Chapter 10
Morgan
Late afternoon sun warms the window seat. I’ve got my notebook in my lap and I’m struggling with the assignment given to me by Professor Christensen. It seemed easy at the time; three questions for the main characters of each other’s books. Anita’s book has a character, a young man named Cass. He’s the son of an original survivor—a very powerful man—whose family has created a dominant class in their post-apocalyptic world. Cass does not see eye to eye with his tyrannical father and he’s heir to the throne. On his father’s deathbed he’s told that their power comes from a magic source. Cass must decide if he’s going to use the power the same as his father did or toss it aside altogether and become one with the people.
With my pen, I scribble down a few questions:
Does Cass have the strength to survive with ordinary citizens?
Will the people even accept him as one of them?
Who will take over if he steps down from the throne?
My stomach rumbles and I check the time. Dinner is in ten minutes. With every encounter, the table becomes a little more intimate. The earlier activities with Dylan provides another link in the chain. I’ve tested them all and I’m not closer to finding a mate than I was when I started. Each of my guardians is worthy. They’re talented and smart. Strong and capable. They put my needs and safety first.
There was no condition that I had to lose my virginity to my mate. I’d clarified that in an awkward and abrupt conversation with Dylan two weeks ago. But it still seemed like the right thing to do, so I held off. How would I even decide which man was to be my first real lover? They’re all equally compelling and proving themselves quite skilled sexually.
Although I’d still done nothing more than a little dry humping and making out with Clinton, I’ve experienced enough with them all that it seems even more likely I’ll have to make a wild guess as to who will be the first.
I walk to the bathroom and drag a comb through my curly hair. My lips still look a little enlarged and my cheeks carry a red tint from the encounter with Dylan. I’d never known a man so stubborn. He certainly brought out my rebellious side and I loved seeing him crack under pressure and just let go. I smile at my reflection. That had been delicious. He had been delicious.
I hear a knock at the door and rest my hairbrush on the counter. I slip on my shoes and find Sam waiting outside the door. He looks amazing, as always, even dressed in his causal knee-length shorts and button-down shirt. Tonight the shorts are a dark navy blue and the shirt a preppy-plaid. His warm, brown skin makes his green eyes shine. His hair is tied in a knot at the back of his head.
“Ready for dinner?”
“I am, thanks for waiting for me.”
He exhales and I see a glimmer of exhaustion. “I’ve been in the studio all day. I needed to see someone else. Lucky for me, the most beautiful woman in the house lives down the hall.”
I snort. “I’m the only woman in the house.”
He frowns. “What about Sue? She’d take offense to that.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
That earns me a grin and he links his arm with mine. Sam escorting me to our mandatory dinner has become a tradition—one I like. Slowly I’ve come to appreciate each of the men for their individuality, and Sam, at the end of the day, is probably my very best friend in the house.
A friend with benefits, but a friend all the same.
“How was your meeting with your professor today?” he asks as we arrive in the foyer.
“Good. I was just working on an assignment. He’s determined to have me and my critique partner work more together. She’s coming here on Thursday.”
“Here?”
“Yes, we’ll meet in the library.” But his question makes me pause and I hold on to his elbow. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you guys have any friends? People you work with? I know you all slip off occasionally at night. Where are you going?”
“That’s a lot of questions, Morgan.”
“I’m just curious. I’ve never seen any of you speak to someone outside of the house before. Are you not allowed?”
“We’re not hermits,” he says, but his eyes are guarded and Professor Christensen’s comment about rumors of their activities lingers in my mind. “I shop for supplies—meet models in the park and shoot photography all over the city. I know the others do, too. We’re just dedicated to protecting you and everyone else. There’s not a lot of time left for socialization. We have one another—and you.” He gives me a wistful grin. “Although I could definitely go for a night out at the pub, you know?”
“Maybe we could go sometime?”
He links his fingers with mine. “Maybe.”
