter Sixteen
Morgan
Dylan is quiet as we walk across the city. For the first time since I arrived, things feel slower—it’s Christmas Eve, and even those that don’t celebrate have the opportunity to close early and head home to their families. Flurries circulate in the air—not enough to stick—but with the lights and trees and wreaths everywhere I look it finally, truly feels like Christmas.
We’re on a side street with nothing but parking garages and service entrances when Dylan suddenly stops. He gives me a tight smile and bangs on a door. A security guard answers and he looks at the two of us. He’s tall, muscular, and vaguely familiar.
“Hey man,” he says to Dylan. While they shake hands I stand awkwardly to the side. He nods at me before gesturing us inside.
“Thanks for doing this,” Dylan says once we’re inside. It’s a back hallway. A security office filled with monitors is to our right.
“No problem. It’s an honor to do a favor for one of the Guard.”
The word catches my attention and I tilt my head, trying to get a handle on the situation. Dylan senses my question and says, “This is Marcus. You may remember him from the fights. I think you saw him in the ring when you went with Clinton.”
The fights. The supernatural fights. I narrow my eyes. In a flash it clicks and I blurt, “You’re the guy with the snakes.”
“That’s me.” He smiles and claps Dylan on the shoulder. “You guys have a great night. Merry Christmas.”
Dylan nods and I say, “Thank you, Merry Christmas.”
Marcus heads back to his office and Dylan twists his fingers in mine, leading me down the hall. At the end there’s a buzz and a click. He opens the door and waves at the security camera. Marcus must be helping us along the way.
The room we enter is a large, impressive lobby. I spot a familiar-looking logo and freeze. “Dylan, are we at the Empire State Building?”
His face is blank and he nods. “They close early for the holiday. I thought you may like to go up and see the sunset.”
The lobby is shrouded in dim light. The room is hauntingly empty and I’m pretty sure the front doors are locked. “I don’t know. Won’t we get in trouble? I really don’t want to spend Christmas in jail.”
That makes him smile. “We’re not going to jail. Marcus owes me one.” He tugs my hand. “It’s not the first time I’ve been here. Come on.”
The massive elevator doors with the signature Empire State Building logo slide open and we step inside. Once we’re sealed inside and the car rises, Dylan begins to relax. I squeeze his hand and say, “Are you okay?”
The elevator whooshes past the floors, climbing higher and higher. With each number passed…98, 99, 100… the tension around Dylan’s eyes relaxes, although his hand is still stiff and tight in mine. Finally, when I don’t think he’s ever going to speak to me, he says, “I wanted to take you somewhere important to me.”
His confession surprises me. But there’s a genuineness in his expression and voice. “I can’t wait to see it.”
We arrive at the top and enter the quiet observation lobby. It feels ghostly—haunted—with no one here but ourselves. The loud click of another door unlocking draws us to the deck. Dylan opens the door. The wind howls and I feel the rush of cold, winter air. He wraps his arm around me and together we walk to the edge.
The view is magnificent. The sky and city caught in that brief moment of twilight before the sky turns dark and millions of lights brighten the cityscape. We move to the side facing the west, where shades of orange and pink streak across the sky. Behind us, lights are already dotting into the horizon. As the sun fades it’s easier to see that many buildings are lit up in the colors of the holiday. Tiny trees dot the landscape. Taxis, or rather their lit-up signs and headlights, look like flaming ants.
“I’ve never been here. It was on my list, you know, like any good tourist. But wow, it’s incredible.” I glance up at him and see his eyes scanning the city.
“As a raven I would fly up here and could see the entire city. I could track the other Guardians. I could keep my eye on you.”
I pull my eyes away from the city below and focus on the man next to me. “You’re very good at your job, Dylan.”
A faint line ghosts between his eyes. “Sometimes. I used to use my wings to get up here, but now I’m trapped in this body. Forced to use arms and legs that do not move fast enough—aren’t limber enough. It makes me question if I’m still good enough.”
