Moonspell

Rating 》 T-M for Profanity, Adult Situations, Violence and Sexual Content

Pairing 》 Major Reid/OC & Minor Tyler/OC

Disclaimer 》 Fandoms, canons, music, references and source material are not mine, but this plot is. No monetary profit made.

Author's Note 》 For fanart, fanmixes and fanvids, go to hapadoll,wixsite,com/hapadoll (replace , with . )

3. A Crack in the Shell

They were all roommates and one of them was having a small party with some college and high school friends, so they were going to their house and then stopped to get ice and something to drink. No alcohol, there was plenty of that back at their place. Plus the convenience store was about to stop selling at the top of the hour due to state liquor laws.

The two eldest Sons stayed outside while everyone else went in. It was cold out so they sat in the car with the heat on. Caleb is actually just sizing their new friends up at this point. He felt he was depended on by the others, as the eldest to be the "man of the house"; the protector and keeper of their little family. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't like new people coming in to their group, it was that he didn't immediately trust everyone anymore. He has to put his guard up for a while, because of Chase.

Pogue's hanging back with him, trying to get down who's who for the third time. He was never good with names anyway. Ironic as his own was usually the most unusual of the bunch.

"What's his name again?"

"Troy."

"Nah, I finally got his name down. He's the one who's our age. It's the older one I keep getting wrong—Morgan's brother."

"Cousin," Caleb corrects him. "His name is Cassius, like the Roman general. And he's only a couple years older."

"Ah, that's right. I've been calling him Caspian. Like the sea."

Caleb basically gives warning to Pogue that he needs to be more observant of those he places his trust in because not everyone can be trusted, considering how many signs went completely over their heads with Chase.

"I understand, Caleb. Believe me, I do. If anything, I was the most wary about Chase in the beginning, but not everyone's him. There's no sixth family, no other bloodline we don't know about. I don't think we're due for any more surprises."

Caleb chuckles in his throat, choking a little. His dark eyes fold shut, just imagining the muscles in his neck loosening up like a knotted cord being unraveled. Soon, the relaxation moves into his chin and jaws and he feels a bit better.

"To be fair, you were only wary of him because you didn't like him flirting with your girl."

"Fair enough," Pogue laughs. He wasn't wrong. He doesn't take kindly to someone trying to take what's his, what they have no right to. "Cassius and Troy haven't hit on Kate once so far, so I don't have a reason to dislike them yet, but I'll stay frosty. Just don't let fear keep you from living your life. We're going to be in college next year and we can't live as shut-ins away from the world."

There's a point to his words and Caleb knows it, but before he can respond, a lone Cass saunters out, appearing before them in a disorderly flurry. Caleb rolls the window all the way down as the older boy approaches his window. The cold rushes in immediately to invade the car and fill it with chilly drafts. Pogue turns the heater up to its highest setting to combat the cold.

"Let's see," Cass trails, digging through the plastic bag hanging on his arm. "I have water, a few donuts and pastries, some chips—I didn't know what flavors you guys liked so I just grabbed random ones—hot dogs, perogies, sweet bread… oh and some fresh fruit too, just in case you needed it. Bananas are awesome for hangovers."

It was going to be an uncomfortable moment, but Caleb was going to have to stand his ground and tell the older boy that he had absolutely no plans to get drunk with him. Not until he knew him better at least.

"Thanks for thinking of us, man," he says, genuinely impressed at his thoughtfulness. "But we don't really plan to drink that heavily tonight."

From the wry, glittering smirk on Cass's tan face full of dark stubble, it's quite clear that he's not at all offended, but he also doesn't believe him for one moment.

"Isn't that what we all say? Never again, right?"

He chortles before biting into his glazed donut, still warm from heating it up in the store's microwave. The handsome young man strolls back to his modest silver Corolla, stealing Morgan's spot in the driver's seat and waits for the others there.

Caleb didn't like that. That doubt in his tone. He obviously doesn't know him well enough if he believes him to be the type that sways on his own word and basic principles, gives in to peer pressure or is easily influenced by his environment. Even Pogue asked what was up with that and made a remark to that effect.

Caleb said he wasn't getting drunk and he wasn't. Period. Getting obliterated with your buddies was fun on occassion, but it wasn't the right time or place for that. He'd been sober as a judge all night. Why judges should be equated with sobriety is unknown to him, but he couldn't be more clear-headed at the moment. Nothing wrong with one or two drinks, maybe get a nice little buzz going, but it sounded like everyone else was planning on going hard, even Sarah. Someone needed to parent while the children had their fun and he was fine to take that role.

Pogue and Tyler were already three or four drinks deep from the flask they snuck into Nicky's anyway, so he had no expectations that they'd stop there. And why should they? He truly wanted them to have fun, he just wanted them to be safe, but perhaps it was the liquor that made them so willing to follow complete strangers to a party without hesitation.

