His words are like a punch to the gut. Mating for life? But it still rings true in the center of my chest. My eyes skim past each one. The strong, the smart, the beautiful, the creative, and the caring, and I realize with stark clarity that I’m not upset about the directive.
I’m upset that I can’t have them all.
Chapter 17
Morgan
An ancient book detailing the tales of the Morrigan sits on my bed when I arrive in my room that night. A note rests on top.
Embrace your history. -Dylan
I read the heavy book, absorbing the words and illustrations. The Queen of the Ravens was the Celtic goddess of war. A terrifying, wrathful woman who reveled in evil. She was known as the Triad. Woman with three parts.
The woman named Morgan.
The Raven Shifter.
The Goddess of War.
In each telling of the Morrigan’s story she falls for a man, a warrior hero, Cu Cuchulainn. Cuchulainn rejects the Morrigan over and over, igniting such rage that she kills him and uses her pain to fuel an epic and all-encompassing war.
Beneath a drawing of the dark-haired queen, the book explains that the Morrigan’s vengeance was so overwhelming she was trapped in an alternate universe where she could wallow in war and strife for eternity. Her only allies, a murder of five ravens, had been assigned by the gods to rein her in. Over time the ravens became devoted guardians to the Queen, falling in love with her one by one. To find peace she must find her one true mate from the guardians.
I push the book to the side and lean back against my pillows. The last twenty-four hours have been surreal and for a moment I seriously consider if I’ve awoken in a mental ward. Maybe the Nead is nothing more than a sanitarium. I google the word ‘Nead’.
“You’re fucking shitting me,” I say to myself, tossing the phone across the room. Nead is the Gaelic word for nest.
But that’s just it, I think, wandering across my suite and into my writing chamber. I look at the journals lining the bookshelf—a lifetime of stories about this very thing. I don’t feel crazy. I feel like everything in my life has a new sense of clarity. My childhood. The obsession with ravens. The weird dreams about the forest and the cat. The mysterious death of my parents and the loss of memory.
And the men. Oh boy, the men. If all of this is true, one of them is my true love. My mate.
I touch the ring on my finger and exit my rooms. It’s time to round up my guardians.
Chapter 18
Morgan
The men come into the library one at a time.
Dylan first, as my sentinel.
Bunny next, covered in paint and flashing me a sweet smile.
Damien appears from the backyard, smelling of metal and sweat, a shiny object between his fingers.
Sam enters from the hallway, giving me an easy-going hug on the way to his seat.
And Clinton arrives last, arms crossed over his chest, wary and watchful.
“Thank you for coming,” I say. “It’s been a long day. Or two, actually. I’ve had time to do a little reading and soul searching. As hard as this whole thing is to believe, I know in my heart the stories you have told me—and the ones I have been writing on my own for so long—are true. I think I knew it all along.”
“It’s my understanding that one of you is my mate.” My heart hammers in my chest. “After the last few weeks I know I’m not in the position to make that choice—not right away. I need more time.”
“Time is of the essence, Morgan.” Dylan says. “The gate weakens every day.”
By gate I think he really means me. I weaken the longer I go without a mate and someone to take the darkness from me. But Morgan, the woman, is part of the triad of the Queen, and she needs tended as well. That part of the Morrigan needs to be sure. It’s not something I can jump into.
“If we’re going to do this it has to be on my terms,” I tell them. “It’s a decision I need to be absolutely sure of. If what you’re saying is true, there’s no room for error. I must find the perfect mate and right now I have no freaking idea which one of you that is.”