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  “Got it.”

  He kisses me and at first all I can think of is that the others are watching. I feel the hard length in his pants pressing against my lower belly. I feel the soft pads of his fingers as they stroke the bare skin on my shoulders and arms. Goosepimples rise on my arms. I feel the energy churning beneath the surface, the hunger and need I’d pushed off now for days.

  I exhale, feeling a sense of relief. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” he replies and spins me around. I stumble into Clinton’s massive arms.

  His hands palm my back, tugging at the fabric of my top. He drops his head, his tongue seeking mine. His kiss exemplifies everything I know about him. Strength and confidence. I touch his stomach and feel the hard muscle beneath his shirt. My belly clenches. My core aches. It’s as though my head is spinning and spinning with each deepening kiss and when I stop to catch my breath he says, “I know you’ll choose wisely, my Queen, never doubt our loyalty.”

  Before I can reply, he picks me up with those bulging arms and carries me across the room. The act is silly and sweet for such a dominating presence. I wonder for a brief moment if he’s going to simply carry me from the room, toss me on a bed and ravish me. For a quick second I almost ask him to, but instead he eases me onto Bunny’s lap, my skirt hiked up around my thighs. We’re on a wide, square ottoman, an island in the middle of the room. The warmth of Clinton’s hands releases me but I feel the elegant touch of Bunny’s fingers in my hair and his copper eyes boring into my soul.

  “Hi,” I say to him, completely unaware of the others. His gaze holds me tight. The hard length of manhood presses against my leg. My resolve to only kiss these men—feel them—wavers, especially when Bunny kisses my throat, then shoulders. He presses his lips to the center of my chest, right above my breasts. My nipples harden. My panties wet. I kiss him hard and shift against the steel in his pants. I’d said this wasn’t about sex but the hunger in me doesn’t agree. I need friction. I want more.

  Bunny pulls me forward with his one good hand and the move presses hard against my clit. In my ear he says, “Every day is an honor. Every breath is a gift. I love to see you laugh. To see you fight. To watch you come.”

  Bunny, good lord, Bunny. He has this way. He has such an incredible intensity. I desperately want to feel him inside me. He kisses me hard, the strength rolling through every inch of my body. I climb on top of him. I lick his jaw. I only stop when he pushes me back gently and says quietly, “Not now, love.”

  “But,” I start to argue, but he slips from underneath me. I’m suddenly on my knees and Damien is inches away, crawling over the leather. I perk up and meet him halfway.

  “This is hard,” I confess. “Why do you all have to be so beautiful?”

  He touches my cheek. “Because a Queen deserves the best. The most powerful and strong. The brightest and intuitive. Someone to make you happy in bed. Someone to fight next to you in battle. Someone that will protect your kingdom and your heart.”

  His kiss is wild and brings out the feral animal in my chest. I want to run free with him. I want to strip off his clothes and mine and fuck until we’ve got nothing left. My body heats, my mind spins, and my blood boils. And just when I think things are taking shape in my mind, I feel a body behind me. I feel hands on my hips. Damien looks over my shoulder and winks at the person behind me. I hear a grunt in reply.

  Dylan.

  I haven’t kept track of the others when I’m with one of the Guardians and even now I find them hazy around the edges. It’s like when I’m with one, the others vanish. I sense them, but can’t see them. A veil separates us. It makes me bold.

  I press my ass into Dylan’s body, finding his cock hard and ready.

  He hisses this time and he steadies my body. Each of these men allows me to take control—all but this one. It’s in his nature. He’ll fight me to the end. Like Bunny, I know he won’t push it all the way tonight. He’s too proud. He wants me to make the decision based on merit—not physical prowess.

  Tonight though, under the circumstances, he caves. Just a little.

  I can’t see him but I definitely feel him as he pushes my hair over my shoulder. There’s the heat of his breath against my neck, followed by slow kisses over my shoulders and back. A chill runs down my spine—not the bad kind—the very, very good kind. Every nerve in my body sets on edge.

