Midnight's End (The Raven Queen's Harem 6)

Anita doesn’t even hide her desperation, moving quickly to touch, taste, and smell the queen. Casteel holds her back, blocking her with his arm that no longer has a hand attached. There’s nothing but a wrapped stump.

“Let her pass,” the Morrigan says with a stern voice. There’s little doubt she dislikes Casteel’s interference. Her eyes flick over me as well. “Let them both come to me. I know they need a little bump to get through the night.”

I don’t want to. I don’t want that garbage in my system, but Nevis nudges me forward and I know I have no choice. The instant I’m in range, black tendrils of smoke swirl off her body—the kind I saw in the ring when she fought Dylan. The kind from the photos Sam took moments before he was captured. The Darkness, the Morrigan’s essence, is alive and I watch helplessly as it wraps around my wrist like a manacle, injecting me with the cold, hard power my body is eager to taste.

It feels like a tiny prick—or dozens of them, really—sinking into my flesh. It feels good; the rush of absolute power. It hadn’t been this way back home. As quickly as the smoke arrived it vanishes again, flickering back into her body.

“Just a bit, dears, to tide you over until the ceremony. I need you strong but not doped up on a level of power you can’t understand.”

“Thank you,” Anita says, licking her lips. The rings have vanished under her eyes and she looks more alive now than before. I touch my cheeks, wondering if they have the same glow.

The Morrigan looks at me expectantly and I nod. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She smiles and walks past us, getting into position to lead our procession. Casteel passes me and says, “You look ravishing tonight, Morgan. Not as good as you did wet and naked, but still, removing all that fabric is half the challenge.”

A jolt shocks through me and I grab Casteel by his lame arm and jerk it behind his back in a quick move. He falls to the ground on his knees, whimpering when a bone cracks. The soldiers around us pull their weapons, and I feel the steel point of at least six blades at my neck and back. The strength running through me isn’t my own, and when the Morrigan turns to see the commotion there’s no denying the glint in her eye.

“Stand down, Casteel,” she says, her lips curved in a nasty grin. “Only you would be foolish enough to push your vendetta against a woman filled with the Dark spirit. If she kills you right now, I’ll do nothing but watch.”

I drop him, pushing him forward. He grunts as he falls, cradling his already weak arm. I straighten and Anita smirks at me as I line up next to her. The Darkness rolls and expands inside of me, reacting to the feel of me using it.

The Morrigan turns and says, “Are you ready, girls?”

“Yes,” I declare, holding my chin high.

Because yes, I think I am.

18

Dylan

Unbelievably, in a haze of blood and sweat, the fight comes to an en

d. My brothers, Hildi, and I stand over the slain bodies. The roar of the crowd is both as astonished as I am and ecstatic at the results. I hardly remember it at all. Not the kills, not how we came out on top. But we did, and I’m not one to argue with the fates, so when that final buzzer rings I raise my arms like a champion and accept the win.

Now to take our prize.

“Go clean up,” the Shaman says. He’s not as angry as I expect. “I’ll have the Legion and the paperwork prepared for transfer.”

“That’s it?” Clinton asks, never one to trust the Shaman. I understand. There’s usually a catch, but as we walk back down the tunnel that is already shifting back to normal with a magical haze, and enter the training room, I realize that for once there isn’t.

“I wish you luck,” the man says, although I’m not sure he believes in such a thing. “Believe it or not, I’m on your side. The Morrigan’s ways…they aren’t my own. I like the balance of the realms as they are.”

“Because you profit from it?” Hildi asks, the large cut on her cheek already starting to fade.

“Because it took many centuries for me to settle in. Establish my ways.” He smiles. “Plus, I like the comforts of this world. Coffee. Pizza. The internet. An apocalypse isn’t in my favor any more than it is in yours.”

There’s honesty in his words. And truth.

“And the Legion,” I ask. “How will they feel about it?”

“The stories of the Legion are complex and not always as they seem. But they’ve waited a long time to put a god or goddess of war to an end. They’ll be useful allies. I understand why you’ve chosen them.”

Clinton pulls his shirt over his head, there’s a nasty bruise on his side, but it too is disappearing. He jerks his chin at the Shaman. “Any suggestions on how to handle them?”

“They’re soldiers. Warriors like yourself. Tell them what the mission is and they’ll fight accordingly.”

The Shaman spreads his right hand and waves his other across his palm. There’s a ripple in the air and a roll of thick paper appears. It’s old and the magic holding it together is strong enough to smell. Sulfur is the primary odor.