“I’m not letting her out until I know what the Morrigan needs her for. After that, you’re welcome to take her back to your Goddess and drag her to the gates of hell.”
Chapter 2
Dylan
The door needs a heave to get open, the warped wood sticks at the top. I use my shoulder to knock it loose and when the door finally opens, it slams into the wall, louder than I’d intended.
I brace myself for the response. I don’t know what or even why. Everything in the house feels quiet now. There’s no music from Clinton’s second floor suite. No echo of laughter following Sam. I don’t hear Damien’s heavy boots on the stairs, or the roar of his motorcycle in the alley out back.
There sure as hell is no sign of Bunny roaming the halls at all hours of the night or stuffing his face with sweets in the kitchen.
Bunny. Damn, it still stings, like the wound of a rusty blade running through the gut. How could he? What is he thinking? We all have our weak moments; our pride or ego, our doubts and fears. But this? This was something much more and it hurt to even think of the consequences of it all. For him. For Morgan, and most of all, the world.
As suspected, no one comes from the sound of me entering the room. Even Sue and Davis have quieted—heartbroken over the situation. Food preparation is nothing but a whisper in the downstairs kitchen. Our mandatory dinner has stopped; what’s the point with just me and Morgan? We’re together constantly anyway. Working, sleeping, mating.
Even our lovemaking has turned quiet. Nothing but shifting sheets and the sound of our bodies moving together. Even if we do derive pleasure from our bonding, it seems wrong to celebrate. It seems a betrayal to my fallen brothers.
I enter Bunny’s room and take a deep breath. The room smells a little musty—the stale chemical of his paints—closed since the day of his traitorous actions. I’ve had my nose stuck in books or obsessing over the news. Morgan goes to the dungeons to interrogate Anita. I’ve been unable to even walk down the hall and step foot in the place where I allowed Bunny’s escape.
But now I’m at a loss. My books are useless against whatever magic Bunny conjured to pass between realms and shut us out. So now I’m here, hoping to find something that will help us.
I stop before the torn canvas—the one Bunny used as a portal for escape. I ripped it—ruined it—in my haste to stop him. It may have been our only way to the Otherside. For all I know, it may have been their only way back.
The Raven Guard.
I’ve no do
ubt they’re still alive. Suffering, but alive.
Morgan thinks they’re dead and I’ve allowed that for the time being. She hasn’t said the words, but I see it in the dark shadows of her eyes, and in the tears that slip down her cheeks when she thinks I don’t notice. It’s better that she thinks they’re gone. The alternative is worse. Being a prisoner at the hands of the Goddess of War is like standing in the fiery pits of hell. If she realized…if she understood…
I can barely think of it myself and push back the weight of guilt of knowing they’re bearing it without me at their side.
Which is why I finally caved and came back to Bunny’s studio. Why I’m searching, day after day, for a fucking break—just the smallest clue. We can’t give up on the others. They’re alive, at least physically, and it’s my obligation to bring them back.
*
I’ve completely lost track of time when I hear her footsteps on the stairs. I’ve been staring at painting after painting, castle after castle, trying to see something in the imagery for what feels like hours, when Morgan enters the room. She has smudges of dark under her eyes, either from lack of sleep or losing her power. The sight guts me. Another failure to add to the others.
“Hey,” she says, leaning against the door. Her arms cross over her chest and she watches me.
“How’s the prisoner today?” I ask.
“Fucking deranged.”
“So like yesterday?”
“Maybe a little worse. Now she’s speaking in riddles or something.” She sighs and walks over to where I’m standing. “What’s going on in here?”
“Just trying to see if Bunny left any sort of clue on how he got the portal open.” I pretend saying his name isn’t a punch to my insides, and gesture to his worktable. “He took a bunch of stuff the day he left. Probably whatever I would need to figure out how to get the gate open myself.”
Morgan steps closer and slips her delicate hand in mine. Just the sensation of her skin against mine sends a shock of energy up my spine. “We’ll figure it out.”
“We’re running out of time. Did you watch the news today?” I ask. She shakes her head. “People are getting sick outside of New York now, it’s spreading.”
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.”