Black Magic (The Raven Queen's Harem 3)

“WishMaker?” I ask, turning to find the small man right behind me.

“Yes. It’s very old—Romanian. You look inside to reveal your true desires.”

I stare at the glossy surface, trying to catch the shadows again. “Like a Magic 8 ball?”

Tran laughs. “A little bit. But the

WishMaker, like all magic, can reveal things you never knew about yourself. Things you possibly never wanted to know. The orb knows your heart. Your truth. You can’t hide from it.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.” I set the orb back on its stand and look over his head at Damien. There’s a box of supplies on the counter next to him and I wonder how we’re going to get that back home on the motorcycle.

“Get everything?” I ask, suddenly ready to leave.

“Most of it. We’ll have to track down a few other things. Between me and Bunny, I think we can find everything.” He rests his hand on the box and says to Tran. “You’ll deliver this?”

“By this afternoon.”

We step out of the dark shop and into the warm daylight. Feeling bold and like I’d like the shake the weird feeling I got in the shop, I squeeze Damien’s hand and ask, “Think we can take the long way home?”

“You want a longer ride?”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at his curious face. “I think I do.”

*

Damien takes the scenic route, giving me a tour of parts of New York I never knew existed. Bridges and side roads. Perfect views. I grow comfortable leaning against his back and revel in the intimacy of the moment rather than the fear.

The magic I felt at the shop flickers under the surface. That kind of place seems perfect to lure out the Morrigan. Ancient power is her lifesource. Touching that orb gave her a tiny taste. She wants more and there’s only one real way to satiate her.

These feeling are still churning when Damien slows his bike and turns into the alley behind our house. He eases it next to the shop instead of the garage below, killing the engine.

We remove our helmets but I keep my body pressed against his. I wrap my arm around his waist and feel his muscles tighten. He hesitates, just a moment, before twisting to see my face. He’s curious. He feels it. Me. All of this is written on his face.

He licks his lips and his eyes flare with heat. “You’re not going to get games from me, Morgan.”

“Games?” I ask, genuinely confused.

He cracks a smile. “The others? They all have their standards. Codes or morality. Personal hang-ups. I’m here to do a job. My sworn duty is to protect you, but I’m no angel, darling, not in this life or any other. If you need to blow off a little steam, I’m ready.”

His words, no matter how blunt, are exactly what I need to hear. The Morrigan makes me feel dirty around the honor of these men. Her ways are wicked. She’s a killer and her darkness already lashed out and took a victim. I need a man right now that will be nothing more than a release. Someone with a little dirt on his hands, and after weeks of playing guessing games with the others and losing my virginity to Clinton in a steamy night of tragic passion, I need someone to just take the energy I have to give.

“Good. Because that voodoo shop gave me the willies and riled up the Darkness.”

His fingers twist in mine. “Come on. I’ve got just the thing.”

The thing turns out to be a small room off the back of his studio. There’s a bed, a small table and chairs, and it’s clean. Like, immaculate.

“What’s this for?” I ask, relishing the feel of the air conditioning on my hot face.

“I sleep back here sometimes. The house may be big but it still feels crowded on occasion.” He unbuttons his leather vest and tosses it on the chair. “Lately it seems more so than normal.”

“Because of me?” I ask.

He walks over and tugs at the straps of my tank. “The energy you carry? It’s no joke. With my sensitivity, it sends me over the edge.”

I’m already acquainted with Damien’s body. I’ve tasted his mouth, his skin, and his cock. Right now though, from the way he licks his lips, I get the feeling he’s ready to get a taste of me.

He doesn’t mess around, and my shirt and strappy bra are on the floor before I can blink. His hands push the skintight jeans over my hips to my feet, where I have to hold on to him to get them the rest of the way off. I take him in when he pulls his own shirt over his head, revealing the carved muscles of his chest and the tattoos that I’ve never seen up close. Silver hoops hang from his nipples and when I touch one on impulse he shivers in reply.