She quickly released the sword and watched in awe as her flesh finished knitting together. The blood was reabsorbed back into her skin, until only a thin scar marred her flesh, then a second later it slowly melted back into her flesh like the cut had never happened.
“Morgan?”
She jerked her head up at the gentle tone of Kincade’s voice, but he wasn’t looking at her. She followed his gaze and glanced down, then flung herself backward.
The beautiful blonde was now a shriveled corpse. Morgan wanted to compare her to a mummy, but the woman remained too moist and juicy. The black blade remained stuck in her chest, and Morgan was slightly horrified to remember she’d been wearing the deadly pieces as jewelry.
Ascher hurried to her side, and she didn’t hesitate to lean against him, needing the warmth of his beast to ease the chill that had taken root in her soul. Kincade and Ryder headed toward Draven, kneeling on either side of his prone body.
He had yet to move.
Thankfully, Atlas collected the first blade that had been dropped, then put his foot on the blonde’s chest and wrenched the second knife out, the bones of her ribs crunching under his boot.
He calmly stepped over the body and handed them back to her, hilt first.
Morgan hesitated, gripping Ascher tighter, not sure she wanted them back. “Do they normally do that?”
Atlas hesitated, then shook his head. “No, but I believe these blades were created specifically for your bloodlines. In your hands, they’re the ultimate killing machines. You aren’t using them incorrectly, it’s the rest of us who don’t have the ability or skill to use them the right way.”
He nudged the blades toward her again, and she reluctantly accepted them back. The moment her fingers came into contact with the metal, both blades liquefied and snaked up her arm, almost like they were glad to be back, content after their meal as they curled themselves back around her wrist and fingers like pets coming home before they solidified.
She touched the metal with her fingertips, and swore it warmed under her touch, pleased by the attention. Which was foolish…right?
“He’s not waking up.” Ryder’s low murmur reawakened her barely-controlled panic.
“What?” She pushed away from Ascher and crawled over to them. “No, that can’t be right. She said he was still alive.”
Ryder edged back, making room for her, and Morgan gently ran her hand along the siren’s jaw. “Draven, you have to wake up now.”
Her heart hiccupped in her chest when he didn’t respond. She glanced up at Kincade, panic beginning to churn in her gut like acid. Seconds later, her magic rose, biting sharply along her nerves in agitation. Kincade glanced at Atlas, and she peered up in time to see the elf nod.
“Damn you both, tell me what’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question. If they didn’t answer soon, she would beat it out of them.
“He needs to feed.” Atlas was blunt, not mincing words.
“Okay.” Morgan waited for them to elaborate, but they only gazed at her expectantly, like she was supposed to be able to magically read their minds. “For fuck’s sake, just spit it out.”
“He’s a siren.” Kincade waited a heartbeat, then sighed. “He feeds on sexual hunger.”
Draven lay so still he could’ve been dead, reminding her of a male version of Snow White, waiting for her kiss to wake him. Morgan nervously tightened her grip on Draven’s arm and licked her lips. “Will a kiss be enough?”
She expected them to laugh and deny it, but they didn’t. “We don’t know.”
“Well, shit.”
When she went to lean forward and press her lips to Draven’s, Ascher grabbed her around the waist and lifted her away. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?!?”
She kicked in protest, but instead of releasing her, he tightened his hold, dipping his head to whisper in her ear. “What they neglected to tell you is when you touch a siren, he feeds on your desire, then doubles it back on you.”
“Oh.” Morgan stilled as the information penetrated her brain, and a second later she shivered, not sure she could imagine wanting her men more. He gently lowered her to the ground, the others crowding closer. “Is that a bad thing?”
“There’s a reason why he’s never fed from you—a reason why he rarely touches you.” Kincade spoke without any inflection. “He allowed you into his small circle of friends, and he’s terrified that his touch might change the way you act around him.”
Ascher grabbed her arm, tugging her closer, then whispered in her ear, the smell of charcoal comforting as a light wisp of smoke curled around them. “And there’s a reason he feeds from a person only once…obsession can be deadly in his case.”
“Not to mention that if he takes too much he could literally kill you,” Atlas interrupted, the dark elf in him glowering at her possessively. “If the pleasure becomes too much, you have to pull back. Do you understand?”
“You all assume I’ll say yes?” She glanced down at Draven, unnerved by his stillness. When no one spoke, she looked at each of them.
“You would do anything for us.” Kincade spoke for them all. “It’s our job to tell you the dangers and keep you safe from harm.”
“You can say no. None of us will think any less of you. He can feed from one of us.” Ryder offered, then grimaced. “It won’t be pleasant, but he won’t die.”
Her brain hiccupped, imagining the two of them kissing…and then imagining so much more.
Morgan pulled away from Ascher and gave into the urge to sink her fingers into Ryder’s hair while he remained crouched near Draven. “No, I can do this.”
She wanted to do it.
Needed to do it.
“He might freak out a little if he discovers it’s you who fed him,” Ascher warned. Though he was the newest member of the group, he was excellent at reading people.
Morgan swallowed hard at his words.
