and motion. Painting after painting, an endless cycle. I wake up and paint. I eat, then paint. I try to sleep but the images won’t stop, so I paint. And paint. And paint. My brain is trying to tell me something. Something I’m not sure I want the answer to.
I stand before my latest and concede that the “what” of my paintings, I get. I know it’s a castle. I know it’s in the Otherside, but what confuses me is the way it changes shape, color, and style. Some days it’s dark and dangerous. Others, it’s light and full of wonder. The sky is often black with clouds—a never-ending darkness. But then I’ll catch a few minutes of sleep and wake up to the most vivid imagery of blue, cloudless skies, and lush green grass. I paint them all, hoping that at some point it will make sense.
It has to—before I go mad.
With the Darkness gone and the tensions in the house abated, I thought my mania would curb. It’s been the opposite though. My desire for Morgan is tainted with guilt and shame. She doesn’t need me anymore, if she ever did. She tries to corner me. Talk to me. I know she feels pity for my disfigurement. I don’t want her to feel like she owes me something. A debt. An offering.
I stare at the painting, at the sharp spires that jut to the sky. At the heavy gate that divides it from the barren landscape. It doesn’t look right. It’s wrong. Clutching the paintbrush in my hand, I dab it in a mixture of black and gray oil paint before attempting to fix what’s wrong. I work quick—fast motions through the sky and along the tallest spire. The sound is what makes me stop. The jagged ripping sound. The ear-splitting tear.
I blink and realize it’s not a brush in my hand but a blade. The castle is ripped into shreds. I drop the knife on the floor with a loud clatter and stare at the destruction for a long moment.
Then I reach for a fresh canvas.
Chapter Three
Morgan
Before I split from the Morrigan I’d declared I wanted all of the Guardians as my mates. That act of rebellion, of refusing to choose, helped me fight off the Darkness and regain complete control of my mind and body. After that I went through a small period of transition. I needed time to heal. To find some peace. I did ask the Guardians if the agreement to mate would end now that I didn’t need them. The response was a universal ‘no’. None of them are sure what will occur after the split, but they do know that the Morrigan isn’t dead. I know it, too. It’s not a fact as much as a feeling. No one killed her after the spell. Her spirit is alive—somewhere—and it’s unlikely she’s through with me, or them.
“Are you her guardians or mine?” I asked Dylan that day. He was pouring over history books like nothing had happened.
He didn’t reply for so long that I wondered if maybe he didn’t have an answer, but eventually he looked up from his book and said, “We’re bound to you, Morgan. You. This body. This soul. That was part of the need to declare who your mate,” he pauses, “mates, are. Once you made the announcement there was no going back.”
“So if I hadn’t picked you all then you would have been free to go with her.”
He touches his chin in thought. “Possibly. We’ll never know, because you did the right thing.”
Now I sit in the window seat of my writing office, the empty pie plate on the floor and my journals around me. The pages are blank—my creativity blocked since the night of the spell. Maybe even before. It’s like when the Darkness left it took a small part of me with it. One I’ve continued to fill in one of two ways.
Both physical. Both I use to distract my thoughts and exhaust my body.
I peer out the window, down at the expansive park below. It took a few weeks but slowly I’ve begun training and having sex with my Guardians again. Clinton, Sam, and Damien are all ready and willing partners. Even with the short break, we never skipped a beat. We’re good together. We spar. We learn and we love with a renewed passion. Less anger. More fun. I like it.
But something’s off.
That rejection from Bunny isn’t the first one I’ve had. He’s withdrawn and nothing I do seems to lure him out. And Dylan? Fuck if I know what’s going on in that man’s head. He, too, has put up a wall. A physical barricade between us. They both claim to be my mates, that they’re here to fulfill their roles as my Guardians, but neither is attending to all of my needs. And they’re certainly not allowing me to attend to theirs.
My alarm chimes, giving me a warning that it’s time for our mandatory dinner, which I always enjoy, but tonight I’m more excited about what’s happening afterward. Sam is taking me out, like he’s promised. Where? That’s a surprise. I leave the notebooks, the pie plate, and my aimless thoughts and head to my bedroom to change.
*
Dinner passes uneventfully with the highlight being Sam sending me teasing texts.
Ready for tonight?
Yes, I reply under the table. Where are we going?
You know I can’t tell.
Can’t or won’t.
His response is a shrugging emoji. I roll my eyes.
Give me a hint?
Wear something nice.
A dress?