Raven's Mark: (The Raven Queen's Harem Part One) Page 7
I shift my gaze to Sam. “You were always the kindest and never afraid to get close. I remember sitting on the blanket in the yard. Watching you fly tree to tree. You’d call out and I’d try to copy your voice. We’d talk for hours—just chattering away. You became my best friend when no one else wanted to be around.”
Damien leans forward and I touch the ring he forged for me. “The first gift you brought to me was a shiny silver marble. Next, a trinket made of gold. I had a whole stash in my room but I was only able to keep one. The only one that truly mattered.” I touch the charm on my chest. “I didn’t remember until today where it came from. Or why I had it. But I remember now that you brought it to me one sunny afternoon. The cord was already strung through the loop and you all watched from your branches as I hung it on my neck. You were protecting me—even then. I didn’t realize I had a job. I didn’t know I would fail so badly.”
I look apologetically at Bunny with the last sentence. He reaches across the table with his good hand and I shake my head. “It’s my fault you lost use of your arm and hand. I never should have followed the cat down the path. He came to me day after day, leading me to the gate, and every time I followed.”
“You didn’t understand,” he says.
“No. That’s the thing. I did. I felt the energy and the power and I wanted more. I knew I was meant for something beyond this world. I just didn’t realize it would lead to such destruction. I didn’t know you would get hurt.”
“I survived, Morgan. I’m still here—with you.”
I squeeze his hand but look down the opposite side of the table, to the man at Dylan’s side. Clinton is the strongest of the guardians. “The most protective. The most reserved. You were always the last to arrive because you were keeping watch over all of us.”
“I’m the one that failed that day.”
“You can’t bear the weight of my actions alone, Clinton.”
“We were commanded,” he says, leaning forward. His eyes shine like steel. “You were a child. We knew what was on the other side and the ramifications of the gate opening.”
“I was a child with the power of a goddess.”
The room goes silent now that our history is spread on the table.
Across the room Dylan leans back in his seat, arm resting by his side. He doesn’t look concerned. No, he looks emboldened, like my returned memory is the answer to all his prayers.
“What do we do now?” I ask the historian. But he gave me a summary in his quarters. I need the men, my ravens, to absorb the darkness; if not, the Morrigan will return full force, open the gate, and the apocalypse will begin. I understand this now. I understand my heightened desires.
“We do nothing,” he replies, gesturing to the other men. “But you must make a choice.”
I frown. “What kind of choice?”
“Between us.”
I stare across the table. None of the men looked remotely surprised, unlike me where it’s just one blindside after the other. “I don’t understand.”
“To fight the darkness, Morgan, you must find a partner of equal strength. Someone who can take the brunt of the energy burning beneath your skin.” Dylan’s blue eyes shine. “Ravens mate for life and you are the Queen. You’ll need to choose from one of us—one of the guards.”
His words are like a punch to the gut. Mating for life? But it still rings true in the center of my chest. My eyes skim past each one. The strong, the smart, the beautiful, the creative, and the caring, and I realize with stark clarity that I’m not upset about the directive.
I’m upset that I can’t have them all.
Chapter 17
Morgan
An ancient book detailing the tales of the Morrigan sits on my bed when I arrive in my room that night. A note rests on top.
Embrace your history. -Dylan
I read the heavy book, absorbing the words and illustrations. The Queen of the Ravens was the Celtic goddess of war. A terrifying, wrathful woman who reveled in evil. She was known as the Triad. Woman with three parts.
The woman named Morgan.
The Raven Shifter.
The Goddess of War.
In each telling of the Morrigan’s story she falls for a man, a warrior hero, Cu Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn rejects the Morrigan over and over, igniting such rage that she kills him and uses her pain to fuel an epic and all-encompassing war.
Beneath a drawing of the dark-haired queen, the book explains that the Morrigan’s vengeance was so overwhelming she was trapped in an alternate universe where she could wallow in war and strife for eternity. Her only allies, a murder of five ravens, had been assigned by the gods to rein her in. Over time the ravens became devoted guardians to the Queen, falling in love with her one by one. To find peace she must find her one true mate from the guardians.
I push the book to the side and lean back against my pillows. The last twenty-four hours have been surreal and for a moment I seriously consider if I’ve awoken in a mental ward. Maybe the Nead is nothing more than a sanitarium. I google the word ‘Nead’.
“You’re fucking shitting me,” I say to myself, tossing the phone across the room. Nead is the Gaelic word for nest.
But that’s just it, I think, wandering across my suite and into my writing chamber. I look at the journals lining the bookshelf—a lifetime of stories about this very thing. I don’t feel crazy. I feel like everything in my life has a new sense of clarity. My childhood. The obsession with ravens. The weird dreams about the forest and the cat. The mysterious death of my parents and the loss of memory.
And the men. Oh boy, the men. If all of this is true, one of them is my true love. My mate.
I touch the ring on my finger and exit my rooms. It’s time to round up my guardians.
Chapter 18
Morgan
The men come into the library one at a time.
Dylan first, as my sentinel.
Bunny next, covered in paint and flashing me a sweet smile.
Damien appears from the backyard, smelling of metal and sweat, a shiny object between his fingers.
