“No,” he says, bending over to pick me up. I fight against him, but he’s bigger and in a second he’s got me cradled in his arms. “You’re not fine and to be honest, neither am I.”
His words jolt me and fire boils under my skin. “What are we going to do? They’re gone. People are dying. We can’t trust anyone. We couldn’t even trust Bunny.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “We’re going to get through this and we’re going to do it together. Starting today. Starting now.”
Chapter 5
Dylan
“You can’t help me,” she mocks. “You’re nothing without them. That’s why she took them and left you here. Because together we’re a bumbling, useless mess.”
I don’t make it to the attic floor, not with her flinging words of poison every step of the way. I stop at her room, kick open the door, and toss her on her bed. Her white tank is covered in drops of Hildi’s blood. Her dark eyes are lit with fiery pain.
As much as it kills me, Morgan needs that pain. She needs to feel the anger and hatred of the Morrigan and even Bunny. Sadness has gotten us nowhere. Wallowing in our guilt—that’s what the Morrigan hoped we would do. My penchant for brooding. Morgan’s guilt-prone humanity. The distrust Tran sewed this afternoon made something in Morgan snap and I plan to bring that rage and anger fully to the surface.
She sprawls on the mattress, propped up on her elbows. Her lip is puffy from taking a hit. I lean over her, hands on both sides of her hips, my mouth inches from hers. “I know you think the Morrigan left us here because we’re weak, but that’s not possible. She does not understand the reality of our bond, because in her mind what we have is twisted and perverse. She can’t comprehend the strength we find in one another. Not fully.” Despite her busted lip, I kiss her hard and she responds with equal ferocity.
Her nails scratch down my chest, tugging at the fabric of my shirt. I lift it over my head and then strip the tank off her body. She lands on her back, her hair a dark halo on the white quilt covering her bed. Her black, lacy bra contrasts with her pale skin. A dark bruise is forming on her ribs. Hildi got in a few good punches, that’s for sure.
She lifts her hips and I strip off her exercise tights, taking the panties with it. I blink, having a vision of black wings spread across the sheets. Dear gods, I think, rubbing my eyes.
I drop my pants, kicking them off my feet, not hesitating before I grab her legs and pull her to the edge of the bed.
“She doesn’t own us, Morgan. Not our minds or our bodies. She doesn’t underst
and how, when I touch you here,” I reach between her legs, eliciting a moan of pleasure. “Or if I fuck you like this,” I flip her to her stomach, pulling her hips in the air, exposing her voluptuous, full ass, “that it brings us closer. Makes us stronger. Mentally and physically.”
I slip between her cheeks, coating my shaft in the wet heat of her body. When she begs, I ease inside, pushing to the fullest—the farthest possible. Her fingers grip the bedding, mine grip her hips. The silence of the house is broken, filled with cries of passion, the release of anger and fear.
“Harder,” she cries. “I want to feel you. Gods, I just want to feel more than the ache of loss.”
I comply, thrusting in and out, and feel relief when her body moves in synch. But it’s too distant, which, again, is what the Morrigan wants. I need to see her face, see the ecstasy tremble from her lips. I pull out and she rolls to her back. There’s no hesitation, not a break in our movements. I lift her hips and lean against the bed, entering her once more. The anguish has vanished from her face, her eyes glazing even as they hold mine.
“She doesn’t have this,” I say, holding, holding, holding…
“She has them.” Her breath catches, her body quakes.
Our fingers link and the wave crashes over Morgan like Thor’s mighty hammer against a mountain. She shatters, her voice loud, her pleasure and satisfaction known.
I thrust into her, spilling the warmth of my seed and the keys to my soul. I’m still in her when I reply to what she last said. “No,” I tell the woman lying beneath me. Our bodies are still joined. “She doesn’t have them. She doesn’t have their hearts—she sure as hell doesn’t have mine—and that’s what will break her.”
Chapter 6
Bunny
Casteel arrives in my studio just past dawn. Hulking and demonic in the doorway, he makes no bother to knock. His rank gives him the privilege of coming and going as he pleases.
“The Queen wants to see you.” He glances over my stained hand and paint-covered smock. I try my best not to stare at the gnarled scar at the base of his jaw. “Now.”
I wipe my hand on a rag, leaving my paintbrush in a jar of turpentine. The painting behind me has begun to take shape. My mind is sharper in the Otherside—or at least, my magic is.
I follow Casteel out of my room in the tower and down the stairs to the main section of the castle. He wears a traditional uniform: black leather tunic, heavy pants with pockets and slits for hiding weapons. His boots are made from the hide of an animal I never want to see in person. Thick and bumpy, with soles made from the tar pits in the northern territory.
Even with the dark fabric I see and smell the blood splatters of my brothers. They are fierce warriors—the Raven Guard—and to elicit the screams of pain and misery that echo from the dungeons up to my rooms must mean Casteel has refined his level of torture.
Payback sucks, especially if you’re not the one that committed the crime.
Casteel does knock before entering the queen’s chambers, he’s not that much of an arrogant fool. I lurk behind him, head bowed, counting the stones on the floor. A slave—The Morrigan does not pretend the people in her castle are anything but owned by her—opens the door and nods for us to enter.