Black Magic (Raven Queen's Harem Part Three) (The Raven Queen's Harem Book 3) Read online

  The fluorescents brighten one section at a time with a loud, echoing click. The lights reveal a row of sleek vehicles. Cars and trucks shine with a glow. While I take each one in with a sense of wonder and delight, Damien passes them all and stops in front of something smaller but possibly even more powerful.

  A motorcycle. The glossy, black paint gleamed under the lights, showcasing the perfectly curved and understated pinstriping on the gas tank. Chrome polished to a high shine punctuated the beauty of the entire package, and it automatically made me hear the roar of the engine in my head, feel the vibrations between my legs, and I had a sudden desire to wrap my arms around Damien’s waist, hugging his back in a mixture of fear and exhilaration. It terrified me.

  My lunges into my throat because I have no doubt Damien wants me to get me on that thing. I stop in the middle of the garage, frozen in terror while Damien unhooks two helmets and turns to hand me one.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t get on that.”

  A small smile tugs at his lips. “You’ve never ridden one before.”

  “No and I don’t plan on starting.” I glance over my shoulder at the sports cars and luxury sedans. “Can’t we take one of those?”

  He takes a step closer and runs his hand through my hair. His lips are close to mine and the fear is replaced with something else entirely. “I don’t like to drive. I like to fly. It’s all I dream about. It’s all I crave. I’d give almost anything to have my wings back.” He looks down at the cycle with soulful, violet eyes. “This is the closest I get. Come experience that with me.”

  How can a girl say no to something like that? I’m not a dream crusher.

  I nod. “But you’ll be safe. Like, nothing crazy.”

  “Nothing crazy, I promise.” He lowers the helmet over my head. He swings his leg over the bike and gestures for me to do the same right behind him. The leather seat is soft and I instinctively wrap my arms around his waist, even though we haven’t moved an inch.

  He clasps his hand over mine and squeezes them tight against his rock-hard abs. “You hold on, okay?”

  “Yeah, no problem. Got it.”

  He turns and smiles at me. “Relax. You’ll have more fun.”

  Damien secures his own helmet and I already miss his face. He grips the handlebars and in a blink the engine revs, echoing off the garage. My whole body tenses against the vibrations and I cling to his back as he eases out of the parking spot.

  Like he promises, he stars slow, exiting through a sliding garage door into the back alley near his studio. The hum isn’t so bad and I think I can handle this. I loosen my death grip just a little as we come to a stop near the main road.

  Damien revs the engine again and shoots out into traffic. I yelp, retightening my grip. I squeeze my thighs and feel the heat between us. Fear races through my limbs, I hate being out of control and this proves it. But as much as I hate to admit it, Damien is a skilled driver, deftly moving in and out of traffic, skimming the curbs on turns. My heartbeat is drowned out by the hum of the engine, the vibrations strangely soothing my nerves. Damien’s back is lean and strong. He feels at home, like he said; he’s flying, not driving, and my unease slips away into something else.

  Pressing the side of my helmet against his back, I close my eyes. There’s nothing I can do but trust him to get us there in one piece.

  When I open my eyes we’re in a part of New York I’ve never been in before. The streets are narrow and lined with gray buildings. Apartments stack to the sky while dingy businesses squish close together on the street level. Packs of kids roam the streets wearing baggy shorts and at least two walk vicious-looking dogs in metal-studded collars. My fear of the motorcycle has shifted to something different—apprehension about where we’re going. I thought I’d dressed like a badass for the magic shop. I didn’t realize I needed to be a badass to just get through the door.

  The bike slows and Damien directs it to the curb. I’m feeling a mixture of warmth from his body and impressive skills to concern about where we’re going. He takes off his helmet and shifts to assist me with mine. When it’s over my head I say quietly, “Nice neighborhood.”

  He looks around. “It’s a bit unique.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not usually so timid. What’s going on?”

  I shrug. “I just feel out of my element here.”

  He touches my chin. “Sometimes I forget you’re more suburban girl than terrorizing ancient goddess.”

  “Yeah, just like I forget you’re an epic warrior molded by the hand of a god.”

  He pecks me on the cheek and the warmth that came from the motorcycle’s vibrations flares in my belly. “Come on. You’re going to love Tran.”

  “Tran?” But he already has me by the hand and we pass a group of boys admiring the bike.

  A sign hangs from the building with an arrow pointing down. The words are in Chinese so again I can do nothing but trust Damien as we take the stairs to a below-street-level shop.

  The door is glass but covered in a thin layer of plastic, making it hard to see in. Damien pulls the handle, gesturing for me to go first. I step into a claustrophobic’s nightmare. The shop is messy, dirty. Baskets and boxes and bins cover every inch of available space. The counter is a collection of bottles, jars, and containers. Murky items fill each one and there’s a faint, fishy smell in the air that reminds me of the exotic farmers’ market back home.

  Chimes on the door clang as we enter and a small man pops out from the back. He moves to his spot behind the counter. I can barely see him behind the clutter but I spot the flash of a smile when he locates Damien behind me.

  “D!” he shouts. “Nice surprise!”

