Chapter Fourteen
Morgan
I make it home and to my suite without notice—or at least anyone stopping me. The Guardians, Dylan in particular, always seem to know my coming-and-goings. As much as I know that I need their support right now, I also need a minute alone. Just a second to breathe and get my head on straight because I expect a call at any moment. The battle is looming, there’s no getting away from it, which means it’s time for me to make my choice. Pick my mate. Gain the strength that I need and perform the spell.
That’s it.
There’s just one problem.
I still have no fucking clue who to choose.
I walk into the room and notice the heavy weight of the orb in my pocket.
The WishMaker.
I pull out the crystal ball and hold it in my hand. It’s cool against my skin and the shadows that make it seem alive flicker back and forth. If there’s anything I need right now, it’s clarity. But I’ve never used something like this, I don’t possess the ability to perform magic, and the longer I sit with it in my hand the dumber I feel.
“Like a Magic 8 ball?” I’d asked Tran in the magic shop.
I lay in the center of my bed, knees bent. My head is balanced on two fluffy pillows and I hold the orb up to the light. Feeling like an idiot, in the most reasonable voice I can find, I ask, “Who should I pick for my mate?”
Knowing no clever words or phrases will appear, I shake the ball anyway. The dark mist inside swirls around but nothing happens. Not even the figure I think I saw earlier appears.
“Too good to be true. Thanks, Tran,” I mutter, resting the orb on my bedside table. Like I was going to get out of making this decision on my own.
My phone chimes. Ten minutes to dinner and for a brief second I consider backing out. Just claiming I’m too tired from everything going on, surely they’ll give me a break? But a tug in my lower belly tells me I want to see my Guardians. That perhaps I need to see them.
*
The first sign something is weird is that Sam doesn’t come to escort me to dinner me like he normally does. The second is that the dining room is empty. No food, no Sue or Davis, and no Guardians.
I’m one second from panic when I hear laughter a few doors down. I’m in the odd hallway toward the garage—away from the kitchens and library—and I stop before a door I’ve never entered.
I hear Clinton’s booming voice and turn the knob. What lies before me is instantly intriguing. The room is magnificent; wood-paneled walls, gorgeous leather chairs, And soft-looking couches provide an intimate setting. A massive, roaring fireplace is on the far side of the room, but it isn’t hot and I suspect there’s magic at play. In fact, the more I look around the room, the more I get the sense I’m one step out of reality.
“Morgan,” Sam says with a breathtaking smile. He steps forward and links his fingers with mine. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“What happened to dinner?” I ask, taking in the men. They’re dressed in their nicest clothes, looking dashing and handsome, so much so they are a little hard to look at.
My friend and lover stares back at me with smoldering green eyes. “Uh, well,” he looks at the others. “It seemed like we could all use a break from formality tonight.”
It’s an odd statement since they all look so nice and I certainly didn’t get the memo to dress down. I’m wearing the same dress I’d had on earlier that day at the visitation. It’s not unflattering but even so, the way each man looks at me appraisingly causes the strangest sensation in my belly.
They want me.
All of them.
Now.
I’d had the thought once—the fever dream on the bus—and even in my imagination the experience was overwhelming. Five sets of hands. Their lips, mouths, and cocks. I feel my cheeks heat at the idea. Everything else in my body sets on edge.
Damien walks over and offers me a drink. I take it and swallow the liquid fast. There’s a feel of expectation in the room mingled with anticipation, but as usual, I’m in control. I know this. I love this. It only heightens my arousal.
I look around the room, taking in each of my Guardians.
Sam with his perfect face and insight.
Clinton with his solid strength.
Damien, independent and bold.
Bunny with his charm and amazing skills.
Dylan, intelligent and reserved. A silent ally.
I’ve been with each of them, one way or the other—Clinton, who ushered me into womanhood. Sam, most intimately due to our bond of friendship and his healing my wounds. Damien showed me sex can be fun and exciting. I set my eyes on the other two. Although I’ve yet to consummate my relationships fully with Dylan and Bunny, that doesn’t lessen what I know and feel about them. They’ve touched my soul.
But tonight is about something different. I feel it in the air. I feel it in my bones. I have to choose, and what we experience in this room will last with us forever. It will help me make my decision.
I turn and shut the door behind me and then face the men of my past and future.
“It’s all led up to this, hasn’t it?” I ask the room.
They each nod their approval in their own way.
“Then let’s do this.” I take a deep breath. “This is about souls. About mating. Not just about sex. That’s off the table for tonight, understand?”
They all offer agreement, although some more reluctantly than others.
“I want to taste you. Feel you,” I explain. “Let me touch you, if that’s all right?”