Except for that last thing Cass said, they did appear to be extremely cool people from the little they've spoken. The type of people you want to hate, but you can't because there's no malice in them, which he hoped was the case. In all honesty, Caleb hated having to be the hard-ass all the time. He loved being everybody's friend; a pacificator in quarrels, the most sensible, the best natured, the best informed, the most unassuming and modest young man anybody knew.

The sound of the girl's laughter brings him out of thought and brings something rare into the dark night; it's a butterfly-joy: transient, fluttering, but beautiful. The girls, one beautiful blonde in particular that he's got his eyes fixed on gradually make their way towards them, save for Morgan who waves to himself and Pogue good-naturedly before splitting off with Troy.

Their girls, along with Tyler, all climb into the backseat of the Hummer with their bags. Sarah, as the smallest at five foot three is forced into the middle by the other two. With the back doors open, they can clearly hear Morgan and Troy being loud and rambunctious with each other, still walking towards their car.

Both Caleb and Pogue laugh at the last audible thing that Troy says, presumably showing his purchases to his friends, "Mountain Dew and Red Man Chew. How redneck of me, I know."

The alcohol put him to bed like a baby where he slept so deeply that he never moved in his sleep and woke in the same position. Spread out in every direction; shirt riding up—half unbuttoned, the fly of his pants undone to a half-way point, and his dirty sneakers on the end table. It took a few minutes to rub life back into his numbed limbs.

His new friend, Morgan, is calling to him from the attached kitchen, asking how he's feeling. The pretty brunette flits around the island countertop full of life and energy as if filled with light, floating on a little cloud while he feels more akin to Lazarus recovering from death.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"We were taking shots and then smiling with limes in our mouths."

Those first few shots they all took together as a group had opened the floodgates. The seal had been broken. After that, he went solo and threw them back in rapid succession like it was last call on a Wednesday night in college. Then he got a little rowdy, but not in an aggressive or belligerent way. More amusing than anything else.

It wasn't long after that he went to "lay down for a second" which turned into him passed out face down on a beat-up corduroy couch that smelled of cigarettes, aftershave and dog which was strange now that he thought of it because it didn't appear they owned one.

"That's probably a good stopping point."

"Please don't tell me any embarassing stories. I'd rather be blissfully unaware. Also, I apologize if I did anything stupid or broke something."

"Nothing valuable," she shrugs, cleaning up a bit, leaving the kitchen. "Just the empty bottle of Tequila after you chugged the last of it and threw it up in the air, saying 'mic drop'."

He groans and announces that he'll never drink again. Yeah, right. She doesn't know him that well yet and even she gives him a month, tops.

Tyler runs a hand through his disheveled hair, fingering the dark waves like a makeshift comb in an attempt to look a little presentable as she approaches.

"If it helps, I know I got really, really drunk. Like stumbling woo-girl drunk, which doesn't happen often, so I guess we were all in rare form."

Morgan offers him a glass of ice cold water with cubes bobbing in it and two pills of aspirin, a small plate in the other hand.

In the movement of reaching to accept the drink, his shirt shifts enough to reveal a previously hidden view of his body. Morgan's hazel eyes follow the movement, coming to rest on his chest, visible where the garment hung loose. The fact that he was such a cute little thing was not lost on her.

Before he can back out of it, she reaches out and unabashedly touches the expanse of his chest, letting her fingertips gently trace every ridge of collarbone and muscle there. The muscles feel like they were carved out of marble while his skin is as soft and smooth as she wished her own could be.

He falters, caught off guard by the forwardness of the move. Whatever confidence he had in himself oozes out like sand through a sieve. He's completely unprepared to handle that level of unexpected physical contact. It's like she knows it too, and she seems amused by it because she only continues tickling her way across his chest and down his stomach to faintly brush over his well-grooved abs. All with the faintest impression of a smirk on her lips.

"I have to admit, I'm a little jealous."

Her words confuse him. When he does speak, his voice betrays him: as raw and frail and vulnerable as he now feels. There's a click in his throat that makes him miserably uncomfortable under her intense gaze.

"Of what?"

"You have the softest, smoothest skin. Hardly any body hair at all. It's not fair, really. Us girls spend a fortune on waxing."

He's far too embarrassed and hungover to say anything else to her at the moment, so he just nods and forces a shy but attractive smile. It was his hope she'd have mercy on him in his awkwardness; stop torturing him. Maybe give him a second to compose himself and wake up all the way.

She does, after she sets the plate she's been holding down to the table and pushes it towards him. His stomach does a happy little flip. He's still mortified and all his body cares about is the sweet pastry in front of him. Then with one last lingering glance and a half smile of invitation, she exits to the balcony for a smoke despite the frigid outdoor temperature. When she's on the other side of the sliding door, he quickly buttons and zips up, not watching and not caring if he caught himself in his zipper.

