Ebony Rising (The Raven Queen's Harem 2)

Damien

With the package in hand, I cross the entry foyer, hoping to catch Dylan in his rooms. Davis, always seeming to know my intent, stops me from the pantry off the kitchen.

“Master Dylan is down in the training room.”

“Is he?” He hadn’t mentioned an extra session, but I suspect I know the reason. “Thank you, Davis, you saved me from going up three flights of stairs.”

I cut down the side hallway and take the back stairway to the basement training room. Midway down I hear the loud, thumping bass Dylan cranks up during workouts. I push open the door and see he and Clinton are in the middle of one of their crazy circuits. The moves are intense and I can’t help but stop in the doorway and watch.

Although we’re all superb physical beings, Dylan and Clinton are the biggest of the guardians. Dylan is tall and lean, his muscles tight cords that run along his back and arms. Clinton is just massive. A huge beast of a man. When you see them like this—or really any of us in the training room—it’s not far-fetched to believe we were created by the gods.

With Clinton timing, Dylan begins the last round of nine circuits. Nine pull-ups, nine push-ups, nine dead-lifts, then platform jumps, planks, and four other back-breaking exercises. Dylan groans in pain as he pushes through the final round, screaming as he drags a hundred-pound weight from one side of the room to the other.

“Time,” Clinton says.

Dylan screams in pain, relief, and accomplishment before picking up the weight and throwing it across the room. It lands two feet away from me with a crash on the rubber mat.

“Hey,” I call out. “Don’t take that stress out on me.”

They both look up and Dylan gives me a sheepish grin. He’s breathing heavy and sweat soaks through his gray t-shirt.

“You want in?” Clinton asks, racking the weights.

I shake my head. “I worked out earlier and I’m about to head out for a while.” I hold up the package. “I finished.”

Clinton drops the last weight in the rack with a heavy thud and Dylan stares at the felt-wrapped object in my hands. I unwrap it, excited to show them.

“Damn, she’s gorgeous,” Clinton says.

“Can I?” Dylan asks, holding out his hand.

“Yeah, of course.”

The sword is solid but lightweight. The hilt is carved with protective runes and I embedded magic-infused gems into the guard. Dylan takes the sword by the grip and holds it upright. “Beautiful.”

He performs a few moves, the blade cutting through the air and glinting in the harsh training room lights. Satisfied, he flips it over and offers the handle to Clinton, who tentatively takes the powerful weapon.

“You’ll start training her tomorrow?” Dylan asks him.

“First thing.” He raises an eyebrow, skeptically. “You’re sure this is a good idea?”

“It’s part of the prophecy. We have to teach her properly. God forbid the gate falls and she’s unable to fight.”

“What if she uses it against us?” I ask. It’s the question we all have. I know I feel the creeping Darkness every time I’m near her. The longer it takes her to find a mate, the more apparent it is.

“I have faith Morgan is strong enough to withstand the evil and will fight for the good,” Dylan replies. He looks between us. “Do you not?”

“I think she needs to pick a mate and channel her energy as intended. Her indecision is concerning,” I say.

Clinton’s eyes narrow. “Are you jealous? Because—”

I hold up my hand. “No, I’m not jealous. It’s hard to be jealous when every time she or anyone else in this house gets off and you feel it too. It’s the best of both worlds and I’m sworn and dedicated to my service. But instead of the Darkness diminishing as she explores her choices, I just feel it getting stronger.” I look at Dylan. “Do you not?”

“I concede that Morgan herself is getting stronger. I’m not sure about the Darkness.” He walks over to grab his towel and wipes the sweat off his face. “She’ll have to choose at the end of the thirty day span. She has twelve days left. After today, I’m confident that she not only understands her role, she’s embracing it.”

“Was that before or after she sucked you off?” Clinton asks. I search his eyes for a hint of the jealousy Dylan accused me of but it’s not there. It’s a genuine question.

Dylan holds him with a hard stare and simply replies, “During.”