I sound brave but I have no idea where to start. How do I do this? I was a virgin weeks ago and now I’m ready for a semi-orgy? My hands shake and I settle them against my side. Sam, always my Sam, senses my hesitation and wraps his arms around my waist. He pulls me close and says in a whisper against my lips, “Anything you want. Anything you need. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He kisses me and at first all I can think of is that the others are watching. I feel the hard length in his pants pressing against my lower belly. I feel the soft pads of his fingers as they stroke the bare skin on my shoulders and arms. Goosepimples rise on my arms. I feel the energy churning beneath the surface, the hunger and need I’d pushed off now for days.
I exhale, feeling a sense of relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he replies and spins me around. I stumble into Clinton’s massive arms.
His hands palm my back, tugging at the fabric of my top. He drops his head, his tongue seeking mine. His kiss exemplifies everything I know about him. Strength and confidence. I touch his stomach and feel the hard muscle beneath his shirt. My belly clenches. My core aches. It’s as though my head is spinning and spinning with each deepening kiss and when I stop to catch my breath he says, “I know you’ll choose wisely, my Queen, never doubt our loyalty.”
Before I can reply, he picks me up with those bulging arms and carries me across the room. The act is silly and sweet for such a dominating presence. I wonder for a brief moment if he’s going to simply carry me from the room, toss me on a bed and ravish me. For a quick second I almost ask him to, but instead he eases me onto Bunny’s lap, my skirt hiked up around my thighs. We’re on a wide, square ottoman, an island in the middle of the room. The warmth of Clinton’s hands releases me but I feel the elegant touch of Bunny’s fingers in my hair and his copper eyes boring into my soul.
“Hi,” I say to him, completely unaware of the others. His gaze holds me tight. The hard length of manhood presses against my leg. My resolve to only kiss these men—feel them—wavers, especially when Bunny kisses my throat, then shoulders. He presses his lips to the center of my chest, right above my breasts. My nipples harden. My panties wet. I kiss him hard and shift against the steel in his pants. I’d said this wasn’t about sex but the hunger in me doesn’t agree. I need friction. I want more.
Bunny pulls me forward with his one good hand and the move presses hard against my clit. In my ear he says, “Every day is an honor. Every breath is a gift. I love to see you laugh. To see you fight. To watch you come.”
Bunny, good lord, Bunny. He has this way. He has such an incredible intensity. I desperately want to feel him inside me. He kisses me hard, the strength rolling through every inch of my body. I climb on top of him. I lick his jaw. I only stop when he pushes me back gently and says quietly, “Not now, love.”
“But,” I start to argue, but he slips from underneath me. I’m suddenly on my knees and Damien is inches away, crawling over the leather. I perk up and meet him halfway.
“This is hard,” I confess. “Why do you all have to be so beautiful?”
He touches my cheek. “Because a Queen deserves the best. The most powerful and strong. The brightest and intuitive. Someone to make you happy in bed. Someone to fight next to you in battle. Someone that will protect your kingdom and your heart.”
His kiss is wild and brings out the feral animal in my chest. I want to run free with him. I want to strip off his clothes and mine and fuck until we’ve got nothing left. My body heats, my mind spins, and my blood boils. And just when I think things are taking shape in my mind, I feel a body behind me. I feel hands on my hips. Damien looks over my shoulder and winks at the person behind me. I hear a grunt in reply.
Dylan.
I haven’t kept track of the others when I’m with one of the Guardians and even now I find them hazy around the edges. It’s like when I’m with one, the others vanish. I sense them, but can’t see them. A veil separates us. It makes me bold.
I press my ass into Dylan’s body, finding his cock hard and ready.
He hisses this time and he steadies my body. Each of these men allows me to take control—all but this one. It’s in his nature. He’ll fight me to the end. Like Bunny, I know he won’t push it all the way tonight. He’s too proud. He wants me to make the decision based on merit—not physical prowess.
Tonight though, under the circumstances, he caves. Just a little.
I can’t see him but I definitely feel him as he pushes my hair over my shoulder. There’s the heat of his breath against my neck, followed by slow kisses over my shoulders and back. A chill runs down my spine—not the bad kind—the very, very good kind. Every nerve in my body sets on edge.
His hands run down the curve of my sides, grazing over the edge of my breasts. He grips my hips and bends me forward, until my palms are flat against the surface of the ottoman. I feel him behind me, the weight of his cock, the calculated control. I shift my ass, begging, begging for him to take me like this. I know it’s futile, he’s playing games, fucking with my mind as much as my body. The crazy thing is that Dylan knows that I like it. I want it like this as much as every other way the Guardians tease and taunt me with. I want it slow and powerful like Sam. I want it sweet and doting like Bunny. I want it carefree and fun with Damien, and I want the glorious skills Clinton has mastered.
And I want Dylan. Hard and rough. Dark and commanding.
I feel his hand twisted in my hair and he pulls me off my hands. In my ear he says, “You’re close, Morgan. So close. You feel it in your bones. In your heart. There’s one true way to break the Darkness. Only you can choose.”
I think he means that he’s caving. That he’s going to take me here on the ottoman. But his warmth vanishes and his shadow is gone. I blink and I’m alone in the room. Just me and the crackling, magic fire.