Chapter 8
Morgan
Davis, the butler at The Nead, waits for me in the foyer when I arrive at home. He hands me a tray of lunch. I thank him and he adds, “Don’t forget your appointment with Master Dylan at one o’clock.”
“Sharp,” I say, rolling my eyes and shoving a piece of cheese into my mouth. “Got it.”
Although there’s nothing specific to confirm this, I’m getting the feeling Dylan is trying to push me away. It’s stupid. He’s the one that broke the news about me being the Morrigan and about the need for me to find a mate. He understands the importance—as much as anyone else. Except when I’m with him it’s all history and business and death and war. As I approach my door, I know that even though we haven’t crossed any intimate barriers with one another, it’s going to happen. It has to. Soon.
Maybe today.
Quickly, I shower, rinsing off the sweat and grime from my bus ride. My mind wanders to the assignment given to me by Professor Christensen. Anita’s book has three main characters—each seemingly lucky to have survived the deadly virus that wiped out a huge portion of humanity. They take on roles of leadership as communities rebuild. One female and two males. They fight over her affection and the glory of producing the first heir to their new world.
I lather and wash my hair, feeling the suds drip down my body. It brings to mind my dream on the bus. The feeling of all the men touching me at once. Five men.
What have I gotten myself into?
I rinse out the shampoo and turn off the water. I only take a few seconds to dry off and slip into the closest thing: a black and white print sundress. The straps are made of thick, glossy ribbon that tie in a criss-cross in the middle of my back. The dress doesn’t require a bra but I do find a pair of black lace panties in the top drawer. Once things heated up between me and the guardians I made a trip to the nearest lingerie boutique. It seemed necessary.
The clock by my bed says 12:57 and I do not want to incur Dylan’s wrath again. With damp hair and zero makeup, I grab my homework and leather-bound notebook before racing up the stairs to Dylan’s quarters.
I run into Bunny at the top of the stairs. Fully aware that I’m pushing the time I grab him by the arm and ask, “Do those runes have any side effects?”
He frowns. “Like what?”
“Dreams? Fevers?”
“It’s possible,” he replies. His clothes are covered in paint and there are two blue smudges on his cheek under his glasses. “Did something happen?”
“Not bad.” No, that dream wasn’t bad. It was…just a lot. “Honestly, I was probably just tired. Things have been a little hectic.”
A line of concern slashes across his forehead. “If you need to slow down, say something to Dylan. He’ll understand.”
I glance at my watch. 12:59. “Shit, I gotta go.” I lean over and give him a quick kiss on the lips, feeling a bit of my anxiety burst. God, these men are better than Xanax. “Bye!”
Running down the hall, I notice Dylan has left the door ajar once again. I step over the threshold right at one p.m.
“I made it,” I say, walking into the main study. Dylan leans over a table, his eyes focused on a book. “Hello?”
He glances at the empty chair across the table from him. “Sit. Get out your assignment.”
I follow instructions, pushing back the heavy wooden chair and flipping through my book. The room is silent—there’s not the constant strain of music like in Clinton’s room or the gym. Nor the hum of machinery from Damien’s workshop out back. Sam is eternally talking. To himself. To me. To the images in his photographs. And Bunny is so engrossed in his paintings sometimes you forget he’s there entirely.
Dylan’s presence is unmistakable. He’s the sentry, of course, the first of my guard. He’s always been there to make sure I’m safe and there are no predators or dangers around. Even in the silence it’s impossible to ignore him. His size. His face. The assured confidence that rolls off his body.
“Did you complete your reading?” he asks, finally looking at me. His eyes take in my still-wet hair and plain face. Unlike the others that brighten when they see me, Dylan’s expression is indifferent.
“Yes.” I push the book forward to reveal the page. The books in Dylan’s library go much deeper than any account of the Morrigan’s history via an internet search, or even the university’s well-stocked library. “According to the lore, the Morrigan was not always so angry. She had a happy childhood but she did have the heart of a warrior. Which is why she was smitten with the Cu Cuchulainn. She thought they could run the battlefield together.”
Dylan watches me as I speak.
“Cu didn’t believe a woman could match his strength, but he did find the Morrigan’s body worthy of a tryst. They made love by the river bank—one that soon would flow with blood from the battle—and when they united, she thought they would be partners forever.”
“Then he rejected her,” Dylan says.
I point to a passage in the book. “He took her virginity—then her heart. He mocked her desire to fight side-by-side. He left her, stole from her, abandoned her, and that’s when something fragile and dangerous in her broke.” I look into Dylan’s brilliant blue eyes. “She summoned her rage. And the ravens followed. She sent the birds to be a harbinger of death so Cu would understand his fate was sealed. Then she turned on his army and slaughtered them on the battlefield. The blood from the slain men soaked in her feet, building a force of rage that scorched the world and blocked out the sun. The land turned barren. The sky an ashy gray. The gods shut down the entry points between worlds, locking that one away from this one.”
