Obsidian Fire (The Raven Queen's Harem 4)

“Get out of here,” I tell him.

“Dylan, I did that for your own good.”

I reach for a towel and wipe my face. “Are you fucking kidding me? I know I signed up for it, but that was brutal. You didn’t do that to the others.”

“Yes, I did. I didn’t do anything to you. I perform the spell—you’re the one that willingly revealed to the world what your biggest fear is, and it turns out that it’s a little girl.”

Something in my brain snaps and I charge toward the shaman. He holds up his hand, palm out, and an invisible barrier appears between the two of us. I slam into it full force and bounce back, crashing into the wall.

“Get your shit together, Dylan. This war isn’t over.”

He opens the door and leaves, engulfed in the sound of the crowd. I stagger to my feet and pick up the nearest object, a long metal bench. I throw it down the hallway where it slides until it crashes into the far wall. I punch the locker, slamming my fist into the metal, over and over and over, until the skin breaks and blood drips down my hand. The fight flashes before me. Morgan as a little girl, The Morrigan as an evil temptress, the symbolic raven.

The shaman is right. The war isn’t over no matter how much I want it to be.

I kick over a trashcan and face the wall as the door opens once again.

“Get out. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

After a moment the door closes and I exhale, trying to clear my mind. I’m just so fucking angry and so unbelievably scared. Not just for me but for the other Guardians and for Morgan the most.

I hear a footstep and spin, fists clenched and ready. The real Morgan stands before me, hands up in peace, looking just as beautiful in tight jeans and a hoodie as she does in a fancy dress. I take a step back.

Her eyes dart to the destruction I’ve caused in the room and down to my bleeding hand. “You’re hurt,” she says, closing the distance between us.

“It’s nothing,” I grunt, wiping my knuckles on my pants. “You should leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Dylan.” She reaches for me and I flinch. Adrenaline still runs through my veins and one false move and I may snap her like a twig.

Again, my fears are festering and open tonight. I look away from her face but can smell her hair and feel her heat.

“If you won’t leave, then I will.” I start to move around her but her hand clamps on my arm.

“You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.” I glance at her hand and think of how easily I could get away, but then my eyes skim up her body to her face and I know that’s nothing but a damned lie. “Tonight is the night you stop running from me. You stop being afraid of me.”

I laugh. “And how do you propose doing that?”

She pushes up on her toes but I’m already leaning down, drawn to her like a magnet. “You’re my mate, Dylan, no more running. No more excuses. It’s time to get that bitch out of your head and your hands on my body.”

The internal fight is strong. So strong, and I’ve resisted for so long, but the image of that Raven overhead broke something in me. If the sign is true then I don’t have long to wait.

I place my hands on her hips and give in.

Chapter Eleven

Morgan

Dylan’s lips are hot and his chest is sweaty, fresh wounds marking his skin. He kisses me eagerly and I want it this way, raw and unrelenting. He’s worked so hard to bring himself to my level that I now realize that will never happen. Dylan is a warrior. A fighter. He carries the burdens of the past and future on his shoulders.

He guides me to the wall, my back pressing against the hard surface. With one hand against the wall and the other skimming my side, I tug at the waistband of his pants. I’m relieved there’s no hesitation—no fighting back. He keeps kissing me while he slips off his pants, then the skintight boxers he wears underneath. There’s no denying his arousal. Standing back, his eyes follow my hand as I unzip the hoodie and he brushes it off my shoulders. He dips his head, first kissing between my breasts, then sinking his teeth into the soft flesh in the crook of my neck. My nipples harden and I release a hiss of pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” I tell him, even though nothing implies that he will. Every inch of my skin tingles in anticipation.

“I’ve waited an eternity to prove my worth as your mate,” he declares. “I couldn’t stop now if the gods themselves ripped me from this realm.”

My stomach tightens when his cock brushes against me. The spot between my legs dampens as he twists his fingers under my panties, the fabric ripping in a hard yank. Our bodies bump and again he claws to get the bra off my back, impatient with any barrier between us. The elastic snaps under the pressure and the scrap of lace falls to the floor with the rest of our clothing. When we’re both bare and his mouth has found mine again, he lifts me under the legs, pushing me against the wall.

His cock slides between my legs—not in me—not yet. I’m thankful for his strength, the way he can hold me up, the way I can feel his body. I like the way it feels to press against his lower belly. The way his skin rubs against mine. I like the sticky tip of his cock against my backside. I press against him. My breasts, my clit, my ass.