Raven's Mark (The Raven Queen's Harem 1)

I shake my head. “First impressions and all of that.”

My closet is sparse, so it doesn’t take long to pick out an outfit. I go for a strappy sundress and sandals with heels. I brush out my hair and apply a little makeup. I don’t want it to look like I’m trying too hard but I also don’t want to look like a hobo next to Mr. Model out there. Not to mention the rugged good looks of Dylan. I slather on a little mascara and a hint of blush and walk out of the room.

“Damn.” Sam stands as I enter the room. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get hotter.”

“Stop.” He shrugs but pulls out his phone and takes a quick photo before I can stop him. “Hey! At least let me see it.”

He shakes his head but I notice the hint of a frown as he slides the phone back in his pocket. He offers me the crook of his arm and, reluctantly, I hook mine with his.

“Do you know anything about the others in the house?” I ask as we approach the staircase and head to the second floor. “I’ve only met you and Dylan.”

“Sure.” He points to the two rooms on the second floor. “Damien lives on the top floor with Dylan. Clinton and Bunny live down here.”

“Bunny?” Relieved to hear another girl may be in the building, even if she has a stupid name. “What’s her focus?”

“Bunny is a dude,” he gives me a strange look. “I’ll let him explain the name. He’s a visual artist—painting, drawing, collage.”

We enter the foyer, my arm still linked with his. Sam’s proximity and the delicious scent of soap and musk make my heart flutter in a way that is totally inappropriate and out of character. I tell myself it’s because I’m tired and need a little extra support, but that doesn’t explain the tightening in my lower belly. I follow him through the archway under the stairs and down a hall lined with wood. I stop cold in the doorway of the dining room and feel Sam’s hand slip to mine.

The first thing I notice is the mural. It covers all three walls, minus the one made of glass. Hand-painted trees shoot up with lush leaves creeping toward the eighteen-foot ceilings. My eyes zoom in on a girl wandering in the woods, chin lifted, with a smile on her pink lips. I step forward and Sam releases his grip. I spin, trying to take it all in. Five ravens dot the landscape. One with a jewel in his beak, another with wings spread. One more hops on the ground while a fourth soars overhead. A fifth watches the girl from his perch in the tree.

“What is this? Who made this?” I ask, feeling my heart race like a hummingbird.

“It’s been here since the house was built,” Dylan says. “The Brannon family was big into Gaelic lore.”

I turn and face him. He’s wearing a blazer that make his shoulders look a mile wide. His black hair is cut short on the sides but a bit longer in the front. It’s then that I notice the others…all men, all equal shades of gorgeous, flanking Dylan’s sides.

“Morgan, I’d like you to meet our other housemates,” he says. “Damien, Bun, and Clinton.”

Without being told, I know who is who. Damien stands to his right, much taller than the others but lean with hard muscles visible though his shirt. He wears a shiny belt buckle and two rings on his fingers. Tiny earrings glint in his lobes and his eyes flash violet when he looks at me. And man, does he ever look at me. His gaze is consuming, like he’s drinking me in. His head is shaved and two tattoos peek out from the collar of his shirt.

“You’re Damien,” I say, finding my voice.

“Hello, Morgan.”

I look to Dylan’s left. “And you’re the one they call Bunny.”

The nails on his right hand are thick with paint and splatters cover his shoes. He’s smaller than the others, even Sam, but he has the most soulful coppery-brown eyes that match his spiky hair. Bold glasses frame his face and everything about him is adorable. His shirt sleeves are long, but one side seems unusually baggy and sits at an odd angle. I tilt my head as it dawns on me. He has a disfigured arm. He lifts up on his feet when I know his name and his mouth splits into a grin. “It’s good to see you, Morgan.”

Standing at the end of the table, with his hands wrapped around the back of the chair, awaits our final housemate. His jaw is clenched, gray eyes hard as steel. His dark, shoulder-length hair is loose against his massive shoulders. I thought Dylan was big—b

ut no—Clinton must spend most of his days in the gym. Which is equal parts impressive and frightening. I feel dark energy rolling off of him and he seems to do his best not to make eye contact. When he doesn’t speak, Dylan says, as though the man isn’t in the room, “This is Clinton. Ignore him. He’ll eventually warm up.”

I stare at the men around the table, each standing behind an empty chair. The only one left is at the head and it’s clear they’ve saved it for me.

“Now that introductions are over, is everyone ready to eat?”

Groans of happiness burst from each man, including Clinton, but they all look at me like they’re waiting for my word.

“I’m starving,” I say, lowering myself into the chair. “Let’s eat.”

Chapter 5

Morgan

Dinner is served by an older couple named Sue and Davis. I learn soon enough that they’re married and together they’ve been responsible for cooking and cleaning for the residents of the mansion for decades.

The men speak animatedly during the meal, discussing their various projects. I can’t help but finding myself caught up in their talk—as though they’ve known one another longer than a few hours. When there’s a brief lull in the conversation I ask, “How long have you all lived here?”