Dylan leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Throughout history the barriers have been weakened and broken, allowing the essence of the Morrigan to cross over. The black plague was one time. The Spanish flu was another. The sickness sometimes infected individuals directly. Attila the Hun. Franco. Genghis Kahn. Queen Mary. And of course, Hitler and Mussolini.”
“Wait, the sickness infected them and turned them into mass murderers?”
“Yes. Sometimes it took decades to stop either the actual illness from wiping out humanity or the people that carried the virus.” He sighs. “The difference now is that that same sickness is inside of you, Morgan, and the gods anticipated it. They gave you the five of us as your guardians. Only we have the strength to tolerate the pain and aggression that builds up inside.”
“But only one of you is my true mate.”
“Yes.” His jaw tics. “Eventually, the ones not chosen will leave for new assignments.”
Leave? I don’t like the idea of that at all.
I push back my chair and walk across the room to the expansive wall of windows that looks out over the city. The sky is a bright blue. The park below a vivid green. I feel Dylan behind me, a charged current passing between us.
“The whole thing is very surreal,” I finally say.
“I imagine it’s hard to comprehend. The gods blessed you with snippets of the Morrigan’s memory and the ability to write them in your book. Just as they have done the same with the guardians and their skills. It’s so important that you’re strong enough, because the time will come when you’ll be tested. It has happened to each one of those leaders I mentioned. Do you realize that most of them came from lower positions in society? Regular soldiers. Peasants. Failed students. Pathetic leaders of rebellions. Yet they all lit a spark in their followers. That spark is the Darkness.”
“And one day it will come for me?”
“Again. It already has once. That day behind your family’s home. The day your parents died. We shut it down, but other opportunities will arise. Soon.”
I know the warning is true. I feel it in the way my skin itches. The way my stomach twists with constant desire. Still staring out the window I ask, “Why won’t you touch me?”
“Excuse me?”
“You haven’t touched me, Dylan. Not like the others. If it’s so important for me to pick a mate—test your strength—and control the Darkness, then why haven’t you stepped up to the plate?”
He pales, making his eyes seem brighter and jet-black hair darker. “I’ve been focused on your studies. Have the others not fulfilled your needs?”
“Some of them,” I reply. “But you know exactly how I’m doing. We’re all tuned in to one another. You feel what I feel. Something is holding you back and I’d like to know what it is.”
For the first time in weeks I see the flicker of real desire in Dylan’s eyes. In an attempt to be patient I bite my lip and wrap my arms around my waist. The neckline of my dress plunges just enough to get an eyeful of cleavage. His eyes skim my flesh. I won’t throw myself at him. We’ll have to come to an understanding and right now I can’t figure out what’s going on in his head.
To my surprise, he reaches for me and thumbs my bottom lip. In a sudden, unexpected rush he says, “You’re the most alluring woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, Morgan.”
“Then why don’t you want me?”
In the next moment the tall, muscular man looks inexplicably vulnerable. “I want you more than you can imagine. You’re like the fire of a thousand suns and I’m a tiny moth with no hope but to burn my wings. You’re like a gallon of wine for a man dying of thirst. You’re the stars that guide a sailor home.”
His words sound like poetry, but other than the hand that moves from my mouth to my neck, he still hasn’t moved an inch.
I inhale and say, “Let me guide your way. Let me quench your thirst. I’m here for you just like you’re here for me.”
“I can’t.” He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
This time I do make the first move. I step forward and grab him by the front of his shirt, wrinkling the fine, blue linen. I tug him downward, pulling him into a reluctant kiss. His lips are hot as fire, his breath sweet like honey. He caves just an inch and his strong hands cinch around my waist.
Dylan’s hips brush against my belly and I feel the hardness beneath the fabric of his pants. There’s no mistaking his want. So something else is holding him back. I pull myself away from his mouth and ask again, “Why are you afraid?”
He presses his forehead against mine and his jaw tenses. Just when I think it’s a lost cause he says, “You entice me, Morgan. Like no other in any other time or place. You ignite a hunger in me that I worry I cannot control.” His lips move to my neck and he kisses a fiery trail from one side to the other. “I don’t want to just make love to you. I want to consume you. I want to plunge deep inside and leave a mark. I want to fuck you senseless. I want to claim you.”
“Is that so different from the others?”
“No,” he replies gruffly. “It is the same, but I’m different. I don’t have the control they do.”
“I don’t believe you,” I can barely hear my voice over the hammering of my heart.
He lifts my chin and says very slowly, with incredible intent, “I will break you, Morgan. You are not ready for my passion. I will tear you apart.”
Those words. That declaration. Jesus. I step back, unsteady on my feet.
His expression is instantly remorseful. “I’m sorry. The truth is too much.”
I look up in his eyes.
“You don’t get to tell me what I can handle, guardian.”
“What?” His eyes are wide with confusion.
I place a hand on each hip and gesture to Dylan’s favorite reading chair. “Take a seat and get ready to do your fucking job.”
My sentry. The leader of my guard does exactly as he’s told, lowering himself into the chair with a noble grace.
I move before him and prepare to show him exactly how strong I am.