Obsidian Fire

by Angel Lawson

  “What happened?”

  “We’re stuck. I guess I can go ask the truck driver to move.” I check my watch. It’s going to be tight.

  I glance over but stop cold when I see the wolfish grin on Morgan’s lips. Her fingers tighten around my neck. She pulls me closer.

  I ask, “What?”

  “I think your mistake just became the best decision you’ve made all day.” I raise my eyebrows in question but she unclips her seatbelt and leans over. “I don’t know if it’s how handsome you look in that suit or this sexy as hell car, but I’d think we’d be remiss to not make the most of this moment.”

  She licks her lips and reaches for the ever-present hard-on in my pants.

  “Here?”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  I shake my head. “No. No, I really don’t.”

  I adjust the seat to recline and Morgan leans over to kiss me. Her hand runs along the outside of my pants, taunting, teasing. I touch her hair and neck. I kiss her mouth. Her hands and fingers explore and before long I’m straining against my pants.

  “You know,” I tell her as she unbuckles my belt and frees my cock from the confines of my pants. Have mercy. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I said no panties.”

  She grins. It’s nice to see her carefree smile. “I like to switch things up. Plus you can repay the favor later.”

  She kisses my lips once more and then bends over my hips, enveloping me in her hot, warm mouth. I clench a hand in her hair and stare at the ceiling of the car, murmuring a promise, “Don’t worry, I will.”

  Chapter Five

  Morgan

  An hour later I can still taste Sam on my tongue as we arrive fashionably late for the reservations he made at a club uptown. The valet takes the car and Sam, red-cheeked and eyes slightly glazed, grabs my hand. He’s a contrast of sexy looks; a nice fitting suit and tie along with the for-once tidy bun at the back of his head.

  I hear the music before we enter and stop short. “You brought me to see Clinton?”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d like to see him play again.” He didn’t add under better circumstances, but it’s implied.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea? Because last time…”

  “Last time you had the Darkness fucking with you.” He pulls me close. “You don’t need to be afraid. You’re tough as nails and different now.”

  I can’t help but think this is just another test. A way to see how I’ll react under pressure. My guardians are smart, even if they are huge pains in the ass sometimes.

  “Does he know we’re coming? Because he may be mad we’re late because, you know.” I’d sucked him off in the car. That’s also left unsaid.

  “We’re late because we got stuck in an alley. What we did to bide our time is no one’s business.” He flashes me a grin as we follow the attendant across the crowded club. Patrons ignore us though, eyes transfixed on the performance. We slide into the circular booth tucked in the corner of the club. “Even though I’m pretty sure Clinton would understand.”

  Unlike last time, Clinton isn’t alone on the stage. A full section of strings accompanies him and the magical sound of their music reverberates through the building. I’m so used to the strains of his music filtering up the stairs that it’s almost like a pulse—a heartbeat. I focus on the concert, not the complicated feelings being here brings up.

  Sam orders drinks and I’m relieved when he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. My heart races as the melody intensifies. I think about the last concert I attended with Xavier and Anita. Clinton’s music ignited something in me—it brought out the Darkness and allowed the Morrigan to cross from her world to mine.

  “She’s gone,” I whisper to myself. Remind myself.

  “Did you say something?” Sam says, leaning close.

  I shake my head and he squeezes my shoulder, his fingertips warm on my skin.

  The waiter brings our drinks and I quickly take a sip. The liquid burns but it also fills my nervous belly. Sam moves my hair and speaks into my ear, “I know this is hard for you, but you’re safe. The Morrigan is gone. You can relax.”

  Clinton’s eyes connect with mine from the stage. Without breaking contact, I nod in reply to Sam. “I’ll try, I think I just have PTSD or something.”

  I don’t know exactly why but Clinton’s music tugs at the threads of my soul. Even though the Morrigan is gone, I slip into the same heated trance as the last time. I watch his movements, the way his biceps flex while he handles the long bow. My eyes skim his legs and the way he straddles the cello. It makes me think of being in a similar position.

