Chapter Forty
Morgan
Recovery comes slow. Not just for my body but for my mind. For the harem and the new people that have entered our group. There’s a different feel to the house, with it being so crowded, but it’s also nice having people around that understand what you’ve been through—people who willingly fought by your side.
Hildi still occupies the guest room—not wanting to go back to the apartment she shared with Andi. I like having her here, having another woman in the house. My ravens are amazing, but a friend who is just a friend with zero complications? It’s a gift.
The men—the fighters that joined our army—they’ve camped out in the basement, near the training room. Davis and Sue created bedrooms down there. They keep to themselves for the most part but I’ve seen them come and go from Dylan’s room. Negotiations are in progress. They aren’t slaves, Dylan told me. But they are caught in a bit of transition. Where do they go from here? And how does he make sure they’ve adjusted to modern ways?
I’ve taken to writing again. About the Otherside and the Morrigan. I’ve shown some of my work to Professor Christensen, who thinks it should be documented. Maybe. I just like feeling the normalcy of pen on paper again.
There’s a knock on my door, firm and quick. I lay my journal on the window seat and cross the room. I open the door and find Damien on the other side, leaning one arm against the frame. He’s wearing low-slung black jeans and a long-sleeved gray shirt. A thin strip of his lower belly peeks out. My eyes linger on the scattering of hair that travels below.
When I look at his face, my heart pitter-patters. His eyebrow is raised.
“Hey,” I say, happy to see him. His smile in return confirms he’s been looking forward to our meetup as well.
I spot a fresh tattoo on his arm depicting the fight with the Morrigan. I reach for his arm and run my fingers down the ink. The heat and electricity between us crackles.
Yeah, there’s that.
In the dark place, when I was consumed by the Morrigan’s waste, the Shaman tried to tell me something. The pearl. That is the light inside of me. It wasn’t gone—just overwhelmed by the Darkness. I didn’t lose that. I carry it with me—the tiny piece of the goddess that lives inside. That piece. It burns with hope. With love.
I hold Damien’s violet eye.
And a little bit of lust.
I still need these men to balance me. They’re my mates.
He holds up his hand and shows me a sleek black helmet. “Want to go for a ride?”
“I’d love to.”
I grab my boots and slide them over my jeans. Damien comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. His lips find my throat and he showers me with warm kisses.
He spins me around and pushes my hair out of my eyes. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Thank you,” I say, kissing him on the mouth. “I’m glad you came back for me.”
He smirks. “There was never a chance of that not happening, babe.”
“Need me too much?” I ask.
He pulls my hips to his and I feel his hard length. “You have no fucking idea.”
It’s my turn to give a wicked smile. I fist his shirt and say, “Take me on a ride and bring me back and show me.”
“Deal.”
My knees buckle just having him near me, but I gain composure and lead the way to the garage. There’s one thing I’ve learned about Damien. If I hold off a little bit longer, cruise through the city with my arms tight around his body and bide my time, I’ll be rewarded with the ride of a lifetime.
*
“I told them to be nice to you.”
I dip my fingers into the salve and gently touch the bruise on Bunny’s cheekbone. He flinches but steadies himself and allows me to rub on the cream.
“You didn’t need to do that,” he says, wincing in pain. He’s on the bed, head pressed into pillows. “It’s sort of…um, a ritual.”
The Ravens beat the shit out of Bunny.
Betrayal comes with a price, even if it’s for a reason.
“It’s not the first time one of us has had to run the gauntlet.” He holds his ribs when he says it. “Dylan had to run it once. Clinton twice.”
I stare at him for a minute, not really wanting to know more than I already do about the archaic punishment system that involves sticks. A little of my concern fades when his lips twitch into a slight smile. He and his brothers are right again and that’s all that matters.
“No more secrets, okay?” I tell him. Everything we went through on the Otherside together brought us closer. We had to learn to trust one another.
“Yeah. I learned my lesson on that one.” He reaches out and grazes my cheek. “Never underestimate what you can handle.”
I take his hand and kiss his knuckles. “Same.”
I continue checking his wounds. The bruises on his ribs are dark purple. The one on his back looks painful and red. I sigh and drop his shirt. “You know, I haven’t tested my healing powers on anyone since we returned home.”
His quirked eyebrow peeks out over the frame of his glasses. “Interesting.”
“I mean, obviously I would have to be gentle.”
