Obsidian Fire Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Obsidian Fire

  Raven Queen’s Harem

  Part 4

  By

  Angel Lawson

  There’s something about freedom that heightens life’s experiences. I’m sure ice cream in prison tastes sweet, but licking a double scoop of chocolate fudge swirl on a warm fall afternoon in the middle of the world’s most amazing park is a different kind of pleasure.

  That’s what life feels like, I think, looking over at the naked man next to me. His back is broad and taut with carved muscles. His waist narrows and dips to the most perfectly curved ass I’ve ever had the opportunity to fondle. Sex with the Morrigan screaming in my head was good—epic; it thrived on a form of hunger and desire not known to most humans. A sort of insane, magical lust.

  But it wasn’t me. Not exactly.

  It was part of me. My body. My conflicted mind. My tortured soul. She tainted my heart and my spirit. She made me do things I’d never consider while making me regretfully reconsider many of the things I did.

  But not anymore, I think, brushing a small piece of hair out of the face of the beautiful guardian sharing my bed. He stirs and reaches a sleepy, wandering hand over my bare hip. The Morrigan is gone. Morgan is fully in charge.

  And I plan to enjoy life to the fullest.

  Chapter One

  One Month After the Spell

  The kitchen smells delicious, like cinnamon, and when I peek inside Sue is standing over a massive bowl of peeled apples. Thin dough is rolled out on the table and there are four pie pans floured and ready. Quietly, I slip into the room and dip my finger along the gooey edge of the bowl. I’ve just tasted the most heavenly, sugary-sweet concoction when she turns and catches me.

  “Shoo! That’s for dessert!”

  “It smells so good.” I reach out my finger and this time, she swats it.

  “It’s hard enough keeping those men fed. I don’t need to have to monitor you, too.”

  “It’s not our fault you’re an amazing cook.”

  She wipes her hands on her apron and says, “You had a visitor while you were out.”

  I frown. “Who?”

  “Someone from your advisor’s office.”

  I sigh and sit down at the table. “Again?”

  Between Xavier’s death, Anita’s weird threats, and everything going on in the house I’d had a hard time focusing on writing my book. The book that got me acceptance into the NYU graduate writing program. When I’d arrived in the city that book was all I could think about. It haunted my dreams. I thought about it all day—every day. But then I learned about my fate—my destiny—and the book seemed less and less important.

  And now?

  I haven’t written a word in weeks.

  What have I been doing? Honing my fighting skills, tracking down ingredients for a dark and powerful spell, choosing which of the Guardians would be my mate (spoiler alert: I didn’t choose. For now, it’s all five) and expelling the Morrigan from my soul. Things have been a little busy.

  I thrum my fingers on the table.

  “You better keep up with your work, Morgan, or they’ll kick you out.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “I’ve seen it happen before. All you students think you’re special, but trust me, there’s another to replace you in a heartbeat.”

  Of course I am special. Aren’t I? I carry the Morrigan, The Goddess of War, in my heart and soul. Well I did, until recently. That’s just another one of the distractions lately, losing the familiar power I’d become accustomed to. I consider what Sue is saying. Maybe I’m not special anymore. Maybe I’m just a woman who needs to focus on keeping her scholarship.

  “Did they say anything in particular?”

  “Left a package. Davis took it up to your room.”

  “Thank you. I’ll make sure to read it.” She gives me a stern look. I add, “Right away.”

  Her eyes soften and she says, “I know things have been challenging for you lately. Just stay focused. Sometimes it seems like our journey has changed but really it’s just a different path. Stay the course, Morgan. Finish what you came here to accomplish.”

  She walks over to the oven and opens the door. Using a thick pot holder pulls out a tiny, perfectly baked pie. She places it on a plate and brings it to me with a fork.

  “Let it cool.”

  “Thank you.”

  She grins. “Don’t let the boys see, okay? I already kicked them out once today.”

  I return the smile and on my way out the door say, “I won’t. I promise.”

  *

  I never planned on hiding the pie. I go straight upstairs, past the second floor and my suite on the third, heading straight to the attic. I needed something to lure him out. Something irresistible. Something sweet.

  Bunny’s been hiding from me.

  I secure the plate behind my back and knock on the door. It takes him a few minutes but when the door swings open, Bunny stands there looking adorable with rumpled clothes, messed-up hair and askew glasses.

  “Hey Bun, did you just wake up?”

  “Uh, no.” He rubs his eyes. “I’ve been working on a painting all night.”

  “You’ve been really busy lately. I’ve hardly seen you.”

  “Yeah.” He sniffs. “I really should get back to it.”

  “Okay,” I say, fully aware he’s been avoiding me for weeks. He’s been sweet of course. Gentle and kind, but unless he has to talk to me, he vanishes. I’m ready to find out why. “I thought maybe you’d like a sneak peek of dessert tonight.”

  “Dessert?” Even if he’s able to resist me, he’s unable to fight his love of sweets.

  I hold the pie up, right under his nose. The warm scent wafts between us. “Smells good, right?”