  Suddenly the room feels too warm and I shift in my seat.

  “Hey,” Sam says. “Are you okay?”

  “I, uh,” I blink, trying to focus on him. The room is foggy. “I feel a little strange, that’s all.”

  “Talk to me, Morgan. Do we need to leave?”

  I shake my head and look back at Clinton. He’s still playing but watching us like a hawk. “No. I feel like last time. Which is impossible, isn’t it? What if I hurt someone?”

  Sam pulls me into his chest and I feel the heat of his mouth on my ear. “You’re tied to each of us in a unique way. Clinton’s music must trigger something powerful inside. I know you have an effect on my photography. Before, those binds connected to the Darkness. What do you think it connects to now?”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way, that maybe there’s more inside of me than just a normal woman left with a hole from the removal of magnificent darkness and destruction. He’s right, I feel an itch deep down—something that needs to be scratched. I turn to face Sam and the same compulsion that took over when I was in the alley with Xavier grips me.

  I want to kiss him but I don’t. I’m scared. Heart-pounding fear. Maybe Clinton’s music is evil. Maybe I’m evil. Maybe the Morrigan isn’t truly gone. Sam holds my face with his hands. “What’s going on in there, babe? You look terrified.”

  “Help me not be afraid.”

  He nods and gives me my drink. I swallow the rest in a gulp. “Focus on Clinton,” he says, slipping his arm around my waist. “Think about the joy his music gives you. The life. Think about how no matter what happens out there, we’ve got each other.”

  With my eyes locked on Clinton’s, I feel Sam’s hands on my sides, rubbing little circles to keep me calm. He moves lower, stroking my arms underneath the table, playing with the hem of my dress.

  My breathing calms. My heartbeat shifts. It doesn’t slow, not exactly. The fear subsides but Sam’s touch has me on edge. I’m about to turn and tell him to take me out of here when he runs his knuckles down my inner thigh, urging me to spread my legs.

  I do.

  We’re out of view of the rest of the crowd; everyone’s eyes are focused on Clinton and the other musicians. His attention hasn’t left me for a second. I lick my lips in anticipation of Sam teasing, what he’s threatening to do and where his fingers are traveling. I have zero doubt Clinton is aware of everything happening in our little corner booth.

  “Is he watching us?” I ask, feeling a little thrill.

  “Who do you think told me to remind you not to wear panties tonight?”

  The admission turns the heat between my legs moist. Sam laughs quietly in my ear while rubbing his thumb over my most sensitive parts. I rest my hands on the table, palms flat to keep myself centered—at least where people can see. Clinton’s eyebrow arches just as Sam spreads my center wide and pushes a finger in. My breath catches.

  “Breath, babe.”

  I nod and exhale.

  “He likes to watch you come, you know, just as much as I want to feel it on my fingers, or Damien on his cock,” Sam murmurs in my ears. My cheeks heat at the confession.

  “What about the others?” I ask in what probably sounded like a breathy whisper. Sam spreads my moisture around and inserts another finger. My legs widen beneath the table. My skirt strains against my thighs. “I can’t get the
other two to seal the deal.”

  “All the Guardians have their hang-ups, Morgan. We’re far from perfect, but I have no doubt they’ll cross that line with you soon.”

  I grip the table as he moves in and out, his thumb swiping over the bundle of nerves at the top. I know my cheeks are red. I know I’m not nearly as quiet as I should be. The orchestra (under Clinton’s urging) changes direction, beginning a melody with an ever-increasing pace.

  Oh, boy, he knows what he’s doing. No doubt about that.

  “They’ll come around,” Sam says, but his words sound muffled and far away. As do the voices of the other patrons and the clinking of glasses or the music up on the stage. “Until then the three of us will take care of your needs, whenever you need it. However you want.”

