I swallow, because the instant Damien put the ring on my finger memories have trickled in my mind like they’d never left. “You’re one of my ravens.”
It isn’t a question.
“Yes. I am.”
I reel. It wasn’t just a story. They were real. Not just Dylan, but the others as well. “All of you?”
“All of us.” His eyebrows cinch together. “But you know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t know anything,” I say honestly. “But I do feel something.” I hold my hand to my chest. “Something’s happening to me. The dreams. My writing. My encounters with the others.”
He steps forward and I’m dwarfed in his shadow. He touches my chin. “It’s a reawakening. It’s been predicted, and as much as I have been waiting for this day, it means the darkness is also rising.”
My hands tremble from his nearness. The other men in this house? I’ve craved their touch. Dylan? I want to pour myself into him and let him harness the energy of the past, present, and future.
“This is crazy, Dylan. Am I crazy?”
“No, little bird, you’re not crazy. You’re the strongest of us all. The steel that binds us all together. Things were different when you were younger. We could freely communicate with you, albeit in a different form. But then the darkness took notice and things changed. Your family shattered. Your memory was taken. Our forms altered. Much to our dismay, we had to leave you.”
Anger replaces my confusion. “You abandoned me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “There was no other way. The darkness was too close. Leaving was the only option.”
Emotion overwhelms me and I gather my wits. “What is the darkness?”
He guides me over to the far side of his massive work table. Spread across the top are photos of me and my childhood home, further proof that what he’s telling me is either the truth or he’s the worst kind of stalker. The photos have a grainy, out of this time quality about them. As difficult as it is to understand how and why Dylan has these photos, it’s the next stack that sends terror up my spine.
The photos are completely modern and could have been snapped at any moment. The images are recognizable, Times Square. The Statue of Liberty. The Brooklyn Bridge. They’re impossibly realistic other than the faded gray tone and the absolute destruction they depict. The streets are abandoned—desolate with gray, stormy skies overhead. Bleached skulls pile next to rusted vehicles. Choking vines twist up concrete buildings. Death hovers just off camera but it’s clear pure evil is behind such annihilation.
I spot the marking in the corner and rub over it with my thumb. “Sam took these?”
He nods. “Sam doesn’t see the world we do. He sees into the future and his camera speaks the truth.”
“This is why he didn’t want me in his studio?” He took photos of me. Quickly, I flip through the ones on the desk until I find the one from my first night at the mansion. The image is stark, my face bold and haunting in the decaying room. Ivy rolls up the walls and a giant hole in the building reveals the night sky. The most disturbing thing? I’m not dead. No. I’m alive and full of life. My eyes shine the darkest black and a twisted smile lingers on my lips.
I drop the picture and rub my eyes. What the fuck is that? I’m happy about the bad things coming? It shouldn’t be a surprise, not after everything else. The apocalypse is coming and I’m fooling around with a different guy every other night. Oh and they’re guys who, once upon a time, were ravens. My ravens.
I wander across the room. Finding a red velvet chair, I sit. “My writing. It’s just memories isn’t it?”
“Yes, with some embellishment.”
“And this scholarship? It’s not real. It’s just a way to keep me close.”
“The scholarship isn’t real but your acceptance into the graduate program is. We had no idea where you were until that submission came through. An associate notified us of your application. We were able to bring you back home.”
Home. This wasn’t my home. Once upon a time I lived in a nice suburban house, in a normal neighborhood with my parents. My eyes flick to Dylan’s. “My parents. The virus that no one could identify. The tests and doctors…what was that?”
He walks over and kneels. With my hand in his he says what I’ve always feared. “The darkness killed your parents, Morgan. Just like it will kill everyone else if given the chance.”
“How?” I ask, recalling the strange illness. But the memory is strong. I’ve written about it more than once. Dreamed a dozen times. I touch the charm hanging below my throat. The one Maverick discards and feels a rush of power. “The gate. I opened it.”
He nods.
“I killed them.” I look at Sam’s photos, dread creeping over every inch of my body. “Why would I k
ill them?”
He links his fingers with mine. “That’s why we’re here, Morgan. To keep the unthinkable from happening again. To help you control your urges—your needs.”