Onyx Eclipse

by Angel Lawson

  I hate the look of pain and guilt on her face. It probably matches my own. She squeezes my hand and asks, “What do we do?”

  “I’m out of my league here. If,” I swallow, “if Damien was here he could probably figure out the magic, but without some kind of lead, I’m clueless. We’re going to have to find help.”

  “Where? Who can help us with this?”

  I kiss her on her forehead. “Come on, I think I have an idea.”

  Chapter 3

  Morgan

  If I had to choose a guardian to fight with at the end of the world, I’m not sure it would be Dylan.

  Not that I don’t think he’s worthy; he’s strong and capable, quick and smart, confident and secure. But, he’s also emotionally disconnected at times, making it a struggle for us to comfort one another. We’re both a little lost, definitely on edge, and as we walk down the long, narrow hallway beneath Tran’s magic shop, I really miss my other Guardians.

  “Find a table,” he says as we enter the seedy, underground bar. A flare of magic ripples over me and I give the bouncer a questioning look.

  “Disarming wards. No magic in here,” the burly man replies.

  “I doubt I’m much of a threat.”

  He looks me over and I can’t help but stare at the twisting rope of tattoos around his neck. They look like they’re moving. “Sure, sweetheart, that’s what dangerous ones all say.”

  Dylan nods as he steps through and I feel his fingers leave my back as I step into the room and he walks toward the bar.

  Seriously, where’s Sam or Damien when I need them? Ugh, scratch that. The despair that lives around my heart roars.

  I know they’d have us in a quiet, unassuming corner already with drinks on the table. I glance back at Dylan, who’s engaged in a conversation with the bartender, a girl with smooth skin and fiery eyes. More than one customer looks between me and Dylan, making some kind of connection. I forget that the Raven Guard is notorious. I wonder if they know what happened to the others—how fast does news travel in the supernatural world?

  The place is packed and there’s definitely an interesting vibe. An energy—disabled powers or not. Having never been here, I have no idea if it’s normal or not, but I suspect everyone is aware of the virus ravaging the city and came down here to drink their worries away.

  Probably like every other bar in the city.

  A familiar-looking man catches my eye as I search for a table; he tilts his head my way. His eyes are so very dark, but there’s a calmness rolling off his person and something that makes me want to go over to him. Even stripped of his magic, I can tell he’s powerful.

  “No,” a voice says in my ear. Dylan’s voice. He presses his hand against my back, steering me in the opposite direction. “Not tonight.”

  “Who is that?” I ask, feeling the tug as we walk away.

  “You don’t recognize him?” An open table appears against the back wall. I’d just looked over here. Did he conjure it out of thin air? I shake my head at Dylan’s question. “That’s the Shaman from the fights.”

  “Oh,” I glance back. The Shaman is still watching me. “I thought he was a good guy.”

  Dylan laughs as he pulls out my chair. I sit and he scoots it in, like a proper guardian and gentleman. When he’s in his own seat he says, “Everyone in here has various shades. The Shaman can feel your pain. He wants to cure it—but every fix comes with a price.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Despite this form, I’ve lived a long life, Morgan.” He looks across the room and locks eyes with the Shaman. “He is older than I am.”

  The concept is overwhelming. I feel childish and naïve. Which I probably am, compared to the others in the room. Yet, I sense their awe when they look at me. They must see past my body. Past my flesh and into my soul, where I don’t feel young at all.

  “So you bargained with him?”

  A flicker of anger tics at his jaw. “Why do you think we agree to the monthly fights? Our talents, tactics, and weaknesses are not meant for display. They are for battles and war.”

  “What did you trade for?”

  “We needed information.” His jaw tightens. “On you. Just a hint about where you were. If you were alive or not.”

  I reach for him under the table, grappling for his fingers that are curled tight in a ball. A tiny shard of ice around my heart melts. “You feel shame over that?”