  He nods.

  I pick up the fork and press it to my bottom lip. “I thought maybe we could share.”

  He swallows. “Now?”

  “I know eating dessert so close to dinner is a little naughty, but why not?”

  His eyes are all over. On the pie. On my mouth. Lingering over the tiny hint of cleavage showing under my neck. He licks his lips and I hold the pie higher, thinking I’ve finally got him.

  Hook. Line. Sinker.

  His eyes dart behind him and he clears his throat. “You know, I’m just really busy. Like totally in the middle of this piece. I can wait until after dinner.” He begins to shut the door but stops abruptly. “But thanks, though. That was sweet.”

  The door shuts with a harsh click.

  Okay then, it’s going to take more than pie to lure Bunny out of his funk.

  Chapter Two

  Bunny

  I shut the door and lock it—providing a safe barrier between us. Me and the pie. Me and Morgan.

  I walk away, rubbing my hands through my hair. I’m exhausted and wound tight. My mind is a hamster wheel of creativity and motion. Painting after painting, an endless cycle. I wake up and paint. I eat, then paint. I try to sleep
but the images won’t stop, so I paint. And paint. And paint. My brain is trying to tell me something. Something I’m not sure I want the answer to.

  I stand before my latest and concede that the “what” of my paintings, I get. I know it’s a castle. I know it’s in the Otherside, but what confuses me is the way it changes shape, color, and style. Some days it’s dark and dangerous. Others, it’s light and full of wonder. The sky is often black with clouds—a never-ending darkness. But then I’ll catch a few minutes of sleep and wake up to the most vivid imagery of blue, cloudless skies, and lush green grass. I paint them all, hoping that at some point it will make sense.

  It has to—before I go mad.

  With the Darkness gone and the tensions in the house abated, I thought my mania would curb. It’s been the opposite though. My desire for Morgan is tainted with guilt and shame. She doesn’t need me anymore, if she ever did. She tries to corner me. Talk to me. I know she feels pity for my disfigurement. I don’t want her to feel like she owes me something. A debt. An offering.

  I stare at the painting, at the sharp spires that jut to the sky. At the heavy gate that divides it from the barren landscape. It doesn’t look right. It’s wrong. Clutching the paintbrush in my hand, I dab it in a mixture of black and gray oil paint before attempting to fix what’s wrong. I work quick—fast motions through the sky and along the tallest spire. The sound is what makes me stop. The jagged ripping sound. The ear-splitting tear.

  I blink and realize it’s not a brush in my hand but a blade. The castle is ripped into shreds. I drop the knife on the floor with a loud clatter and stare at the destruction for a long moment.

  Then I reach for a fresh canvas.

  Chapter Three

  Morgan

  Before I split from the Morrigan I’d declared I wanted all of the Guardians as my mates. That act of rebellion, of refusing to choose, helped me fight off the Darkness and regain complete control of my mind and body. After that I went through a small period of transition. I needed time to heal. To find some peace. I did ask the Guardians if the agreement to mate would end now that I didn’t need them. The response was a universal ‘no’. None of them are sure what will occur after the split, but they do know that the Morrigan isn’t dead. I know it, too. It’s not a fact as much as a feeling. No one killed her after the spell. Her spirit is alive—somewhere—and it’s unlikely she’s through with me, or them.

  “Are you her guardians or mine?” I asked Dylan that day. He was pouring over history books like nothing had happened.

  He didn’t reply for so long that I wondered if maybe he didn’t have an answer, but eventually he looked up from his book and said, “We’re bound to you, Morgan. You. This body. This soul. That was part of the need to declare who your mate,” he pauses, “mates, are. Once you made the announcement there was no going back.”

  “So if I hadn’t picked you all then you would have been free to go with her.”

  He touches his chin in thought. “Possibly. We’ll never know, because you did the right thing.”

  Now I sit in the window seat of my writing office, the empty pie plate on the floor and my journals around me. The pages are blank—my creativity blocked since the night of the spell. Maybe even before. It’s like when the Darkness left it took a small part of me with it. One I’ve continued to fill in one of two ways.

  Both physical. Both I use to distract my thoughts and exhaust my body.

  I peer out the window, down at the expansive park below. It took a few weeks but slowly I’ve begun training and having sex with my Guardians again. Clinton, Sam, and Damien are all ready and willing partners. Even with the short break, we never skipped a beat. We’re good together. We spar. We learn and we love with a renewed passion. Less anger. More fun. I like it.

  But something’s off.

  That rejection from Bunny isn’t the first one I’ve had. He’s withdrawn and nothing I do seems to lure him out. And Dylan? Fuck if I know what’s going on in that man’s head. He, too, has put up a wall. A physical barricade between us. They both claim to be my mates, that they’re here to fulfill their roles as my Guardians, but neither is attending to all of my needs. And they’re certainly not allowing me to attend to theirs.

