Chapter 5
Morgan
A small break is worked into my schedule between my appointments with the men in the house. Originally I thought it was just good time management. Like a break between classes at school. I’ve learned over the last week that these small respites are mostly used to shower. I spend half the day covered in either sweat from training or the lingering scent of sex. The men, astonishingly, don’t seem to mind, but I think it’s awkward. The whole sharing one another concept seems strange, even if they don’t think so.
After my encounter (that’s what I call them, because “after my epic orgasm” sounds weird) with Bunny I rush downstairs for my second shower of the day. My phone chimes the instant I cross over the threshold of my room.
Shannon, the screen says. A photo of my best friend from college smiles back at me.
Shit.
I won’t even deny it. The first month I was in New York I barely thought of my friend. I missed emails and texts. I ignored phone calls, but two days ago Dylan reminded me of the importance of keeping up with family and friends.
“I don’t have any family,” I snapped back, feeling slightly defensive. “I killed them, remember?”
He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t kill them, Morgan.”
No, but when I was a teenager I let the Darkness past the gate. My parents were the victims of the toxicity that followed. Luckily the ravens—my guardians—were nearby and shut the entry point. It was too late for my parents but at least no one else suffered.
“When your friends call, engage with them. It’s normal. It’s healthy.”
“What do I tell her?” I asked, specifically thinking of Shannon. “That I’m too busy fucking around with five guys to return her call?”
His jaw clenched. “We’re not fucking around.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Dylan was right. He and I were definitely not fucking around. He’d barely touched me. The others? Sure, there was no actual fucking, at least not yet, but a lot of everything else. “Fine. I’ll answer the next time she calls.”
The phone vibrates in my hand. Now is that time.
I swipe the screen. “Shannon?”
“Holy crap, Morgan. You finally answered!”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” I walk down the hallway to the bathroom. My eyes widen when I take in my appearance. My hair is wild. The makeup under my eyes is smeared and my neck is blotchy from Bunny’s lips.
I can’t even imagine what my inner thighs look like.
“I’m the worst kind of friend,” I say, feeling a wash of guilt that isn’t just about Shannon. Juggling five guys is not normal for me, even considering the supernatural implications.
“I’ve just missed you,” she says. “I miss college. Adulting sucks.”
“How is your job?” I ask. Shannon has a degree in dance and music theory. So naturally she’s teaching dance camp to three-year-olds.
“Exhausting. Why did my parents let me get such a worthless degree?”
I laugh because even my creative writing degree is a crapshoot. I just lucked out and got into a graduate program. There’s no assurance I’ll ever make a dime from my writing. “I’m sure it will all work out. So tell me how things are going back home.”
Shannon launches into details about our small group of friends, most of whom I haven’t thought of since I left. Living in New York, writing all the time and then discovering I’m some kind of goddess who has the power to take down humanity has kept me distracted.
“I saw Ryan the other day,” she says.
“Ryan?” I ask, hardly paying attention. Seriously, I’m the worst kind of friend. I’d dropped my pants and inspected my legs. The runes are still gone but a large, pinkish hickey is forming on the soft flesh of my upper thigh.
“You know, the hipster-hottie from the school paper you were sort of dating before you left?”
“Duh,” I say. “The train was ratting by. I just didn’t hear you. How’s he doing?”
“Not much—he got that internship at the Atlanta Journal.” She pauses. “I think he misses you, too.”
I almost laugh. “Shannon. He does not miss me.”
“No, seriously, Morgan. I saw him the other night. He asked about you.”
“We didn’t even part on the best of terms, you know.” I think of Ryan and his little hipster glasses and thick beard. I crushed on him hard even though he was a bit of a douche about my writing. Too whimsical and juvenile. The image of that boy back in college compared to the men living in his house? Talk about juvenile. I bite my tongue and say, “Ryan’s great, but I don’t think I’m interested in a long distance relationship.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Shannon?”
“Oh my God. You met someone!”
“What? No.”
“You did!” she shouts. I hope she’s inside. “I can hear it in your voice. Tell me all about him.”
Tell her? I fight back a real laugh this time.
Tell her about him?
Or rather them.
How do I even begin to explain what’s happening in this house? In the world, even? How do I suggest that I’ve got a smidge of goddess in my soul and she’s not a good one? Hell no, she’s the Queen of the Ravens, the Goddess of War and wrathful as hell. With the energy and power coursing through me right now I’d chew up a guy like Ryan and spit him out.
I take a deep breath and say, “There’s no guy. I’m just busy. Living the city life, you know? Studying and working my ass off. Figuring out how to live with a bunch of housemates. It’s just crazy and there is no time for a relationship right now.”
“Housemates?” Shannon was my roommate for four years. I’m not surprised she’s curious.
“Yeah, five guys.”
“You’re living with five guys.”
“Are they hot?”
I drop in the chair in my sitting room and lean back against the pillow. Dylan told me I needed to keep in touch with my friends. So that’s exactly what I do.
*
“You’re late,” he says when I finally get to his room. The door is ajar, clearly left open for me to enter when I arrive. Dylan sits in a buttery soft leather chair near his attic fireplace. The ceilings are huge and vaulted—it must be freezing in the winter. A thick book rests in his lap.
“Sorry.” I struggle to catch my breath from running up the steps. “I got a phone call. From my friend Shannon, you know, the one you told me to stop ignoring.”
He raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. Everything about Dylan is perfect. He’s tall. Muscular, but not bulky. Short, jet-black hair. Brilliant cobalt eyes. Other than Clinton, Dylan is the only guardian I find intimidating. He’s smart, quick, and I lose myself when I’m near him.
“You’ve missed your lesson,” he says, ignoring my excuse. “We’ll be a day behind.” As I step closer I notice him take a sharp inhalation and his eyes narrow.
The call kept me from taking a shower and I have little doubt he smells the sex on me. I brace myself for…something. Jealousy? No, the guardians aren’t jealous. They’ve encouraged my sexual experimentation. They know better than anyone that I must have an outlet. Desire? I roll my eyes. If Dylan truly desires me I wouldn’t know. Since the true intention of me being in the house was revealed, to fight back the Darkness, he’s kept his distance. Maybe I’m bracing myself for nothing other than his judgment. His eyes are laced with opinion. Even so, he places the book on the table next to his and keeps whatever is running through his mind to himself.
“Maybe I can come back tomorrow for a make-up session.” I offer. “It’s Tuesday and other than my writing time in the morning, I just have a meeting with Professor Christensen and Anita.”
He seems to consider this. “You received your runes today?”
“Yes.” I push up my sleeve but there’s nothing to see. “Fully spelled.”
“And you had an intensive training session with Clinton this morning?”
I nod, thinking of Clinton’s mouth against mine. “Quite vigorous.”
He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I did hope to go over the Raven Wars with you this afternoon.”
“The Raven Wars?”
“The two-hundred-year battle that started with the Morrigan’s betrayal by Cu. There are lessons to be learned in the history.”
Despite my exhaustion, my interest is piqued. “Good, then let’s meet tomorrow. I’m eager to get to work.” I meet his steely eyes. “Unless you have other plans?”
I wait to see if he tells me where he and the others go on occasion. It’s not like they’re not allowed. They can leave. Predictably though, Dylan doesn’t even blink. “One o’clock sharp.”
I smile. “Perfect.”
I turn to leave but hear Dylan call my name. “Make sure you take a shower before dinner,” he says, swallowing thickly. “You smell like sex and I’m not sure the others can take it.”
I nod and quickly leave the room. As stoic as Dylan tries to be, the tight feeling in my belly tells me that the others aren’t the only ones that can’t handle the smell of sex on me for long.