  The orchestra reaches a fevered pitch in time with the movement of Sam’s hand. Faster, faster, faster. My knees wobble and I lose control of the muscles in my legs. Tighter, tighter, tighter. The coil springs at the crescendo, sending shock waves through every inch of my body. Sam wraps his arm around my neck. I bite down on his forearm, stifling the orgasmic groan just as Clinton hits his final note. He winks at me from the stage.

  The crowd jumps to a standing ovation while I use the reprieve to catch my breath. I turn to face the man behind me and say, “You planned that didn’t you? All of it. The date, the outfit, the music.”

  “To be fair, I didn’t plan the blow job in the alley. That was all you.”

  We stare at one another for a moment and I wonder how in the world I came to this place of sex and lust and absolute, uninhibited courage.

  “My life is really weird.”

  “Maybe.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “But do you feel better?”

  It’s with slow realization that I know that I do. I fought through the moment, the fear, and the trauma. I’m going to be okay. I’m sure of it now. I give him a quick kiss and say, “Yeah, I think I do.”

  *

  Our mood is light after the show. Clinton takes us to a late night diner he and the other musicians frequent after concerts. He’s in a surprisingly good mood, being that his go-to demeanor is cranky, and I watch with fascination as both men consume large amounts of bacon and eggs before digging into massive stacks of pancakes.

  “Where do you put it all?” I ask, knowing both men hardly carry an ounce of fat on their ridiculously fit bodies. “If I ate all of that, I’d be big as a house.”

  “Doubtful,” Sam says through a mouthful of pancake. A drip of syrup runs down his chin and I swipe at it with my finger. “All that energy pulsing through you—it burns off everything but muscle.”

  I study my reflection in the diner window, noting the lean, developed curve of my arm and the thinning around my jaw. It’s true that ever since I arrived in New York, at The Nead, I’ve become stronger. The result is a faster, leaner body and a ravenous appetite myself. I think of the two helpings of apple pie earlier in the day. “Do you think I still have it? The energy?”

  It’s something I think about all the time. Are my moods my own? Is something propelling it for me? Something stirred in me earlier tonight. Something greater than lust answered Clinton’s call.

  The men look at one another, Clinton chewing and Sam wiping his mouth. He pauses like he’s ready to answer my question when all three of our phones vibrate and chime at the same time.

  I reach for mine first and look at the name and message. The knot of worry I’d spent all night removing returns, tighter than ever.

  “It’s Dylan. He needs us at home.”

  *

  The windows are ablaze with light when Sam parks the car in front of the house. Davis, who should be in bed at this late, late hour, opens the door before we reach the top step. “He’s waiting in the library. For Ms. Morgan.” He holds my eye. “He’d like to speak to her alone.”

  There’s a noticeable shift between the men and it’s clear they weren’t expecting that news. I look at them both and give them a tight smile. “It’s fine.”

  “Are you sure? He’s not actually the boss, you know.”

  I laugh—this time genuinely. “Oh, trust me. I know.”

  My attitude lightens the mood and Clinton gives me a kiss on the cheek before heading up to his room. Sam hands Davis the car keys. The older man nods, closes the door and heads out to the car, likely to put it back in the garage.

  Sam squeezes my hand and we part, him going upstairs and me down the hall to the library. A feeling of déjà vu rolls over me. No good conversation has come from being asked to speak to someone alone. It’s how I learned my parents were dead. I hesitate outside the door and take a deep breath.

  The door opens before I gather my nerves and Dylan stands in the opening. He’s imposing—devastatingly handsome and undeniably strong. His shoulders are broad and although his body is lean, there’s no doubt about him being a physical threat.

  “Thank you for coming,” he says, stepping aside so I can enter. There’s a fire burning in the fireplace, giving the room a feeling of warmth.

  “Sure. Is everything okay?”

  Something in his eyes falter. “Yes, well, I’m not exactly sure.” That’s better than someone is dead—or at least I think it is. He gestures for me to take a seat and continues speaking. “I apologize for interrupting your evening out. I hope you had a good time.”

  “I—we—did. It was a lot of fun. You should come next time.”

