Onyx Eclipse (The Raven Queen's Harem Book 5)(12)

I look down at our hands. “When you opened the gate before.”

“When my parents died.”

I nod. Morgan looks like she may be ill. I pull out a chair and guide her into it. “Don’t blame yourself for that one. It was all my doing.”

She doesn’t seem convinced, but drops it anyway. “How far in the future do you think these photos show?”

I’ve already studied the wounds. The scabs and reopened injuries. I see the gaunt thinning in their cheeks, the lost glimmer in their eyes.

“A few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Her jaw drops.

“I suspected all along that they were still alive.” I wrap my hands around the back of the chair. “It’s not her way to make anything quick and painless.”

Morgan stares at the photos, her mind running. I see the way her eyes move, the way her fingers clench. Her emotional reactions are why I hadn’t told her. She’s not the best at keeping in check.

She turns and lifts her chin. Her next comment catches me off guard. “Andi is sick—she caught the virus.”

Another stone sinks. “And Hildi?”

“She’s fine. Probably immune.” She exhales and glances over the photos one last time before standing. “I’m going to bed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No.” She gives me a weak, tired smile. “I’m exhausted. I probably just need a little time alone.”

It’s not exactly a dismissal or even a rejection. I’m exhausted as well. Even if we bonded tonight, I’m not sure how much energy I’d have to give.

I grab her hand before she leaves, tugging her back to my chest. I do kiss her. I’m not letting her get away so easily, and the flare of heat still rises between us. “Find me if you need me, okay?”

She nods, licking the taste of me off her lips.

“Goodnight, Dylan.”

“Goodnight.”





Chapter 12


Morgan


I don’t go to bed or even go to my room. Instead I walk up the four flights of stairs and enter Bunny’s studio. The massive, high-ceilinged room is drafty and cold and I wrap my arms around my chest to stave off a chill. I hadn’t been in here alone before. Not before or after Bunny’s betrayal.

I had seen the paintings, though. Canvas after canvas of similar, haunting scenes. Most are of the castle. The Morrigan’s castle. I’ve seen it in my dreams. Written about it. I know that in the realm where she lives it’s cold and barren—a reflection of the soulless anger that resides in her heart.

I walk to the one with the tear and touch the jagged canvas edges. Dylan almost killed Bunny that night. It’s a testimony to my confusion that I’m okay that he missed.

I walk down the long row of paintings and find a hint of obsession. What was Bunny trying for here? Some kind of perfection? Slight variations occur in each scene. A light in the castle window of one. The curved branch of a withered tree in another. Stopping at one set in the gloomy gray of the Otherside’s day, I try to figure out what I’m missing. My eyes keep going back to the light in the arched window, a faint pale yellow. A slight blur mars the middle of the glass. A person? Someone watching.

A faint, cool breeze wafts over me and I blink, realizing my nose is centimeters from touching the canvas. I feel the tingle of magic, a faint reminder of the day I stepped between realms in the park. Narrowing my eyes at the two-inch window, I press a finger against the yellow glass.

Nothing.

Just hard, painted canvas, cast in the shadow of fading magic. Bunny must have infused it in the materials but how do I activate it?

I stare at the painting for a few more minutes, quite sure I can see something beyond the glass. If there’s something in there, then I can hopefully get through there, like Bunny, Anita, and the other Guardians did. I’ll need strong magic and someone to walk me through it—not Dylan. Someone more willing to take on the darker sort of magic required for this kind of spell.

I’m not exactly sure who can help me, but I have an idea where to start.

*

The zap is familiar this time as I pass through the disarming wards of the bar. Being so unfamiliar with my magic and abilities, I’m never sure what I’m losing—they’ve only been strong under spells or in the fighting ring—but I feel a specific loss when I step past the bouncer and into the shadowy room.

The music is loud enough to disguise conversations but not overbearing. The crowd is lighter than last time, empty tables are scattered across the room. I don’t see anyone familiar but I decide to wait it out and find an empty stool at the bar.

“What would you like?” the bartender asks. I saw her speaking to Dylan the other night. She’s got creamy brown skin and a shaved head. Her features are tiny, the tips of her ears slightly pointed. I try not to stare at her teeth, sharp at the canines, but fail.

“Whiskey,” I reply, scanning the rest of the bar. I’d come to like the taste of it after being handed a glass so many times at The Nead. She pours the drink and slides it across the bar. “Thanks.”

She helps another customer and I try to search the dark room. It’s impossible, though, without looking nosy. The bartender wipes the counter and says, “You were here the other night. With the Raven.”