  Damien moves around me but links his fingers with mine, keeping me close. I trip over a box that squeaks in reply.

  “Tran, good to see you. I’d like to you meet my friend, Morgan.”

  Tran looks me up and down with small, concentrating eyes. “We’ve met before?”

  A strange chill rolls down my spine. The kind that comes with déjà vu. A tiny voice replies in my ear, “Yes,” but I ignore it and shake my head. “I doubt it. I just moved here.”

  “Ah,” he says, but his eyes never leave mine. “I hear the accent in your voice. Not from around here.”

  “The South,” I confirm.

  “Well, welcome.” He looks at Damien. “What can I do for you today?”

  “We’re looking for a few items,” Damien replies, pulling the list Bunny wrote out of his pocket. “Thought I’d stop here first and see what you’ve got.”

  Tran takes the list, his face blank as he goes over the ingredients we need. I know the list—I read it in my book—and even though this is my idea, the fact the man didn’t flinch at the words ’dragon tears’ or ’powdered ox testicle’, rattles me.

  The man turns away and begins rummaging around the wall of jars and tiny drawers behind the counter. He hums as he works, weighing and measuring items. Damien bends over and studies a jar full of what looks like rocks.

  I take the time to look around a little myself, although I do avoid the box on the floor that squeaked at me. The shop carries a world of mysteries and a strange feeling settles in my bones. It’s probably just the magic, I tell myself. I’m getting used to the feeling, the constant push-pull of various energies trying to take control. I haven’t a clue what most of the items are or what they do. I pick up a dark glass orb that fits in the palm of my hand. The ball hums in my hand as I hold it up to the light. Shadows flit inside and I squint, wondering if I made it up.

  “You found my WishMaker orb.”

  “WishMaker?” I ask, turning to find the small man right behind me.

  “Yes. It’s very old—Romanian. You look inside to reveal your true desires.”

  I stare at the glossy surface, trying to catch the shadows again. “Like a Magic 8 ball?”

  Tran laughs. “A little bit. But the
WishMaker, like all magic, can reveal things you never knew about yourself. Things you possibly never wanted to know. The orb knows your heart. Your truth. You can’t hide from it.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.” I set the orb back on its stand and look over his head at Damien. There’s a box of supplies on the counter next to him and I wonder how we’re going to get that back home on the motorcycle.

  “Get everything?” I ask, suddenly ready to leave.

  “Most of it. We’ll have to track down a few other things. Between me and Bunny, I think we can find everything.” He rests his hand on the box and says to Tran. “You’ll deliver this?”

  “By this afternoon.”

  We step out of the dark shop and into the warm daylight. Feeling bold and like I’d like the shake the weird feeling I got in the shop, I squeeze Damien’s hand and ask, “Think we can take the long way home?”

  “You want a longer ride?”

  “Yeah,” I say, looking up at his curious face. “I think I do.”

  *

  Damien takes the scenic route, giving me a tour of parts of New York I never knew existed. Bridges and side roads. Perfect views. I grow comfortable leaning against his back and revel in the intimacy of the moment rather than the fear.

  The magic I felt at the shop flickers under the surface. That kind of place seems perfect to lure out the Morrigan. Ancient power is her lifesource. Touching that orb gave her a tiny taste. She wants more and there’s only one real way to satiate her.

  These feeling are still churning when Damien slows his bike and turns into the alley behind our house. He eases it next to the shop instead of the garage below, killing the engine.

  We remove our helmets but I keep my body pressed against his. I wrap my arm around his waist and feel his muscles tighten. He hesitates, just a moment, before twisting to see my face. He’s curious. He feels it. Me. All of this is written on his face.

  He licks his lips and his eyes flare with heat. “You’re not going to get games from me, Morgan.”

  “Games?” I ask, genuinely confused.

  He cracks a smile. “The others? They all have their standards. Codes or morality. Personal hang-ups. I’m here to do a job. My sworn duty is to protect you, but I’m no angel, darling, not in this life or any other. If you need to blow off a little steam, I’m ready.”

  His words, no matter how blunt, are exactly what I need to hear. The Morrigan makes me feel dirty around the honor of these men. Her ways are wicked. She’s a killer and her darkness already lashed out and took a victim. I need a man right now that will be nothing more than a release. Someone with a little dirt on his hands, and after weeks of playing guessing games with the others and losing my virginity to Clinton in a steamy night of tragic passion, I need someone to just take the energy I have to give.

  “Good. Because that voodoo shop gave me the willies and riled up the Darkness.”

  His fingers twist in mine. “Come on. I’ve got just the thing.”

  The thing turns out to be a small room off the back of his studio. There’s a bed, a small table and chairs, and it’s clean. Like, immaculate.

  “What’s this for?” I ask, relishing the feel of the air conditioning on my hot face.

  “I sleep back here sometimes. The house may be big but it still feels crowded on occasion.” He unbuttons his leather vest and tosses it on the chair. “Lately it seems more so than normal.”

  “Because of me?” I ask.

  He walks over and tugs at the straps of my tank. “The energy you carry? It’s no joke. With my sensitivity, it sends me over the edge.”