Sam enters from the hallway, giving me an easy-going hug on the way to his seat.
And Clinton arrives last, arms crossed over his chest, wary and watchful.
“Thank you for coming,” I say. “It’s been a long day. Or two, actually. I’ve had time to do a little reading and soul searching. As hard as this whole thing is to believe, I know in my heart the stories you have told me—and the ones I have been writing on my own for so long—are true. I think I knew it all along.”
“It’s my understanding that one of you is my mate.” My heart hammers in my chest. “After the last few weeks I know I’m not in the position to make that choice—not right away. I need more time.”
“Time is of the essence, Morgan.” Dylan says. “The gate weakens every day.”
By gate I think he really means me. I weaken the longer I go without a mate and someone to take the darkness from me. But Morgan, the woman, is part of the triad of the Queen, and she needs tended as well. That part of the Morrigan needs to be sure. It’s not something I can jump into.
“If we’re going to do this it has to be on my terms,” I tell them. “It’s a decision I need to be absolutely sure of. If what you’re saying is true, there’s no room for error. I must find the perfect mate and right now I have no freaking idea which one of you that is.”
“How do you plan on deciding?” Sam asks and the others all lean closer, listening intently for my answer.
“You have thirty days to prove yourself to me. I want a single month, thirty days, to ensure that I’m picking the right one.” I exhale, trying to rid myself of the nervous tension in my stomach. “At the end of that time period I’ll make a decision.”
Dylan, as always, is the first to stand. He bows and says, “As you wish, Goddess.”
The others follow, bowing in my direction, and for once I notice a bit of rivalry as they look at one other.
Things are abou
t to get very, very interesting.
Hope you enjoyed reading part one of The Raven Queen’s Harem. I’m loving writing this series! Part 2 will release VERY soon!
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Read below for a teaser for part 2, Ebony Rising
(Please excuse errors! It’s a WIP!)
Chapter 1
Sweat clings to my skin, pooling in my lower back. My hands are slippery, encased in the heavy, padded gloves.
“Two minutes,” Clinton commands, starting his stopwatch. “Now.”
With arms that feel like led I pummel the sandbag, hardly making it sway. I’m not weak. I’m just exhausted. I wake at dawn for three hours of nonstop writing to fulfill the obligation of my acceptance into the University Art Program. But once that’s complete I move onto the rest of my required lessons.
Two hours of physical training every other day. Two in ancient history. The same divided between art, chemistry and divination. Evenings, after our mandatory dinner, I mostly spend alone. I’ve noticed the guys tend to slip off—sometimes leaving the building. No one has extended an invitation for me to join them.
“Faster!” Clinton shouts.
I glance at him in the mirror. Just seeing him ignites a spark of energy that fuels my movements. Clinton is not just good looking—he’s hot. He’s a huge man with muscles on top of muscles. His abs more nine pack than six and I’m pretty sure his jaw is sharp enough to cut glass. I swipe at the bag, getting in a hard jab eyes focused on the dark hair that grazes his shoulders. With each punch I pretend I’m trying to get my hands in his hair, which is one step closer to getting his mouth against mine.
The Goddesses power flares deep within.
His eyes watch my every move. He assesses my form, speed and skill. Tomorrow we’ll work with blades. The next hand-to-hand combat. His job is to help me become strong enough to fight the darkness. Because it’s not about if it will come, it’s about when it will come. And I need to be ready to fight it off unlike last time.
“Focus, Morgan,” he says. But the energy wanes and my muscles scream. My biceps feel like Jello, barely able to make contact. Clinton steps behind me, easing his arms next to mine. He takes over, guiding each punch. Landing them with more power than I’ve ever mustered.
The stopwatch beeps and he cradles my arms in his.
“Time,” he whispers huskily in my ear. Goosebumps ripple across my hot skin. Even though I’m burning up a shiver rolls down my spine and I push my ass against his body.
“How was that?” I ask, knowing the physical part of the training is over. Well, maybe not all of the physical. We’re just not going to need the punching bag anymore.
“You’ve improved.” He holds up the watch and the number blinks.
02:15.
“Wait,” I snatch it from him. “I did an extra fifteen seconds?”
“Yes, you did. You’re stronger than you think.”
I spin, pressing my palms against his chest. It’s impossible to think of my own strength when faced with his. I run my hands down the soft cotton of his shirt, feeing the hard muscle beneath.
Clinton is so tall that when we stand like this, face to face, he rests his hands just under my ass and lifts me up until I wrap my legs around his waist. He does that now, amplifying the shiver in my spine. The only thing I can think of is his mouth and from the way he looks at me, like hungry wolf. I get a tickle of anticipation and lick my lips.
“I think I deserve a reward for a workout like that.”
“Do you now?” he replies gruffly. But I feel his hardness against my lower body.
“Hmmhmm.”
A wicked grin appears on his mouth. “I’m not one to deny my queen.”
He tightens his grip and tosses me on the thick, padded training mat. I yelp as I fly through the air, but it’s out of excitement, not fear. Leaning back on my elbows, watching the hulking man stalk toward me, I inhale.
Okay, maybe a little fear.
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