Chapter 18
Morgan
The cab stops outside a busy strip of road. A deli, a bodega, two pawn shops, and a boarded-up storefront line the sidewalk. I look at the address Anita gave me and wonder for a quick second if she’s pranking me. When I glance back at the street I spot her next to the abandoned shop, waving.
The dress isn’t easy to miss on the litter-strewn road. The bright red draws looks from pedestrians. The minute I’m out of the car Anita pulls me into a tight embrace and says, “I’m so glad you came.”
“Exactly where is this concert?”
“I’ve been reading about this new thing. Secret clubs. From the outside it looks like an abandoned building but the insides are supposed to be amazing.”
“Like a speakeasy?” I ask, referring to prohibition bars.
“Yes!” Her eyes light up. “But each one has a theme and they only last a few nights. I managed to get three tickets.”
“Three?”
She points to the boarded-up wall. For the first time I notice a familiar-looking blond. He has striking features—a narrow nose and strong chin. He looks as apprehensive to be here as I feel. His eyes burn the same color blue as the girl standing next to me and I say, “Are you related?”
“My brother!” She drags me over. “Morgan this is Xavier. Xavier this is Morgan.”
His face relaxes and his eyes drink me in. “Nice to meet you, Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about your project.”
Typically, my defenses rise. I’m never a fan of discussing my book, particularly with strangers. Xavier must notice because he tilts his head and says, “Only good things, of course.”
“Your sister is very talented,” I reply. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”
He smiles and it’s breathtaking. “I have heard that once or twice.”
“Hey!” Anita cries, tugging at his sleeve. He grins down at her and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I’m not braggy.”
“Never,” he says with a wink in my direction. “So, are we ready for this adventure or what?”
“I’m ready to get off the street,” I reply. The night air is still warm and hopefully there’s air conditioning inside.
Xavier offers me and his sister the crook of his arm. It’s weird but what in my life isn’t lately? I link my arm with his and he leans in and says, “I’ll buy you a drink to cool you off.”
Anita directs us down a small alley and takes two steps down to a rusty door. She bangs twice, smiling back at me and her brother. I glance up at him and with the street light behind his head his hair glows and I get the strangest feeling I’ve met him before.
The door opens with a creak and a well-dressed man with flaming red hair stands in the entrance. Anita hands over three tickets and he nods for us to enter.
I follow Anita down the steps and just like she said earlier, we step into something amazing—a whole different world.
“Wow,” I say, freezing in the doorway. I take the whole place in. The bar to the right, gleaming with a glossy shine. Three bartenders in bow ties and starched white shirts work behind the counter, mixing cocktails. A cluster of men and women surround the bar and small tables fill the floor space. A small stage sits at the front of the room, with a single chair in the middle. A heavy black curtain hangs behind the stage. I have no idea what sort of concert to expect, but before I can say anything Xavier has bolted for the bar and Anita is dragging me toward a table with a reserved card on top.
“This is really neat,” I tell her when I’m settled in my seat. “I had no idea places like this existed.”
“One of the perks of living in the city. So many cool things to do. After seeing that amazing historic house you live in, I thought maybe you’d like it.”
Xavier returns with three martini glasses. I don’t waste time taking a sip of mine.
“So who’s playing?” I ask.
Anita shrugs. “That’s part of the surprise. You never know. Sometimes it’s someone famous or like, undiscovered but incredibly talented. One time it was a rapper singing show tunes. Another, a Broadway star playing hard rock. It’s always something unique.”
“And after a few days they’ll close it down?”
“Yep,” she says. “And then move somewhere else.”
While we wait for the show to start I learn a little more about Xavier. He’s an investment banker—doing things that make zero sense to me even when he explains it in explicit detail. “Working on the stock floor is sheer pandemonium. I love it though. It’s a rush. The clock is ticking—numbers are flying. It’s like mental marathon every day.”
Even though Xavier is very attractive there’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it’s the ego or smug confidence. He’s exactly not my type, which after a month of living with five amazing men is a little refreshing. Honestly, just being out of the house feels good. There’s so much energy and tension between me and the guardians. I didn’t even realize how much I needed a break.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say to Anita. “I’ve been a little cooped up.”
She gives me a sly grin. “Not sure I blame you. I’ve seen a couple of those housemates. Yowza.”
Xavier makes a face but the lights dim, keeping him from any comments. The chatter in the club comes to a halt and even the people by the bar quiet. A spotlight arcs over the ceiling and lands on the chair, which, to my surprise, is now occupied.
By a familiar face and body.
