Chapter 14
Morgan
Under the guidance of the handsome blond man, Maverick twists the door knob. The ravens screech overhead, angered by her actions, but the surge of power between her and the door feels right.
Something finally feels right.
The lock gives, springing inside, and she feels the click of release. Maverick tilts her head to look at the ravens flying overhead. She can barely hear them now and their bodies look like nothing more than shadows. The man’s hand comes down on her shoulder. “It’s time, Maverick. Open the door.”
With a firm grip on the knob, she does just that, pushing it forward until she can see to the other side. A veil of gray shrouds the distance, but the cold is unmistakable. Black tendrils of smoke weave around her ankles and the air smells of wet ash.
She steps forward, leaving the sunlight behind, and jumps when the land crunches beneath her feet. The girl bends and touches what appears to be stone covered in soot, but it only takes a moment to know it’s bone.
A wave of nausea rolls in Maverick’s stomach.
She looks to the man and says, “What happened?”
“You’ve opened the gates of Hell, sweetheart.” The beautiful man’s face shifts, eyes turning black and skin melting away. “Welcome back.”
Maverick screams…
The sound echoes in my ears and bounces across the room. I wake covered in a thick layer of sweat.
“No, no, no, no,” I cry, jumping out of bed. I brush my ankles to get rid of the smoke.
There’s no smoke. No ash. I blink, taking in the fact I’m in my room at Nead mansion. I’m not even sure when I came back up here. After midnight for sure.
Confusion and fear cling to my throat and I race to the window. I brace myself for destruction, for the kind of annihilation in my dream (memory?) but the city below functions like normal. Taxis and buses zip down the road. Green, thriving trees fill the park. People walk in that brisk, city way of theirs.
I lean against the window sill and rub my face and eyes.
Jesus, what a nightmare.
Across the room on the bed I spot my journal, open with a pen in the crease. Pushing back the blankets, I grab the book and flip through the last pages, ignoring the lingering feeling in my gut.
She looks to the man and says, “What happened?”
“You’ve opened the gates of Hell, sweetheart.” The beautiful man’s face shifts, eyes turning black and skin melting away…
I’d written it—not just dreamed it. I run a hand down my face. It had been so real.
A knock on the door draws me from going back down the rabbit hole. When I open it, Davis stands on the other side. “You have a visitor.”
“Now?” I look down at my pajamas. “Who?”
“Ms. Anita Cross.” His eyes linger on my neck. “Should I ask her to leave?”
I reach for the spot, remembering Sam’s mouth being there the night before. “No, give me five minutes. Ask her to wait, please.”
I pass the journal and snap it shut, as if that will keep the darkness away. In the bathroom I lean into the mirror and look at the dark bruise on my neck. Dammit, I think, reaching for my makeup. He fucking marked me.
*
At the bottom of the stairs Davis stops me and says, “I escorted Ms. Cross to the library.”
“Thank you, Davis.”
“I also have a package for you.” He holds out a small purple box. “Damien asked me to deliver it to you.”
I look at the square box. It’s not heavy and I tuck it into my jacket pocket and thank Davis again.
On the way to the library I hear voices in the kitchen. Damien and Sam from the sound of it. My stomach flips just hearing Sam’s laughter. What he did to me last night. Wow.
Anita walks around the library, eyes skimming over the books. She’s around my age but with light hair instead of dark. She’s tall with curvy hips and a pronounced bust. A flare of possessiveness ignites and I shut the door behind me. I don’t want the boys to see her.
They’re mine.
Anita turns when the door clicks shut and I shake off the desire to toss her from the house. “You must be Anita,” I say with a plastered grin. What the hell has come over me? “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was up late and finally crashed.”
“No worries,” she replies. Her own grin seems genuine. “I was just looking around this amazing library.”
“The Nead Mansion is the gift that keeps on giving. I’m very lucky to have won the scholarship.”
“Professor Christensen showed me your submission. Luck had nothing to do with you winning. You’re an amazing author.”
We’re a study in contrasts—me and Anita. Besides the hair color, she’s wearing a sleek, gray, pencil skirt that accentuates her curves. Her white, form-fitting blouse reveals an ample view of her cleavage. And her hair is perfectly straight in a way I didn’t even know was possible.
I stand across from her in ripped jeans and a hoodie with nothing but a bra underneath. The jacket is zipped to my chin in an attempt to hide the bite marks from my housemate.
“Well, he told me some amazing things about you, too,” I say, which is a bit of a stretch. “I can’t wait to get started and review your work.”