He nods. “I can do gentle. I mean, you know, if you’re up to it.”
I don’t tell him that I’ve been looking for a chance to be close to him again. On our own terms, without danger and obligation over our heads. I knew the opportunity would come for us—there’s been no rush.
“Let’s see if my mojo still works,” I say, genuinely curious.
I take my time peeling off his shirt. His body is still magnificent, regardless of the beating. I strip him completely, removing his pants and boxers. He’s not too injured that his body isn’t reacting and I’m pleased to see his reaction to me, despite the pain.
I crawl up the bed, kissing every bruise. I breathe hot air against his skin and his cock grows harder with every touch. His hand pushes against the hem of my shirt, nudging it higher and slipping his hand underneath. His fingers find my breast, grazing then tugging at my nipple.
“Gods, Bunny,” I mumble, feeling the sensation ripple down my body. I lay my hands on his abdomen, on the ladder of taught muscles, and miraculously the bruises fade. Just in time because I’m dying to straddle him, feel him between my legs.
Even so, we take our time, hands wandering, bodies connecting. His wounds heal, slowly fading with every touch. I shimmy out of my skirt and his fingers grip the side of my panties, tearing them off in a snap. I smile at his eagerness, the way it excites me, and I climb in his lap, wrapping my legs around his back. I kiss the wound on his cheek, the bridge of his nose and his lips. I taste his blood, suck on his tongue and cry into his mouth, begging for him to enter me.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
Better now, he stands and drags me to the edge of the bed, tapping my knee with his hand. I open for him and he looms over me, a god in his own right. He’s gorgeous, hair flopping into his eyes, jaw tight with want. His torso tapers into a muscular V, pointing at the hard length bobbing between his legs. He dips his fingers against my core, feeling, to makes sure I’m wet and ready.
I moan and writhe against this fingers, letting him know I am.
I really, really am.
I issue a prayer that he doesn’t make me wait, and thank the gods when he enters me quickly with a relieved groan. “Feeling better?” I ask as he takes a moment to stare at me, our bodies adjusting to one another.
“You have no idea how much.”
My fingers weave into the blanket covering the bed. “Don’t make me beg,” I say, pushing against him.
“Queens don’t beg,” he replies, pulling back just an inch before slamming into me.
But I do beg, not because he isn’t fulfilling my need, but because I can’t get enough. I start a chant as he plows into me, more forceful than I knew Bunny could muster. He sets up a rhythm, a mixture of hard and deliriously slow. I bend my knees and inch down the bed, feeling each hit all the way to my teeth.
His thumb grazes my clit, sending sparks across my body. All thought of healing Bunny are gone—all thoughts entirely are gone. My mind is filled with nothing but the feeling of him inside of me. The way he looks at me. How his jaw tenses with every thrust. How his knees shake as he gets closer.
Our eyes connect and a lazy smile falls across his lips. It’s mimicking my own. I feel it. I feel him. After all our struggles, the pain and distrust, I’m not just healing Bunny.
We’re healing each other.
*
Nothing gets a Southern girl more excited than snow.
And New York’s first snowfall is a doozy.
“Come outside with me?” I ask each and every one of my Ravens. They all shake their heads and mumble about other obligations. I’m starting to think they’re afraid of snow. “Really? No one?”
Hildi dashes downstairs and I’m not even brave enough to approach the Legion. Damn, those guys are terrifying.
“I’ll go,” Sam says after a long pause. “Let me get my camera.”
I wait in the foyer, dressed for a blizzard. I’m tugging my fuzzy black hat over my ears when he walks in wearing a normal jacket.
He looks me up and down. “Warm enough?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “I was thinking I may need some of those foot and hand heaters.”
“I’ll keep you warm,” he says with a smile. He’s not even wearing gloves.
We step out of The Nead and into a world of white. It’s like the sky dumped a cloud on the city. I shiver. “Seriously, aren’t you cold?”
“We’re like, half bird, Morgan. We don’t get cold.”
“You’re not a bird.”
He shrugs. “I promise we do not get cold.”
This could explain some of the reason they weren’t affected by the Morrigan’s freezing castle. I tug my scarf up over my neck and we cross the snow-covered road into the park.
Everything in sight is covered in a thick layer or ice and snow. The tree limbs, the railings. I run my hand over a pristine, snow-covered bench and gather a clump before crunching it into a hard ball.