“Hey,” I say, reaching for his neck. I force him to look at me. When he does I’m nearly knocked off my feet at the intensity in his sapphire eyes. “You don’t get to make that decision. You’ve been assigned to me by powers greater than the both of us. If I’m as important as you say I am, then, yeah, I think you’re up for the job regardless of physical shape.” I step closer, using his body as a shield against the wind. “This body? It’s the one that pleases me. In more ways than one. Don’t forget that.”
His eyes move to my lips and warmth builds between our bodies.
“I don’t think this is what you had in mind for a tradition. I’m sorry I’m moping. This is all hard and new for me.”
I shake my head. Every layer that Dylan pulls off shows me more about who he is—how to work with him. I consider his effort a magnificent gift. “Thank you for bringing me here. Going to all this trouble to get Marcus to let us in. It means a lot.”
He tilts his head until our foreheads touch. “I have an actual gift for you—it’s back at the house.”
“Good.” I slip my arms around his waist. “I have one for you, too.”
*
We don’t stay long on the observation deck. Sue made it clear we’re all expected at a very late Christmas Eve dinner and Dylan wants to give me my gift before then.
We slip in the front door and are met by the most delicious-smelling food from Sue’s kitchen. My mouth waters as we walk up the stairs and to the fourth floor without notice.
Dylan bolts the door behind us and I walk into his main room. On his study table is a stack of leather-bound books tied with a ribbon. I lift an eyebrow. “Are those for me?”
He lifts the stack and hands them to me. There’s no mistaking the magic infused in the pages. I tug the bow and it slithers to the ground by my feet. I open the top cover and am surprised to see the pages empty.
“It’s your journal, for documenting your history. With you spilt from the Morrigan’s Darkness, we have an opportunity for a firsthand account from a goddess. Christensen predicted it.”
“But my book—” I say, considering how I’m already writing my history.
“This is for your thoughts. Your documentation.” He reaches for the books under the journal. “These are examples of journals throughout the various battles, wars, and plagues with the Morrigan. Yours will be added for future generations. Probably the most valuable of the lot.”
Even though the books are old—ancient—they’re in pristine condition. When I open them, regardless of the language it’s written in, I find legible English. These benefits must be due to the magic, making them valuable through history.
“Thank you,” I say, resting them on the table. “I’ll treasure them and do my best to fulfill my duty as a historian.”
A faint smile twists on his lips. “I know you will.”
We have one of those moments, the kind where I feel his armor falling and I know I want to seal the specialness with him. Everything between us is a push-pull. A test. We challenge one another at all times. The books are a challenge—he always wants me to go one step further with my brain and my destiny.
Similarly, I want to challenge him by freeing his mind and his body so that he’s part of my circle of mates. Barriers down. Exposed.
I’m still wearing my coat and with my eyes glued to his, I loosen the buttons, starting at my collar. I wore a wrap dress just for this occasion, revealing it when I remove my coat and hang it on the nearest chair. The fabric clings to my body, the belt cinching at my waist. His eyes dart to my hands as they untie the belt and I expose the lingerie I purchased just for him.
“Gods,” he whispers, drinking me in. It’s a bit lavish and the bright red is opposite of my nature of wearing darker shades. My black boots soar up to my thighs, leaving only inches of skin before the lace edge of the corset begins. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in this throat, and reaches for me, touching my bare shoulder. His hand runs down my back, feeling the laced back of the corset. His fingers curl against my skin.
There’s one last thing I need to do.
“Close your eyes,” I tell him.
With a moment of loyal hesitation he shuts his eyes, fingers never leaving my body. I reach in the bag and pull out the box holding the crown Damien made me. I place it on my head.
“Open,” I say, tugging at his shirt.
Sapphire gazes down at me, struck by the ornament nestled on my head. I hear his gasp and feel the tightening of his fingers.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Is that what you want for Christmas? To strike me dead with want and desire?”
Before I can answer he pulls me into a kiss so hard and passionate I think my knees may collapse beneath me. But hard isn’t what I have planned for tonight and with regret I have to step back.