  He looks away, and even though he doesn’t answer, the truth is written on his face. A chunk of the despair I’ve felt over the last few weeks chips away as the need to make Dylan feel better, to feel loved, rises in my chest. He refuses to meet my gaze and just as I’m about to force the issue, he looks over my shoulder with interest.

  “Tran,” he calls. “Over here.”

  “Tran?” The owner of the magic shop upstairs approaches. The ancient (probably literally) man walks over. A heavy cloak covers his shoulders. He takes the chair Dylan offers and sits with a weary sigh.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Dylan says.

  “No. I wasn’t sure I would.” His narrow eyes skirt over me. “I try to stay out of the ways of the gods and goddesses. I’ve probably already assisted too much.”

  “I know, and I appreciate you meeting us,” Dylan says. “I just want to know if you saw anything that day—heard anything?”

  There’s no question what day Dylan is referring to, but I lean in and press anyway. “The day my Guardians vanished. From everything we know, it took place near your shop, but our own canvassing has been futile. No one will talk to us.” Damien would have gotten the men on the street to talk—he was friendly with them. “They’re either afraid or don’t care.”

  “Probably both,” he says and sighs heavily. Deep lines crease his forehead. “It sounded like the world ripped in two; I felt the moment in the depths of my chest. The air turned to ice, coating my windows with frost. I heard the shouts of the Ravens and went to assist but my door was jammed tight. It was hard to see—thank the gods, because what I did see?” He shivers. “Tentacles of smoke. Long and black. Something dark from another world.”

  He stares at me. Dylan grips my hand. He fought those tentacles in the ring.

  “The Morrigan?”

  “Or part of her, at least. I fell to my knees and prayed.” Tran reaches under his cloak and rests a crumpled paper bag on the table. “I found this on the street after it was over.”

  He slides the bag to Dylan and I hold my breath as he opens it. I don’t know what to expect, but what he pulls out never crossed my mind, even though it seems obvious. Dylan’s eyes flash to mine as he hands over the cracked black box that may hold a clue on what happened to the guardians and how to get them back.

  It’s Sam’s camera.

  “It’s broken. I couldn’t get it to work, but maybe there’s a way.”

  “Thank you, Tran. This is very helpful.”

  I try to turn on the camera but it’s pointless. He’s right. I look up and find him staring at me once again. His hands tremble on the table. “I have a warning for you both.”

  “What kind of warning?” Dylan asks, but the line between his eyes tells me he already knows. I’m the only one left out of the loop here.

  “Not everyone wants you to stop the Darkness. There are many others that have waited centuries, if not longer, for this world to fall to the demons.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Watch your back, young warrior. As the civilians fall to the sickness, the darker elements will arise. You’re not just fighting the Morrigan.”

  I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise as I look around the room. Every person, witch, demon, and angel is focused on this conversation. “Do you think any of them helped Bunny betray us?”

  “Nothing is off the table. The creatures down here? They’re just the muscle and thugs. The gossips and traders. It’s the ones that live in the world up top you have to worry about. They come in all shapes and sizes. Perform all kinds of jobs.�
��

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “Doctors. Police. Those that will be called upon in a time of crisis.”

  I look at Dylan. Again, he’s not completely surprised. “You knew?”

  “You know the history, Morgan. Who do you think Hitler used as his commanders? As his closest confidants. It wasn’t back-alley scum.”

  I think of the photos I’ve seen. He’s always surrounded by a tight posse. Doctors. Generals. Educators. Which would be manageable if I hadn’t just lost most of my own posse.

  “Thanks for the information, Tran,” I say, standing from the table. Dylan follows my lead, taking the camera from me and slipping it in his coat. “If you hear anything, let us know.”

  The old man nods.

  I feel the eyes on us as we exit the bar. I don’t miss the Shaman’s nod. A simmering rage boils beneath the surface of my skin. I don’t like not knowing the rules of this world. Who is an enemy or not.

  Bunny has opened a wound that will not stop bleeding.

  Chapter 4

  Morgan

  When we leave the bar, I can’t help but notice the difference in the city. The streets are less crowded. Shops close early. People walk with scarves and surgical masks over their mouths and noses. The virus is here. It’s real.