“We don’t have this back home.” I smell the snowball. “Maybe occasionally, but it’s more of a mess than anything else.”
I look up and see that Sam has his camera out; he takes a series of photographs and I strike a variety of silly poses.
“Want to take a look?” he asks, holding out the camera.
I’m not sure I do. Not after the last images he captured. But those days are over. The Darkness is gone, the Morrigan is contained and things are even and balanced between the realms.
I take the camera and look into the screen. There’s nothing but blue sky, white snow and me looking like a dork.
“It’s really over, isn’t it?” I ask him.
His eyes are the brightest of greens and he wraps an arm around my waist. “You stopped the apocalypse, Morgan. You saved us all.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t do it alone.”
He presses his lips to mine. They’re cold. So are mine. Our tongues are hot.
“We all made sacrifices along the way, but you were the one chosen to stop her. And you did it. I’m proud of you.”
Before I can speak I hear laughter, the sound of a group of girls walking down the path. Their voices turn to a whisper and I look up to see them glancing over at us—well, really, at Sam.
When they see us looking they pick up the pace and race through the snow, across the park.
“They think you’re cute.”
He smiles. Adorably. “Jealous?”
“Should I be?”
“Only one girl has my heart.” He grabs the front of my coat and pulls me to him.
“Is it weird, that five of you have mine?”
“Not for a minute.” He lifts his palms to my cheeks and they’re oddly warm against my cool skin. “This is who we are, Morgan. Why we were made and who we will be for an eternity. The gods blessed us with the sole job of loving and protecting you.”
Snowflakes fall and one lands in his eyelash. I wipe it away. “You’re really good at that, you know.”
“At what?”
“Charming me.”
He smiles. “Well, you know the other part of it…”
“What’s that?”
“That you’re way too much for one man to handle. The gods knew this and had to send reinforcements.” His lips quirk teasingly.
I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on to him. I snuggle in the crook of his neck and say, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
I kiss the tender flesh of his throat. “For being you.”
Because he’s relaxed, he’s also unaware. I take the snowball still in my hand and crash it over his head. Ice explodes and he shouts in surprise.
“You didn’t.”
I shrug, but the glint in his eye changes to something mischievous and I turn on my heel, running for cover just as a barrage of snowballs comes my way.
I run, but I don’t really hide.
I’ve never wanted to be found so much.
*
It’s after midnight when I make my way into the kitchen. Sue has long gone to bed but there’s half a chocolate cake on the counter left over from dinner. I hold the knife over the cake and start to cut a wedge. What the hell? I move it over half an inch. What the hell. I take the whole thing.
I really like chocolate cake.
Setting the plate on the table I move to the refrigerator, looking for milk. Swinging the door open, I spot the carton.
Fuck.
It’s Dylan’s milk.
It says so in black Sharpie. I scan the rest of the shelves. Nope. Nope. Nope. No other milk.
Fuck.
Dylan is…particular. About his things. His wants. He marks his food. His books. Hell, he’s even marked me.
I glance at the cake. So moist. So delicious. It would be a waste not to eat it and a shame not to wash it down with a cold glass of milk. Without another thought I grab the carton and fill the glass. Shit. Too much, that’s like, the whole carton. I pour a little back in and maybe he’ll just think he drank it all. Sue will get him more.
I’ll leave her a note.
I sit at the table and like a bloodhound on a trail, I’ve barely got the first forkful in my mouth when Dylan walks in. Shirtless. Pajama pants low on his hips.
“Hey,” I say around a mouthful of cake. Did it just get hot in here? I turn around and take a gulp of the milk. Then another, and hide the glass under the table. Then I wipe my mouth and ask, “What are you doing down here?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d come down for a snack.”
“You never sleep.”
He shrugs and walks to the cabinet, pulling out a glass identical to mine. I shove a hunk of cake in my mouth and start to stand. I’ve got to get out of here.
The next minute passes in a blur of cake, refrigerators, and milk cartons. Dylan lifts the carton and shakes it, the little bit left swishing inside. He looks at me. I look at the door.
I bolt for the hallway but his gods-forsaken excessively long arm shoots out and blocks me in. “Did you drink my milk?”
“Hmm?”
“You know the rules, Morgan.” He points to the carton. “My name is right here.”
“It wasn’t me.”
Stares.
“Seriously.”
Harder.