Clinton sits in the chair, his cello angled between his legs. His hair is loose, swaying by his jaw, and his muscular biceps strain against the fitted, black button-down.
The crowd applauds at the sight of him, seeming to know or recognize him. They only settle back down when he lifts his bow and begins playing a deep, haunting melody.
It’s certainly not the first time I’ve heard Clinton play. His music lured me from my room weeks ago. The vibrations creep over my skin and into my soul. I may be in a packed room filled with other people but instantly I’m transported. It’s like the club around me disappears and it’s just Clinton and me. Watching him now, I remember the way his mouth feels, the way his body lights mine on fire.
His gaze isn’t on anything in particular. His jaw is tense. His fingers are deft and precise. A heavy weight moves across the room, something I now recognize as magic. Ancient and powerful. I lean forward, feeling the energy rising in my body.
Xavier shifts next to me, his arm brushing against mine. Heat tingles across my skin—fiery and alive. A powerful need—a want—shocks through my system. It’s the music. The crowd.
It’s the Morrigan.
I glance over at Xavier, who’s staring at me with hungry eyes. The Queen wants to respond, but I push her back down, calling on the lessons of the last few weeks.
I focus back on the stage. I focus on Clinton, who has the crowd so enthralled they never notice when he lifts his eyes and stares out into them. Our eyes lock. I know they do. I feel it when the runes flare. In the twist of my stomach. He can’t see me in the dark—not with human eyes—but the guardians are not exactly human and I know for certain he’s aware of my presence.
I blink and bang my elbow on the table, knocking into my glass, sloshing the contents across the top.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, breaking the magic of the moment. Anita looks at me in annoyance. Xavier stares. I stand and mumble, “Excuse me.”
I push through the tables, stepping on toes, issuing apologies. The bartender points me to the small hall in the back and I find the doors leading to the bathroom and one that has a broken exit sign overhead. The door sticks but I slam my shoulder into it and the hinges give, tumbling me into the alley.
I take a gulp of air.
“You don’t control me,” I say to the Goddess inside. I understand it now. She wields her power with an iron grip and if I don’t find a way to release the energy she’ll come forth. How? That’s the scary part. I don’t know.
The back door opens and slams into the brick wall. The energy in the air spikes and I turn, thankful that Clinton’s performance is over.
“Thank God,” I say, spinning around but it isn’t Clinton, it’s Xavier.
He understandably misinterprets my statement and lunges for me. He doesn’t wait, pressing his lips to mine. The Goddess roars, eagerly consuming the energy of the man before me. I tug the hair at the back of his neck and bite his bottom lip. He pushes his hips into mine, pinning me against the wall.
This is how it should be done, the Morrigan whispers in my ear. The rune painted over my heart flares. Feed from him.
I could devour him. I lick his tongue and absorb the energy. He’s not like my guardians. He’s different. Raw.
Dark.
The Goddess inside me cries, wanting to tear him apart.
Xavier hikes my skirt up my hips, the brick of the building cool against my upper thighs. The rough texture scrapes and I grab for his belt.
Be done with your purity. Here. Now.
“Shut up,” I tell her, knowing it’s the wrong thing to do. My brain knows this. My body—
“What?” Xavier says.
“Nothing.” I reach for him but jump when the door slams against the alley wall and a massive hand drags Xavier off of me.
“It’s time to go home,” Clinton says to the other man. Xavier looks miniscule next to him. Clinton’s steel gray eyes rake down my body—assessing me for injury.
“Hey man, back the fuck off. This isn’t any of your business.”
A dark shadow crosses Clinton’s face. The Morrigan whimpers back into her shell. Morgan takes back over and I feel the heat of the rune on my chest fade. “Xavier.” I swallow. “You should probably go.”
“What?” He looks between us. “You’re the cellist? You’re leaving me for a musician? Fucking tease.”
Clinton makes a move but I step forward, pushing him back. I grab Xavier by the chin, my nails digging into his skin. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“What? I can’t call you a tease? Please. You wanted it.”
“Maybe I did, but I don’t anymore.” I release my grip, which I can tell he notices is stronger than expected. “Just go.”
“Whatever,” he stays, stepping back. He rubs the spot on his chin where I touched him. A fiery red mark remains. “You’re not worth it.”
Clinton holds the door for him and slams it once Xavier steps back into the bar. I straighten my skirt and say, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
Without speaking, he walks me out front and waves down a cab. One appears immediately and he swings open the door, letting me in. From the street he tells the cabbie our address. I realize then that he’s staying behind.
“You’re not coming?”
He shakes his head with a small jerk, the knot in the back of his jaw twitching.
He slams the door and walks away.