Ebony Rising (The Raven Queen's Harem 2)

“When you were in the alley with Xavier you scratched him on the neck. It seems that was all it took to infect him with an illness.”

“What kind of illness?” I ask. The blood drains from my face. “Is it the plague? The flu? Ebola?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Has it spread?” I look around the room. The guardian’s faces are strained with worry. “Can it spread?”

“We just don’t know yet but we’ll make every effort to contain it,” Dylan replies. “This can’t happen again, Morgan. You’ve got to fight harder.”

His words hit me like a slap. “Do you think I’m not? That I’m slacking off?”

“You snuck out of the house!” he rages—raising his voice in a way I’ve never heard before. “You risked everything for a little play time. Some leisure. Not to mention hooking up with another man.”

“Dylan!” Sam says, rising from his chair. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

I stand and push Sam out of the way. Bunny sits on the couch, looking as though he’d like to disappear. “Don’t you dare suggest I’m not committed. It’s all I do. I train. I study. I balance and expend my energy trying to keep the Darkness at bay. I have other obligations. I had a life before I came here. I have friends, or at least I’m trying to. And I never would have gone to that club if you’d been honest with me and told me Clinton would be there. It’s like I walked into a fucking landmine. I stepped on a mine and the whole place blew up. Don’t blame that on me.”

To my surprise it’s Bunny who stands up and makes an attempt to diffuse the situation.

“This isn’t helping,” he says. “There’s a man dying and he could be patient zero. Fighting about it is not going to fix this.”

“What do we need to do?” I ask, thankful for a little logic.

“Damien and I go over and try to help Xavier,” he says, and Damien nods in agreement. He looks at Dylan. “Go do what you do best—research the hell out of this. See if we can stop it.”

Dylan reluctantly nods.

“Clinton, fortify the armory. We may need it.”

“Got it.”

“Sam, get on the street. Start taking photos. Make sure we aren’t missing something big coming our way.”

“Good idea.”

“And what about me?” I ask.

“You need to rest. Recharge. Your mission hasn’t changed—it’s only sped up. You’ll have to choose a mate, Morgan. Now.” His copper eyes hold mine. Clinton said it earlier. I know it in my heart. It’s time.

They file out of the room and I should follow—go to my room and rest—but I don’t. I sit back on the leather couch.

I feel a tickle in my ear. A soft whisper. There must be a way to figure out who is my match. Who is my one. The voice makes a suggestion, like a thought popped suddenly in my head.

My eyes scan the books around the library. The answer must be in here. I touch the rune over my heart. It must be in here as well.

As though I’m guided by an unseen spirit, I walk across the room to a thick book with a black, peeling spine. I pull it from the shelf and take it to the table. On the cover in faded gold is a woman surrounded by her five crows.

I open it up and read.