  I’m already acquainted with Damien’s body. I’ve tasted his mouth, his skin, and his cock. Right now though, from the way he licks his lips, I get the feeling he’s ready to get a taste of me.

  He doesn’t mess around, and my shirt and strappy bra are on the floor before I can blink. His hands push the skintight jeans over my hips to my feet, where I have to hold on to him to get them the rest of the way off. I take him in when he pulls his own shirt over his head, revealing the carved muscles of his chest and the tattoos that I’ve never seen up close. Silver hoops hang from his nipples and when I touch one on impulse he shivers in reply.

  I stand before him and touch the raven just above his heart and trace the ink around his biceps and onto his back. Realization dawns and I gasp. “It’s our story.”

  The whole thing. The lovers. The battle. The ash and bone. God’s hand dropping from the heavens. The hurricane, and around to the other side there’s a girl with dark hair and five ravens swooping low around her.

  “You carry the burden of the Darkness,” he says, touching my chin. “We carry the burden of the past.”

  I brace myself for his kiss and when his pants drop to the floor, it’s no surprise that he’s already hard. It’s also to my pleasure that he’s bare beneath his jeans. We stand naked with one another, skin skimming skin, heightening the desire.

  His hands move to my breasts, kneading the tips into hard points. His mouth falls to mine, lips warm, tongue sweet. No, Damien doesn’t play games. He gets right to the point, right to my want and need. His fingers do not stray. His mouth never loses focus and within minutes I’m putty in his capable, agile hands.

  He falls back on the bed and pulls me over his hips, while spreading my thighs wide. His manhood stabs eagerly at the air between us.

  “Okay?” he asks because we both know it’s only my second time. I nod vigorously and together we guide him to my center. He allows me to set the pace, taking him in inch by inch. When he’s inside I close my eyes and exhale, the stress from the shop dissipating with each second. Damien’s hands clench around my hips and with his hungry guidance I begin to move.

  It’s different like this, I think as I rock against him. Different than Clinton, who hovered over me like a protective blanket. In this position I feel the power surge in me, similarly to when I knelt between Dylan’s legs.

  Power comes in many forms. Each of my guardians helps me understand that. It’s about balance and control. It’s about maintaining a level of objectivity and strength. Damien’s jaw clenches as I move above him, his abs flex and the ravens on his chest twitch as if in flight.

  I lean over and bite his lip, smiling into his mouth. I’m going to enjoy this while I can.

  Chapter Five

  Clinton

  Dylan arrives in the training room a few minutes before my session with Morgan. It’s a rare evening workout—and we’re going on a field trip. Both ideas brought a smile to her already-pleased face at dinner. I’m in the middle of packing a small bag to take on our outing when I spot him in the doorway.

  “Good evening,” I say, slipping the leather gloves in the bag. Dylan watches me closely. He’s aware of where we’re going. “What are you doing down here? Another workout?”

  “Just dropping off the ingredients Damien and Morgan picked up in the lab. The box was delivered before dinner.”

  “Everything there?”

  “We’re missing a few things. Damien and Bunny think we can locate the few we’re missing.”

  “So you’re down with the idea of the spell?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I think it’s risky and stupid, but Morgan is right. We don’t get to tell her what to do. We assist her. If she wants to try it then what choice do we have?”

  I cinch the tie on the bag and toss it over my shoulder, not believing that he’s remotely okay with this for a minute. Or that he’ll simply step down. But that’s between him and Morgan. After watching how quickly the Darkness took over with Xavier, I know we have to do something.

  “You’re sure this is a good idea?” he asks, gesturing to the bag. Of course he asks. He doesn’t trust the rest of us. It’s not in his nature.

  “She has to be tested.”

  “It’s too soon.”

  I snort. “Tell that to Xavier Cross. I’m sure he won’t agree.”

  We both know Xavier can’t a
gree or disagree with anything. He’s bed bound and dying, the life slipping out of him like sand in a sieve. I doubt he’ll last the week.

  I leave the gym and head up the back stairs. Morgan is waiting in the foyer. She has on tight, black, workout pants and a hoodie with NYU on the front. I expect her to start for the door but she looks toward the hallway that leads to the garage.

  “You’ve got a car down there, don’t you?”

  I raise an eyebrow but nod.

  “Well, let’s go. May as well get this ass-kicking over with so I can come home and get in an ice bath.” She walks off.

  A small smile twitches at the edges of Dylan’s mouth. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  He laughs and the sound echoes off the marble floors. “Good luck, brother.”

  I leave him to his humor without another word because I know he’s right. When Morgan finds out where I’m taking her she just may kill me.

  Chapter Six

  Morgan

  Clinton’s preferred vehicle is a massive black pickup truck that sticks out on the streets of New York like a sore thumb. It’s top of the line, with every bell and whistle offered in a custom package. The truck is a beast—just like him.

  I press the buttons on the dash, adjusting the warmth of my seat. Who knew there were seat coolers? Not me.

  “Were does all this money come from?” I ask. “You know, for the cars and weird spell ingredients and everything else.”

  “It comes with the house.” His eyes remain on the road. They better. These narrow streets were not made for a monster like this one.