  His hands run down the curve of my sides, grazing over the edge of my breasts. He grips my hips and bends me forward, until my palms are flat against the surface of the ottoman. I feel him behind me, the weight of his cock, the calculated control. I shift my ass, begging, begging for him to take me like this. I know it’s futile, he’s playing games, fucking with my mind as much as my body. The crazy thing is that Dylan knows that I like it. I want it like this as much as every other way the Guardians tease and taunt me with. I want it slow and powerful like Sam. I want it sweet and doting like Bunny. I want it carefree and fun with Damien, and I want the glorious skills Clinton has mastered.

  And I want Dylan. Hard and rough. Dark and commanding.

  I feel his hand twisted in my hair and he pulls me off my hands. In my ear he says, “You’re close, Morgan. So close. You feel it in your bones. In your heart. There’s one true way to break the Darkness. Only you can choose.”

  I think he means that he’s caving. That he’s going to take me here on the ottoman. But his warmth vanishes and his shadow is gone. I blink and I’m alone in the room. Just me and the crackling, magic fire.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Morgan

  It’s Sue that slips me the note the next morning, telling me to forget my normal schedule and meet Dylan at the front door in an hour. My head is pounding in a hangover kind of way. My memories of the night before are hazy, like a ghostly, erotic dream.

  I take a gulp from the coffee Sue left on the table and a bite of the gooey cinnamon roll that lured me from my room in the first place. I watch the older woman clean up from her baking. “Sue, can I ask you a question?”

  She turns and the wrinkles in the corner of her eyes deepen as she smiles. “Sure, dear.”

  “How long have you and Davis been married?”

  “Oh.” She thinks for a minute. “Feels like an eternity, but it’s been about forty years this fall.”

  “Forty years. Wow.”

  “Yes.” She wipes the counter with a cloth. “I suppose that does seem like a lifetime for a girl your age.”

  “How did you know he was the right one?”

  The woman turns and leans against the counter. Her face takes on a faraway look and she says, “Truth be told, I’m not the most patient person. I’ve always been like this, particularly when I was younger. People annoyed me. Grated on my nerves. When I met Davis, I kept waiting for that to happen—for the part of him I disliked to come forward.” She grins like a schoolgirl at the memory. “It never did. That’s how I knew.”

  “Basically he’s the guy that didn’t annoy you?”

  She laughs. “Pretty much.”

  I shake my head and think about the decision in front of me—the decision that has to be made today. I groan and drop my head in my hands.

  “Are you having a problem with a young man?”

  Make that five, not-so-young men. “Sort of. I just need to make a decision and I’m having a hard time.”

  She crosses the space between the counter and the table. She reaches for my hand and squeezes. “Follow your heart, Morgan, but also your brain. You’re a smart girl. I can tell you’re wise.”

  I laugh. “I’m not sure wisdom will help me here.”

  “Wisdom always helps. It’s when you follow other body parts that things get tricky.”

  I feel my eyes widen at her boldness, partly because it’s so true. She doesn’t seem remotely embarrassed. Her eyes carry a wisdom of their own.

  I stand and take my cup to the sink, washing it before she can. “Thank you for that,” I say. “I just needed someone to talk to.”<
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  “Anytime, dear.”

  I pause for one more moment in the cozy, peaceful kitchen. Once I leave this room I’ll have to face Dylan and the reality of the day. I’ll have to tell him about Anita and the truth behind Xavier’s death, prepare for the spell, and finally choose a mate.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dylan

  “Slow down.”

  I glance over my shoulder and see Morgan in a half-run, trying to keep up. I slow my stride, annoyed with her short legs.

  She evens up with me, breathing heavily. “You should be in better cardiovascular shape—with all the training.”

  “Dude, don’t blame me for your tree-trunk legs.”