  He sits across from me and I tug the hem of my dress slightly lower over my knees, suddenly acutely aware I’m bare underneath. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. You and me. Our relationship.”

  “Okay.” Now?

  “I’ve known my whole existence that I’m here to perform a job. A duty. I’m here to protect this world from the Morrigan and her Darkness. We’ve failed before but not this time. You held firm and fought unlike any other vessel before. I’m very proud of you.”

  I literally have no idea what Dylan is going on about but the fact he’s called me here and is talking instead of brooding up in his rooms must mean it’s important. I wait to hear more.

  “I do think that choosing us all as your mates was key in the destruction of the Morrigan. She thrives on lust and the wicked side of men and women. You turned that on her by refusing to cooperate. You fulfilled your destiny and then some.” His eyes falter. “I cannot say I’ve done the same.”

  “Dylan, what are you talking about?

  He stands and walks over to the fire, resting one hand on the thick mantle. “I’ve failed in my position with you. I’ve been jealous and covetous. I’ve been arrogant and dismissive. I’ve allowed you to service my needs while failing to reciprocate.”

  A heavy pause lingers between us and I finally ask, “Wait, are you talking about sex? Or power or magic? I’m confused.”

  He turns to face me and there isn’t the slightest hint of irony on his face. “Sex. Obviously.”

  I’m completely confused and have no idea where to even begin but I take a stab at it anyway. “You haven’t failed me. Not at all. You’ve been with me every step of the way. Steadfast and true. You’ve protected me and trained me for the biggest moment of my life.”

  I walk across the room and take his hand. The fire has made his skin hot. I force him to look at me with those intense blue eyes. “I’m a solider, Morgan. A warrior. Not a lover. Do you know why I’m the only one that hasn’t stopped shifting?” No, but I’ve been wondering. I just haven’t had the nerve to ask. I shake my head. “Because the gods needed a link between worlds. I’ve always been bound to many things—people—and souls.”

  I touch his chin. “Because you’re the best, the bravest. They chose wisely.”

  “Those days are over. When you split from the Morrigan, I was cut off. That is how I am here to protect you and only you. But even so, I’m not sure you need my protection. And without that, what am I?”

  I frown. “You can’t shift anymore?”

  He shakes his head a
nd a deep sense of sadness fills his eyes. I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him close. He buries his face in my neck and for a moment we cling to one another.

  I consider the past few weeks. The change in Bunny. The distance from Dylan. Their life changed as much as mine. The others threw themselves into their art—into pleasing me—but these two…Sam was right. They all carry their own weight. It’s my responsibility to help them the way they’ve helped me.

  I lean back and tilt his head toward mine. “What you’re forgetting is that I do need you, and in more ways than as my Guardian. When I declared you as one of my mates we moved to a different sort of relationship—one that you may not be used to—hell, I’m not used to it either, but together we’ll work through this.”

  A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I should have known you’d have the answer.”

  “I may not be the Goddess of War anymore, Guardian, but I’m still the Queen around here.”

  His hand clenches around my neck and in a quiet whisper just above my lips he replies, “Yes, my Queen,” and I know that even though Dylan may have centuries of conditioning to undo, it’s going to be fun being the one to unravel him.

  Chapter Six

  Morgan

  With the idea of starting fresh and facing reality, I wake determined to deal with my writing. There’s one thing that has always helped me get my creative juices flowing, so I lace up my sneakers and head out to the park for a run.

  I cross the busy street outside the house and continue on the nearest path. It’s early, but the weather has cooled enough that it feels nice outside. I plug my earbuds in, hit my playlist and pick up my pace.

  The world slips away as I try to focus on my story. What started off as a story about a girl and her ravens ended up as so much more—something that mirrored reality in disturbingly sharp clarity. Maverick’s ravens are lost when she opens the gate to the other world. One is injured, the others vanish. She kills the prince and the cat disappears. I know now that the story was really my history—or parts of it. The ravens are my guardians. Xavier, the prince. And Anita, a girl I considered a friend, was the cat that lured me that fateful day.