“Oh, that’s why I stopped by today. To drop you a copy of my manuscript. I figured I’d give you a head start on reading it, then at our first ’official’, she uses air quotes, “meeting, we’ll both be on the same page.”
She opens up her satchel and pulls out a thick, bound sheath of paper. A flash drive is affixed to the cover. “Paper and digital. Whichever you prefer.”
I take the heavy materials from her. “Awesome.”
The box from Damien holds my attention—as well as keeping Anita away from the others in the house. I pause at the door, listening for voices, but quickly escort her to the front door, where Davis waits, ready to usher my guest out.
“Next week?” she asks. I nod. We’ve agreed to meet at least once a week. I clutch the manuscript she gave me. That means I’ll have to find time to read this whole thing before I see her again. “You’ll send me your updates?”
“As soon as possible. I promise.”
After she leaves I turn and find Bunny standing one floor up, watching our exchange. The weird flicker of jealousy returns and there’s something in the look we share, like he knows what I’ve been doing with the others. Sam did say there are no secrets in this house.
My hand brushes against the box Davis delivered to me from Damien and I look down. When I search for Bunny again, he’s gone; whatever moment we shared has passed.
“I’ll be outside,” I say to Davis as though he’s keeping track. He probably is for all I know but he replies with a, “Yes, ma’am,” and I walk back through the library and out the back doors. I pass the couch and unlit fire pit from the night before and touch the spot on my neck.
What am I doing? These men and their good looks and unconditional support have me rattled. The commitment to their craft and unmistakable sexual energy is difficult to ignore. I will myself to stop, but it’s like a craving I can’t control. I keep walking toward Damien’s workshop, carrying the box in my hand, feeling a distinct tug between my navel and the man I know is inside.
“Hey,” he says as I cross the threshold of his sweltering studio. It’s not a question. He doesn’t seem remotely surprised to find me in his doorway.
“You left this for me?” I hold up the box and he puts his tools down on the table. He’s not wearing his apron, but a ripped and faded pair of cargo pants and a black shirt with the sleeves torn off.
“Yes, I made it for you. Do you like it?”
“I haven’t looked at it yet.”
He frowns and walks over, taking the box from my hand. It opens with a slight creak and inside is the most beautiful silver and gold ring I’ve ever seen.
“You made this?”
It’s a stupid question. It’s obvious and I’ve seen his work. But to be given something so exquisite…it renders me speechless. Damien fills the silence by removing the ring from the box and taking my hand. He slips the ring on my finger—my ring finger—and it’s a perfect fit—almost as if it molds to my finger. A spark of electricity jolts through my body as the metal warms to my skin and I feel charged.
I feel aroused.
The worry and jealousy with Anita earlier vanish and I look up into his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Never take it off, Morgan.”
“I won’t.”
His hand reaches for my neck and he thumbs the spot where Sam left his mark. I should be embarrassed but I’m not. I feel something different, a deep need. Not the kind I experienced with Sam.
“Sam…” I start but he cuts me off.
“I know all about you and Sam. The house quaked when you orgasmed last night, Morgan. Your power and your energy are barely contained.”
It’s a fucking weird thing to say but I know that he speaks the truth. I felt a tremor when I came on the back porch. I saw the knowing in Bunny’s eyes earlier in the hallway. We’re all linked and I have no doubt I’m the conduit.
I reach my fingers into the waistband of Damien’s pants and tug him close. His eyes search mine and I tilt my head upward. He responds by placing both hands on my face and kissing me hard.
Emboldened, I move my hand to the front of his pants and feel the hard lengthening of his erection beneath the fabric. His kisses turn frantic and his hands leave my face to graze down my shoulders and arms.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, dipping his hands around my backside. I want him. All of him, but I also feel the urge to control. To take. I thumb the button on his pants.
Damien backs into the work table, tools and instruments scattering in the process. I tug his pants down, revealing the enormity of his size. This isn’t my first time doing this. I’m a virgin, not a prude, but the sheer size flusters me until I look up and Damien rubs his thumb over my lip.
“You’ve got this, babe,” he tells me, and it’s the most awkwardly wonderful thing to say. It’s like he knows. Like all the others, they know my heart and desires. My needs.
I do have this.
With a strong push against his chest, Damien falls back, leaning his elbows against the counter and I take him in my hand, stroking the velvet tip. He groans in approval.
I lick my lips and kiss him before dropping to my knees. His hand moves to my hair and with a tentative lick I feel a different type of power course through my veins.
I am invincible.
I am complete.
These men are mine.