  My alarm chimes, giving me a warning that it’s time for our mandatory dinner, which I always enjoy, but tonight I’m more excited about what’s happening afterward. Sam is taking me out, like he’s promised. Where? That’s a surprise. I leave the notebooks, the pie plate, and my aimless thoughts and head to my bedroom to change.

  *

  Dinner passes uneventfully with the highlight being Sam sending me teasing texts.

  Ready for tonight?

  Yes, I reply under the table. Where are we going?

  You know I can’t tell.

  Can’t or won’t.

  His response is a shrugging emoji. I roll my eyes.

  Give me a hint?

  Wear something nice.

  A dress?

  Something that shows your legs.

  The shorter the better.

  And forget the panties.

  I give him a hard look across the table and he winks. The other men are involved in a discussion about the fights later this week, oblivious to our flirting.

  After a second piece of pie at dinner, it’s a good thing I’d planned on the dress because there’s no way I’m getting in a pair of skinny jeans. I check out the gray dress in the mirror, liking the way it clings in all the right places. If these men have done anything for me, it’s boost my self-confidence. They treat me and my body like it’s something to worship. They crave the parts I consider my biggest flaws. At the last minute I do as Sam directed and slip out of my panties.

  He’ll probably never know but if he does? That will make the evening even more fun.

  Chapter Four

  Sam

  I look twice when Morgan walks down the stairs in that slinky gray dress. The fabric hugs the rounded swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips.

  “Damn. I should tell you to dress up more often.” I walk over to the steps to greet her, taking her hand and pulling her close. I breathe in her scent and consider that maybe we shouldn’t go out at all.

  “You look pretty good too.” She straightens my tie. “I’ve never seen you so dressed up.”

  We definitely shouldn’t go out.

  “Any chance you’ll tell me where we’re going now?” Her eyes carry a spark of excitement—something that’s been sorely missing lately. I’m not going to let her down, even though we could have just as much fun at home.

  “Nope, not yet. But we should go.” I offer her my hand and she links her fingers through mine. She heads toward the front door but I tug her in the direction of the garage.

  “Oh, we’re driving?” Another flare of interest. She loves the cars in the garage.

  “Yep.” We walk down the long flight of stairs and I flick on the lights. Each section brightens, revealing two rows of magnificent vehicles. I pull her in for a kiss. She’s hungry for it—like she’s been waiting for it all day. She tastes like the sugary sweet pie we had for dinner and her engine is revved high as one of the cars in front of us. I run my hands down her back and over the arc of her ass.

  No panties.

  This girl is gonna kill me tonight.

  I step back and adjust my pants, trying to calm myself before I really do ruin the night. Morgan laughs at the tight grimace on my face. Her awareness of how she affects me—affects all of us—only makes her hotter. She doesn’t exploit us, nor us with her, but the mutual appreciation we have with one another makes nights like this similar to walking on the edge of a knife.

  “You pick,” I tell her.

  “Pick what?” she asks.

  “The car. Which should we take?”

  There’s zero hesitation as she walks between the rows, stopping in front of a shiny white Tesla. “I’ve always wanted to ride in one.”

  I open a cabinet on the wall and pull out the key. I
hold it up. “Want to drive?”

  She laughs. “No way. Walking in the city still freaks me out.”

  “Fair enough, but sooner or later you’ll have to learn to drive up here.”

  She makes a face and I open the passenger side door for her. Her hand is warm on my shoulder as she holds on to me to get in the low car. I kiss her again before shutting the door and quickly get behind the driver’s wheel.

  Fall is coming and when we exit the garage, it’s already dark. Morgan covers my hand resting on the gearshift with hers. Her touch is like a spark of fire. I’m overwhelmed by her scent filling the small, enclosed space. Everything about her pulls me in and my reactions to her have only increased since she declared that I, along with the others, would be her mate.

  “How’s your work coming?” she asks.

  “Good,” I say. “Different.”

  “Less apocalyptic?” she says with a small laugh, but I know she doesn’t really think it’s funny.

  “Maybe? I’ve had some interesting images. I’ll show you soon.” I haven’t been sharing my work with her lately. The photos are off. I’m seeing things that shouldn’t be there—but they’re also not as disturbing as they were before we performed the spell. I can’t quite decipher it. I glance over. “What about you? How’s the book?”

  “Slow,” she admits. “I’m having some writer’s block.”

  I flip our hands and squeeze hers. “You’ll get past it. Things have been weird lately. Change is hard on creativity.”

  “I just stare at the page and nothing comes out.”

  “Then I’m glad we’re going out. Sitting around and dwelling on it only makes it worse. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

  I speed through the city, taking shortcuts and trying to avoid traffic. The Tesla runs smooth and when I change gears Morgan moves her hand to the back of my neck and runs her nails up under the band holding up my hair. I lose concentration for a moment and turn left a road too soon.

  “Shit,” I mutter when we’re trapped in a narrow, dark alley. “Wrong turn.” I turn to look out the back window and like a tragic destiny an 18-wheeler rolls to a stop, blocking the alley. “Dammit.”