  We return to The Nead and Dylan takes the camera to Sam’s studio. He hopes to recover any image locked inside. Full of anxious energy, I go to the basement gym and blow off some steam. Hildi is already there, beating the shit out of a punching bag. She nods at the other gloves hanging on the wall, “Wanna fight?”

  “Yeah,” I say, yanking them off the hook. “I kind of do.”

  There’s a white canvas sparring mat in the middle of the room. I’ve used it many times before, mostly training with Clinton. I’ve bled on it. I’ve made love on it, and that’s when I realize that every room in this gigantic house has taken on emotional meaning to me. I blink back tears of nostalgia.

  “You ready?” Hildi says, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Yeah,” I tug on the gloves and square off. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  I’ve fought Hildi before, mostly just out of some kind of supernatural pissing contest to prove my worth. I won, and now we’re friends. Or at least I think we are. What if we’re not? What if she’s one of the bad guys? Is that what Tran meant? Did Bunny leave her here to watch over us? Friend or foe, I won’t take it easy on her, and when she punches me in the kidney, I know the same is true of her.

  The workout tests my body. Hildi isn’t exhausted or mentally drained like I am, but I keep up, dodging and getting in my own hits. We stay in the red circle, fighting for dominance. She has me on height. I have her on instinct. Clinton helped me cultivate a natural ability to remain two steps ahead. My feet and shoulders move faster than my brain. Her punches land hard. Adrenaline spikes in my blood when she swipes my feet and I land hard on my back, smacking my head on the mat. Black spots cloud my vision and rage climbs up my spine. I want them back. I want my guardians. My mates. I want my balance of power. I want serenity. But most of all I want to throttle Bunny and ask him why. Why would he do this?

  “Why?” I mutter, the black spots clearing. Hildi hovers over me, concern on her face.

  Is it real? Does she care?

  “Morgan?” I use her distraction and kick the back of her knee, dropping her to the ground. I pounce, rolling on top of her and ripping off my gloves in the process. I punch her repeatedly, the skin of my knuckles tearing. She cries out, fighting against me, blood dripping down her lip. I wrap my hands around her throat and something dark unleashes; vines sprout from my fingers, coiled and black, twisting around Hildi’s throat.

  “Why?” I ask again, a choking sob caught in the back of my throat. “Why would you do this to us?”

  “Morgan,” Hildi grunts, using both hands to pry mine off her neck. The vines tighten. “It’s me. Calm down.”

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “Hildi.”

  “No,” I seethe. “Who are you really? What do you want? What side are you on?”

  She stops struggling, her lips slack and turning purple. My vision finally fully clears and I take in the blonde hair and feminine features. I hesitate, and Hildi uses the opportunity to break free, kneeing me in the gut. Stunned back to myself, the vines retract, slithering back into my fingers. She tosses me aside. I lay on my back, breathing heavily, disoriented and confused.

  The Valkyrie stands over me for a minute, flinging her gloves on the ground. Heavy feet race down the basement steps and I hear, rather than see, Dylan in the doorway. “What happened?”

  “She’s lost her fucking mind.” Hilid rubs her neck. Red welts are starting to form.

  “Go rest. I’ll take care of her.”

  “She’s out of control,” she mumbles. “Her powers. She doesn’t have control.”

  He absorbs that and says, “Take a break. We’ll watch the dungeons. Go home. See Andi.”

  Hildi disappears and Dylan stands over me for a moment, assessing me. I can’t stand the judgment on his face. “I just…I got paranoid.”

  “I know what Tran said, but we can trust Hildi.”

  “How do you know?” I rub a tender spot on my cheek where she hit me.

  “Because even though the Goddess of War and the Goddess of Death sound like they would be on the same team—trust me, they’re not.” He touches my bruise.

  “I’m fine.”

  “No,” he says, bending over to pick me up. I fight against him, but he’s bigger and in a second he’s got me cradled in his arms. “You’re not fine and to be honest, neither am I.”