  I snort, but hold back a reply. We’re both on edge. I’d already known it was possible Anita and Xavier had greater roles in Morgan’s life. Each interaction could be the one that tips the scales. The Darkness always has a reach into the world she wants to conquer. Xavier was a sacrifice—a blood offering to a hungry goddess.

  “Tell me again about the kiss,” I prompt. She gives me a suspicious look. “Not in a perverted way. It’s just very odd.”

  “It was odd,” Morgan replies. “She seemed very desperate and the Darkness was needy too.”

  “So you—or rather, she—liked it?”

  “She did.” But the expression that ghosts over her face tells me Morgan enjoyed it too. Not sexually. The energy exchange, which is definitely more alarming than sexual exploration. No, despite our best efforts, the Morrigan is growing stronger. We have little choice but to act immediately.

  I direct her up the flight of marble stairs, lingering just a bit to get a long look at her ass. Her legs may be shorter than mine but they’re exquisite, and although I’d held back the prior evening, my willpower is close to snapping.

  It all depends on who she chooses. If it’s me? I’ll relish breaking her in. Feeling the tight warmth of her body around mine. If not? The gods did not intend it to be.

  “Dylan!” she hisses from the top of the stairs. Her hands clench around the straps of her backpack. The book with the splitting spell is inside. I’ve stopped moving completely, absorbed with my thoughts. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I don’t bother with a reply, but climb the stairs quickly and lead Morgan through the entrance, past the front desk, and to a small elevator obscured by a long row of books.

  “Seriously though,” she says, eyes lingering over the stacks of books. “Where are we going?”

  We’re in the New York public library. The smells of paper and the inevitable layer of decay that comes with so many in one place. The elevator arrives and I follow Morgan into the lift.

  “There’s a special collection upstairs reserved for sensitive topics.” I press the button for our floor. The elevator begins to rise. “The occult, magic, witchcraft, ancient supernatural histories.”

  She frowns. “Wait, so the library knows about this stuff?”

  “Some of the librarians do. Not everyone. Not that clerk at the front desk.”

  “And these librarians think it’s real?”

  I shrug. “Some are probably skeptical. These books do exist and they deserve a place in the library.” The elevator lurches to a stop and the doors open. We step into a small hallway. A small sign directs us toward “Special Collections” and I lead Morgan down the hall to the unassuming door.

  A small keypad is mounted on the wall and I punch in a code.

  “How did you get that?” she asks.

  I shrug again. “It’s my job.”

  The lock springs with a loud click and I open the door. The room is a spectacle. Rows and rows of dark leather with cracked and faded bindings. Parchment mounted behind plexiglass cases, alongside artifacts that carry mysteries we may never unlock. The librarian sits behind a large desk, flipping through a book. Her hair is blue and the glint of light reflects off the hoop in her lip.

  Morgan tugs my hand and says, “This is crazy, you know that right?”

  “As crazy as a portal gate opening in the middle of Central Park two dasy ago. Or a mystery virus killing a man, spread from nothing more than a kiss. Or you using the WishMaker last night, bringing an entire guard to their knees—”

  “Right. Got it,” she cuts me off, apparently not wanting to go into the details of the night before. She definitely pulled a fast one on us all. I’m not even sure where the magic orb came from or how she came to possess it.

  We approach the desk and I take a request slip from the stack. I write down the name of the book I’m looking for and slide it over.

  “One second,” the librarian says, her eyes sliding between me and Morgan. She looks at Morgan appraisingly and a flare of jealousy ripples under my skin. I’m willing to share the Queen, but even I have my limits.

  Five.

  That’s where it ends.

  The librarian returns, handing over the massive book. I lift it from the counter and nod my thanks. “Can we use one of the study rooms in the back?”

  “Sure.” She fishes a key out from under the desk. “Let me know if you need any other assistance.”

  “Thank you,” Morgan says. The librarian winks in reply.

  As we walk away from the desk I look down and notice a red tint to Morgan’s cheeks. “What? You’re embarrassed by her attention?”