“I didn’t drink your milk, Dylan.”
He doesn’t move. His eyes are narrow and I’ve never truly been afraid of Dylan. Well, at least not in a long time. We’ve been through a lot together. So much. We’ve fought and killed for one another. But now? He has murder in his eyes, directed squarely at me.
“So look…”
His eyebrow quirks. His chest and torso are very close. His arm, lean and taut with corded muscle takes up much of the space. It’s hard for me to take my eyes off of that part of his body.
“What if I did drink your milk?”
“So you drank it.”
“No.” I hold up my hands. “What if I did drink it? I’m asking…hypothetically.”
He moves his arm but still takes up the entire doorway with his wide shoulders and long body. He crosses his arms and tilts his head. “I don’t know, Morgan. Theft is a pretty big deal.”
“What if I worked off the debt?”
He looks me up and down, blue eyes skimming over my tank and shorts. “I’m listening.”
I don’t need to tell him what I’m thinking. I simply touch the fuzzy hair trailing down his lower belly. His stomach twitches but his jaw remains set.
His hand grips mine and stops me from moving any further. I look up at him curiously, but he moves with cat-like reflexes, lifting me off the ground with one arm, clearing the table with another, and dropping me on the edge.
“Lay back,” he commands.
I nod and do as he asks.
His hands find the top of my shorts and he tugs, pausing for me to lift my hips. He leans over me, mouth inches from mine and whispers, “I told you I came down for a snack.”
I wait for him to kiss me but he pulls back and vanishes. That’s when I feel his hands on my inner thighs and his mouth…
“Oh,” I gasp, feeling the warmth of his breath, the tickle of his tongue. I reach for the edge of the table. My legs hang over the side but he pushes my knees back, spreading me wider. He works his tongue, his lips, his breath. My hips raise off the ground pushing, pushing for more friction.
I close my eyes and sink into the feelings, the care and determination Dylan uses with every flick. Each stroke. But he also leaves me hanging, pulling away just as I’m tumbling over the edge. Drawing me further and further into a spiral I can’t quite catch. I hear a strange sound and it comes from deep in my throat.
I hear a sound, a sharp intake of breath across the room and open my eyes. Clinton stands in the doorway watching. Waiting. Our eyes connect and I lick my lips, knowing what it feels like to have more than one set of hands on me at once. What two mouths can do. He doesn’t move. He simply observes and it sends a shudder of pleasure down my body knowing that he’s there.
I have little doubt Dylan knows he’s there and when he gives my clit one final suck and lifts his head and nods at his fellow Raven, butterflies race through my belly. Clinton stands before me, runs his fingers down my thighs and says, “Is this okay?”
I nod. “Yes. Please.”
I hear the sound of his zipper over my heartbeat. I feel the hard tip of his cock as it teases the slippery wet of my core. I turn my head in search of Dylan and find him leaning against the counter top. There’s no mistaking the tent in his cotton pants.
Clinton lays his hands on my breasts, fondling my nipples, and my toes curl. I’m thankful that he doesn’t make me wait long, running a hand down my belly and grazing his thumb across my clit. I bite down on my bottom lip when he enters me. I glance to the side just in time to see Dylan reach his hands into his pants.
It’s a trio of sounds: deep grunts from my chest as Clinton claims me, the rocking of the table with every punch, and the short panting from my left as Dylan’s hand moves in time, pumping up and down.
Clinton’s dark hair spills into his face, his jaw is tight. His eyes focused. Dylan got me ready and I’m already teetering on the edge. The man inside of me grows frantic, lifting me off the table and pulling me to his chest. He kisses me, fucks me, consumes every inch of me. We share it all. Energy. Life. Love, and just when I think my body may break, that it may all be too much…I shatter.
And he comes, slamming into me so hard I cry for mercy.
I fall back against the table, breath ragged, Clinton still twitching inside of me, and glance over at the third member of this late night club. Dylan hasn’t come but he’s moved closer and I splay my hand on my belly. He leans down and kisses me, hard and possessive. Dark like his soul. Consuming like his passion. And he comes in an explosion of cum across my stomach. His head tilts back and his hand grips my head and fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
Yeah, I’m at a loss for fucking coherent words, too.
Clinton’s gray eyes scan the table behind me and narrow.
“What?” I ask, exhausted and unable to lift myself to see what he’s looking at.
“Did you seriously eat all the cake?”