  His words jolt me and fire boils under my skin. “What are we going to do? They’re gone. People are dying. We can’t trust anyone. We couldn’t even trust Bunny.”

  He presses his forehead to mine. “We’re going to get through this and we’re going to do it together. Starting today. Starting now.”

  Chapter 5

  Dylan

  “You can’t help me,” she mocks. “You’re nothing without them. That’s why she took them and left you here. Because together we’re a bumbling, useless mess.”

  I don’t make it to the attic floor, not with her flinging words of poison every step of the way. I stop at her room, kick open the door, and toss her on her bed. Her white tank is covered in drops of Hildi’s blood. Her dark eyes are lit with fiery pain.

  As much as it kills me, Morgan needs that pain. She needs to feel the anger and hatred of the Morrigan and even Bunny. Sadness has gotten us nowhere. Wallowing in our guilt—that’s what the Morrigan hoped we would do. My penchant for brooding. Morgan’s guilt-prone humanity. The distrust Tran sewed this afternoon made something in Morgan snap and I plan to bring that rage and anger fully to the surface.

  She sprawls on the mattress, propped up on her elbows. Her lip is puffy from taking a hit. I lean over her, hands on both sides of her hips, my mouth inches from hers. “I know you think the Morrigan left us here because we’re weak, but that’s not possible. She does not understand the reality of our bond, because in her mind what we have is twisted and perverse. She can’t comprehend the strength we find in one another. Not fully.” Despite her busted lip, I kiss her hard and she responds with equal ferocity.

  Her nails scratch down my chest, tugging at the fabric of my shirt. I lift it over my head and then strip the tank off her body. She lands on her back, her hair a dark halo on the white quilt covering her bed. Her black, lacy bra contrasts with her pale skin. A dark bruise is forming on her ribs. Hildi got in a few good punches, that’s for sure.

  She lifts her hips and I strip off her exercise tights, taking the panties with it. I blink, having a vision of black wings spread across the sheets. Dear gods, I think, rubbing my eyes.

  I drop my pants, kicking them off my feet, not hesitating before I grab her legs and pull her to the edge of the bed.

  “She doesn’t own us, Morgan. Not our minds or our bodies. She doesn’t underst
and how, when I touch you here,” I reach between her legs, eliciting a moan of pleasure. “Or if I fuck you like this,” I flip her to her stomach, pulling her hips in the air, exposing her voluptuous, full ass, “that it brings us closer. Makes us stronger. Mentally and physically.”

  I slip between her cheeks, coating my shaft in the wet heat of her body. When she begs, I ease inside, pushing to the fullest—the farthest possible. Her fingers grip the bedding, mine grip her hips. The silence of the house is broken, filled with cries of passion, the release of anger and fear.

  “Harder,” she cries. “I want to feel you. Gods, I just want to feel more than the ache of loss.”

  I comply, thrusting in and out, and feel relief when her body moves in synch. But it’s too distant, which, again, is what the Morrigan wants. I need to see her face, see the ecstasy tremble from her lips. I pull out and she rolls to her back. There’s no hesitation, not a break in our movements. I lift her hips and lean against the bed, entering her once more. The anguish has vanished from her face, her eyes glazing even as they hold mine.

  “She doesn’t have this,” I say, holding, holding, holding…

  “She has them.” Her breath catches, her body quakes.

  Our fingers link and the wave crashes over Morgan like Thor’s mighty hammer against a mountain. She shatters, her voice loud, her pleasure and satisfaction known.

  I thrust into her, spilling the warmth of my seed and the keys to my soul. I’m still in her when I reply to what she last said. “No,” I tell the woman lying beneath me. Our bodies are still joined. “She doesn’t have them. She doesn’t have their hearts—she sure as hell doesn’t have mine—and that’s what will break her.”

  Chapter 6

  Bunny

  Casteel arrives in my studio just past dawn. Hulking and demonic in the doorway, he makes no bother to knock. His rank gives him the privilege of coming and going as he pleases.