  She grimaces. “I know this may be hard to comprehend from a guy with a face and body like yours, but until I moved up here no one ever paid me the slightest attention.”

  “I find that hard to believe. You had other boyfriends.”

  “Nothing serious, and none of them seemed inclined to drop everything just to be with me. More like the opposite.”

  The study rooms are along the back hall. They’re private and quiet. I slip the key in the lock and we step inside. I place the book on the table and the key in my pocket. I turn to face Morgan, cupping my hand under her chin.

  “You’re beautiful. You’re strong. Any suitor in your past that didn’t understand the gift that you are wasn’t man—“ I glance to the desk—“or woman enough to see it. And if they did, they were terrified of the power you possess. I won’t pretend I’m sorry you didn’t find love with another before it was time for you to come here. You weren’t made for other men. You were made for one of us.”

  “Is that your way of trying to convince me to pick you?”

  I laugh. “Sweetheart if I wanted to convince you, I wouldn’t use words.”

  To prove my point I kiss her on the mouth. I know she feels it across every inch of her body, down to her toes, because that’s where I feel it too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Morgan

  One kiss is all I get because Dylan has willpower made of iron and is focused on the books on the table. He scribbles occasionally on a notepad while I go over the spell in the book I found weeks ago, making sure I’m prepared.

  The spell seems complex; a combination of the ingredients we’ve been collecting, a series of runes, and then the incantation. Dylan assures me it will be fine, but I see the hint of worry in his eyes. He’s still not convinced.

  “Did you see this?” I ask, pointing to a particular passage. “The Morrigan often comes as a trio of three sisters, each with their own power and authority. Combined they create the Goddess of War, separate they prevail over different imagery: Land and livestock, fertility, and of course, war.”

  “I’m aware of the mythology,” Dylan replies, studying the passage.

  “Do you think it’s possible to remove her soul from mine? What if there’s another?"

  “It’s a risk we have to take. But the myths are always vague. The Morrigan probably hoped future generations would fear her more by thinking she had triple the power.” He grimaces. “As though we need to fear her more than we already do. She’s quite the threat as is.”

  He finishes his notes and closes the book. I pack up my own book but pause when I find him starting at me. “What?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”r />
  “No, but I don’t think I have a choice.”

  “We’ll remove her soul and destroy her. The spell isn’t that hard. Bunny and Damien should be able to handle it easily.”

  I nod. “I have faith in them.”

  “And you?” He studies me carefully. “You’re ready to pick your mate? You’ll need strength before the ceremony.”

  I swallow. “I’ll be ready.”

  *

  We walk back to The Nead, traveling through parts of the park and along the street. I’m wary after the situation with the gate, but Dylan assures me it will be fine.

  I’ve developed a theory about Dylan’s habits and as we walk down one of the more populated paths I ask, “Why have I never seen you in a vehicle?”

  “Excuse me?” he asks.

  “You always walk or you know, fly,” I add quickly. “Are you afraid of driving?”

  He stares straight ahead. Dylan pretends he isn’t interested in me but I know better. I’m aware that he watches me when he thinks I can’t see him and that his commentary with me is always calculated. I wait, giving him a chance to answer and he finally says, “I’m not afraid of much—particularly cars.”

  “Then why are we walking?”

  “Because it’s healthy. And good for the environment. And it makes us stronger and keeps our hearts pumping.”

  We cross a bridge that takes us to a more isolated side of the park and I tap my hand on the iron railing. “How conscientious of you.”

  A flash of white comes from the side and before I can blink I’ve been hit. I fall to the ground, stumbling to my knees. I catch myself and recover quickly—my reflexes faster than before. Standing over me is Hildi, the Valkyrie, her white blonde hair blowing in the summer breeze. She still has a bruise on her cheek from where I clobbered her.

  Dylan steps between us.

  “Move, you fool,” she grinds out at him. Her eyes are dark as night. She’d come for payback. “This little girl and I have a score to settle.”