He was rarely wrong.
“Why hasn’t he been feeding?” But she had a sinking feeling she already knew.
“He only wants you.” Atlas didn’t hold back, and even Kincade glared at him for his lack of tact.
“So he’s been starving himself?” Morgan was nonplused, not sure how to react, both flattered and horrified. She wanted to be the one he turned to when he was in need, but she also wanted to be more than a meal.
“When he tries to feed from others, his beast is no longer satisfied,” Kincade admitted.
“Why?” She had to know the truth.
“He won’t talk about it, but we think it’s tied to his past. Every few years he’s forced to go home. When he returns to the Academy, he’s quiet and surly, but usually more himself after a while.” Kincade got up and backed away from Draven.
Morgan wasn’t sure if she was relieved or more worried. While Kincade might have spoken the truth, Morgan was afraid his explanation covered only part of the problem. “You think it’s magic?”
“Don’t you?” Atlas glanced over his shoulder, back down the hall. “If you want to help him, I suggest you do it. Morning will be here soon, and we need to get you back before sunrise.”
Since his transformation, he’d become sensitive to the sun. It didn’t burn him, but he became colder, more aloof, almost a different man.
“Should I check to see if a spell has been cast on him?”
“Later.” Kincade shook his head. “Atlas is right. We need to get back to the Academy. If they find you gone, they will send out the troops.” He raked his fingers through his hair, breathing out a tired sigh. “Let’s get him up and mobile. Maybe after your classes you can find us. That will give me time to work on convincing him to let you look.”
A beat of silence passed while she waited for them to give her a moment of privacy. When none of the stubborn asses so much as twitched, her heart skipped a beat at the thought of them watching her, and a secret thrill chasing down her spine.
Though she was a little uncertain, she couldn’t deny she loved the idea of them being turned on
watching her kiss one of them, and she quickly cut off those steamy thoughts.
Now was not the time.
Too bad her thoughts weren’t so easily banished.
Taking a deep breath of courage, she knelt at Draven’s side once more, then leaned over him, not sure where to place her hands, wanting to touch him, but wanting him conscious while she did so. She wanted to watch his eyes darken with desire, wanted to see that sexy, shy smile that he reserved only for her.
“Morgan.” Ryder softly called her name.
She jerked back, her face flushed with heat at her unruly thoughts, and spoke a little louder than necessary. “What?”
“Your touch is just as important as your kiss.” Ryder nudged her forward until she was kneeling. “Crawl onto his lap.”
She resisted obeying for a second, hating that she was so turned on when Draven’s life literally hung in the balance.
It felt wrong that Draven wasn’t there to urge her to do what she wanted to him.
“You’re sure?” She didn’t move, just continued to stare until she realized she wouldn’t win the contest. The guys had known him far longer than she had, and she prayed that Draven wouldn’t hate her for taking advantage of him.
She leaned forward, twisting until she was straddling his lap, aroused despite her resolve not to be. What should’ve been a fun experience turned awkward when he didn’t smile and tease her, and her chest ached at the thought of never seeing his smile, never feeling his touch again.
“Don’t think of this as a personal kiss between you.” Ryder laid a warm hand on her thigh. “Think of this as you helping him survive.”
She nodded jerkily, giving him a grateful smile.
She could do that.
Be clinical.
Professional.
Pulling out the ponytail holding back her hair, she let it fall, so when she leaned forward a curtain of privacy separated her from the outside world. She pressed her lips against his, half expecting him to wake up and take what he needed.
Of course it wasn’t that simple.
Sitting upright, she slipped her hands under his shirt, startled to feel the warmth of his smooth skin. The scent of warm chocolate brownies was faint, and she realized it was from his creature.
As soon as she placed her hands on him, she realized that touch wouldn’t be enough.
He needed more.
She needed more.
Ryder said it wasn’t about the kiss. His creature fed off lust. If she wanted to give him something he could use, she had to enjoy herself, not just pleasure him, and she allowed the heat she’d been keeping at bay to creep back under her skin.
She leaned forward again, but instead of kissing him, she laid her lips against his throat, then began to lick and nibble along the strong column, his taste almost addicting, and she allowed her fingers to skim over the muscles of his abdomen, easily able to picture him sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her away.
She kissed her way down along his jaw, then his chin, when his lips began seeking hers. She gave in to his silent demand, and pure pleasure exploded through her when he hungrily kissed her back.
It wasn’t long before his hands landed on her thighs, his fingers stroking her legs, moving higher and higher each time, until he was gripping her waist. Then his hold tightened as he began to move beneath her, and she couldn’t resist rocking against him. His erection was thick and long and…totally unexpected.
Morgan moaned as pleasure began to tingle through her, starting with her fingers and toes before quickly spreading to every inch of her skin. It wasn’t long before she was craving his touch…yearning for so much more.
Very reluctantly, she stilled and tore her lips away, struggling to control her breathing. His arms slid up her back, preventing her from backing away, leaving her hovering with only inches between them.
She knew the instant he recognized her. He stiffened, his grip bruising for a second, before he dropped his hands. “What the hell did you do?”