We enter the dining room. Clinton waits at the door and I give his hand a squeeze as we pass. The others wait, with drinks in hand, near their seats. I greet Bunny across the table and run my hand over Damien’s shoulder. Dylan watches my every move, waiting for me to take my spot at the head of the table. I’ve quickly learned that my guardians are sticklers for old-fashioned manners and never sit before I do. Sam pulls out the chair for me and I take my seat. The others follow.
Sue and Davis arrive with dinner, a steaming pan of lasagna, salad, and buttered bread. Generous glasses of red wine sit before each of us and I’m not shy about taking a drink. It’s been a long, complicated day.
The vibration coursing through the room tells me that everyone is aware of what happened between me and Dylan. Talking sex isn’t polite dinner conversation, so I dig around for a little guardian history.
“I have a question,” I say, allowing my pasta a moment to cool. “How did you become guardians anyway?”
Looks are exchanged down the table. No one answers right away so I fix my attention on Dylan. There’s no doubt he knows the answer. He takes a long gulp of his wine and says, “Mythology says we were created from the blood, bone, and ash left on the battlefield from your people.”
“The ones the Morrigan slaughtered?” That idea leaves an uneasy feeling in my bones. She killed them and then the gods bound them into an eternity of servitude?
“She was betrayed,” Clinton says, the muscle in his jaw tensing. “Cu Cuchulainn let the Darkness loose. Our ancestors were the victims. The gods created us to make sure it never happened again.”
I rest my fork on my plate, my appetite gone. “How long have you actually been alive?”
“Alive?” Bunny asks, his expression full of wonder. “It seems like since the beginning of time. First as blood. Then bone. Later, tears and ash. I lay on the ground, buried among the charred remains of death. A god scooped me up and placed me in his pocket. For a millennia, I settled in the warmth until he remembered I was there. He held me in his palm and blew his breath on me, like a strong wind, and I scattered amongst the clouds. Rain dropped me to the ocean until I was pushed and pulled into the waves of hurricane. The god declared me ready, snatched me from the air and molded me in his hands. I returned in the form of a raven, my mission set in my mind: Protect the world from the Darkness and the Darkness from herself.”
The entire table has taken a quiet, somber feel. I look at each guardian. “Did the same happen to each of you?”
“More or less,” Sam replies. “It was an honor to be chosen and created by the hand of a god.”
A lump forms in the back of my throat. “You don’t blame me—her—for this at all?”
A choking sound comes from Damien and it takes a moment before I realize he’s laughing. “I don’t think you understand what a gift it is to serve in this capacity.” His violet eyes flash passionately. “We’re blessed. Guarding you—providing an outlet for your energy and power. There is nothing more fulfilling.”
“We were a speck,” Clinton adds. “The gods made us a force.”
“Serving me and my--” I swallow, “--needs, cannot be that great.” I mean, I haven’t picked a mate. I won’t let them have sex with me—yet. The whole house is a ball of tension.
Dylan leans forward, elbows on the table. “You do not understand the extent of our abilities, Morgan. We’re more than what you’ve seen.”
“Then show me! You’re each amazing with your talent and art, but there’s something deeper inside. I can feel it.” I take a deep breath. “I feel it in your touch. In your bodies. You’re so strong.”
Expressions of pride settle on the faces of my guardians. Oh boy, they liked that. Dylan is the one to reply for the others. “It’s a double-edged sword. We are strong. We are beyond capable. And we do hone our skills each and every day. But if we have to show you what we can do, then we’ve failed.”
“Why?”
“It means the Darkness has slipped by us and the gates of hell have opened.” He gives me a hard look. “Don’t ask for something you can’t take back.”
I nod in understanding. For all their tough bravado, these men are playing with fire—me—and if they’re not careful they will set off a bomb they can’t contain. I pick up my fork in an effort to change the subject and move on with dinner.
What I don’t tell them is that during Bunny’s story, listening to the pain and the wonder of the gods’ decisions, the rune over my left breast burns like the fire of a thousand suns.
And I like it.