Chapter Seven
Morgan sat in her morning class, ignoring the teacher as she droned on and on about the basics of magic.
She desperately wanted to learn magic, but the techniques they taught meant diddly-squat. Their magic was so different from hers that the teacher could’ve been speaking a different language. They used the magic around them to work their spells, while she was able to pull the magic from somewhere inside her.
Plus, the majority of the students in class were nearly a decade younger, and every one of them believed hunters were beneath them.
Most days she was able to pretend to be interested in the lessons. If she could take apart how they were able to cast magic, maybe she would be able to duplicate it, but so far nothing worked.
But after last night, she was more determined than ever to figure out how to unlock her power. She refused to be helpless when her men were in danger. While the other students were studying how to draw energy from the natural world, Morgan carefully opened the ancient book on runes she’d sneaked into class.
When she shifted, her sleeve pulled up, revealing a dozen scabs dotting along her forearm from when she’d been practicing casting early that morning using her blood and the runes she found. Obviously she was doing something wrong, since the injuries hadn’t healed right away.
The fucking runes in the book made no sense.
The last spell she tried knocked her across the room. She fingered the knot on the back of her head where she smacked the wall so hard, she still saw stars if she moved too fast.
She needed to learn control before she killed someone…especially the men who had come to mean the world to her.
Not that it mattered, she groused, since she hardly saw them anymore. They were coddling her ever since they’d learned about her royal heritage. She’d allowed it for now, giving them some rope, but if they didn’t cut that shit out soon, she was going to give into temptation and strangle them with it.
She blew out a heavy breath, praying for patience.
She felt like she did when MacGregor first found her, and she had to prove herself all over again, but this time with magic. She was determined to show them that she wasn’t helpless, that she could fight.
Unfortunately, today her mind was stuck on Draven. Or more precisely, stuck on how Draven totally freaked out when he caught her perched on his lap. The ride home had been awkward and full of tension.
Instead of taking his normal seat, Draven rode up front, holding his fury close to his chest, refusing to acknowledge that she even existed. He treated her like she’d betrayed his trust instead of saving his life, and it broke something in her heart.
She went to her room alone, cuddling with both Stanley and Loki. The guys argued for a few minutes, then silence filled the dorm, so heavy and damning that tears thickened the back of her throat. No matter how hard she listened, she couldn’t sense the guys anymore. They were shutting her out to talk among themselves, relegating her to the position of outsider once more. She was giving them a little leeway, but if they didn’t get their act together, she was going to crack their heads together to knock some sense into them.
But when she finally closed her eyes, heavy pounding on her door jerked her awake, followed by Atlas yelling at her to get up or be late for class. At least he was back to his normal inconsiderate ass self, though she guessed she should’ve thanked him for even bothering to wake her.
She hardly got a lick of sleep, her eyes were gritty, and her brain was lost in a fog. So it took her a few seconds to notice the words in the book on her desk were crawling around on the page.
Meet me in the library after class if you want to learn how to do magic.
She glanced around the classroom, suspicious about the source of unsolicited help. She picked up her pen and wrote in the margins. Who are you?
A long pause followed. Just when she was ready to give up, one word appeared.
Ward.
Both relief and trepidation hit her at the sa
me time. The way he hesitated over his name indicated that no more of his fragmented memories had returned. While that was disappointing, Morgan wondered if it might not be for the best. He was a stern man, and she didn’t think he would be able to transition very easily into this new world. Based on what she picked up from him, he’d been trapped and imprisoned inside the void for centuries, not decades, and his world of gods and humans no longer existed.
Her mind automatically flashed to Shade, the god she accidently rescued from Tartarus. Since the world hadn’t ended yet, she would count that as a win.
Shade disappeared within hours of escaping Tartarus, and Ward quickly followed, she suspected to keep an eye on the nightmare god.
“Morgan?”
“Huh?” She looked up to find the teacher standing over her, and she quickly covered the old rune book she’d smuggled into class. The rest of the class giggled, and she flushed at being caught daydreaming.
The teacher shook her head, as if exasperated by being forced to teach a thick-headed hunter, and Morgan had done nothing but exasperate the teacher into believing that schooling her was a waste of time. “Sorry.”
The teacher sighed dramatically, as if saying what could she do, then passed her seat, and picked on a different student, probably pleased at having humiliated her.
Morgan shrugged it off. To her, a teacher was worthless if they didn’t bother to learn what their students needed. As the voices continued to drone in the background, she watched the clock, more than eager to skip the rest of her classes and finally figure out for herself what she needed to survive and keep those she cared about alive.
As the class ended, she was the first one out of her seat, and she easily made her way through the crowd, the younger witches avoiding her like she had the plague. When she walked into the hall, she winced. Draven was waiting for her, Loki snuggled contently in his arms.
She wasn’t allowed to bring the hound to class, so the gardog took turns spending the day with one of the guys. The mutt blinked up at her sleepily, his bright eyes a burnt red, as if lit from within by pure lava. His features were very dragonesque, his jaw a little squarer, his body bulkier, his shoulders broader.
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