A soft giggling from the corner makes him jump. Kate. Kate's giggling in the corner like the scary little girl in that exorcism movie. What a creep. Only she would decide to wake up just in time to give him crap. Typical.

"That was so awkward."

"Give me a break. I'm not used to girls being that bold with me."

"Awkward for me. I mean, seriously, get a room."

"No, no, nothing like that happened," Tyler insists, a slight blush in his cheeks when he realizes what it looks like.

Kate gives him one of those quizzical, "mom" looks that has him squirming like a worm in a bird's beak. Really, just to give him a hard time and worsen the boy's obvious discomfort. She knows nothing happened; even in Tyler's drunkest state he would never impose himself on a girl inappropriately. If anything, after getting to know Morgan a little, a more likely scenario would be her taking advantage of Baby Boy.

"I remember getting the spins and going to lay down," he elaborates. "Drunk me was just trying to get comfortable and I must have passed out mid-undress. Thank God I stopped there. Besides, I would never do anything like that with you guys in the room."

He wasn't Reid. Nothing quite compares to being stuck in a dorm room the size of a closet while your shithead roommate bones' someone.

The dark skinned beauty settles herself into a more seated position, mindful to not disturb her sleeping boyfriend on the other end of the sectional. Pogue's chest is steadily moving up and down under his big sweater, and he has a content expression on his face. She gathers the throw blanket and wraps herself up into a protective ball. Her thin arms are securely around her knees and she gestures towards a direction with her chin.

"I threw up on Pogue. That's why he's wearing that sweater."

It was the way Kate said it that made it as funny as hell. So casual, so nonchalant. Tyler dissolves into laughter like a playful masochist. Because while it makes his head ache a thousand times worse, the image of Pogue's reaction—likely leaping away in fear, is too great to ignore. The guy could not handle vomit. Not the sight of it, the smell, or the sound of the gagging. He must really love that girl.

"I like them," Kate says, eyes looking around in thought. "Troy's hilarious. Morgan's a little... on the dominant side, but mostly sweet. And Cassius literally gave Pogue the shirt off his back."

Tyler is not one to be a pessimist, though he can't help but state the obvious, "Well he does live here. He's got some to spare."

Kate rolls her eyes and responds with, "It was still a nice gesture." She swings her jean clad legs over the edge to get up. "I need to find my phone. I want to call Sarah to make sure she and Caleb got home safe and see when he wants to pick us up."

Everyone got pretty heavily intoxicated, just as Caleb expected. The plan was that he'd be the designated driver which wasn't a big deal since most of them would have gotten dropped off at the dorms. But Sarah had gotten sick; pukey sick early on so they decided to call it a night prematurely. After a much too long drunken discussion between the group on the logistics of what they wanted to do, Cass offered for the others to crash at his place if they wanted to stay and party, which they did. If Pogue, Tyler and Kate felt comfortable enough to do that, he let it be their call.

At that moment Morgan walks back in from the balcony. She doesn't immediately look at him, she's busy fighting to close the sliding door. The chivalry ingrained in him from his upbringing automatically gets him up to help but he's too busy gazing at her to be much help. Up close in the daylight, he's in awe of how amazing she looks even in the morning. Her dark hair falls across her face at just the right angle, flowing down to the middle of her back, all tousled and wavy from sleep, lit up like molten bronze in the morning glow. Her fair skin rosy and flush from the cold.

"It's okay," she flashes a smile and her dimples pop into view. "I got it."

She's obviously familiarized herself with the house's idiosyncrasies because a lift and jiggle of the handle gets the door to close properly.

"Always have to get creative with these old houses," she jokes.

"Hey, if it works... So where's your room?"

Morgan's got a shit-eating grin on her face the very second he asks this, making him regret his choice of words. The gears in her spunky little head are turning, he can see it, and he's fucking positive she's about to say something to embarass the hell out of him again.

"Why? Trying to get me alone to have your way with me?"

As he stammers, embarrassed and unintelligible, she interrupts with a straight answer this time.

"You're actually in it. I'm just crashing on Cass's couch while I finish up the school year in Ipswich."

Tyler sighs, defeated. She clearly enjoys messing with him. He's not sure if he's annoyed or attracted or a bit of both. This fucking girl will be the death of him, figuratively if not literally.

They ran together for at least an hour every day, rain or shine. It was their little routine.

As Morgan runs the path through the woods for the third time, all she can see is the shape of Cass in his perfect form jumping over roots and avoiding low branches like a bulldozer plowing over obstacles due to his inertia. She follows whatever he does, mimicking his movements as best she can, because he is faster, stronger, and more agile than any person could ever hope to be, even with snow on the ground.

It's that magical time of day just in between daylight and darkness, where the sun gets soft and hazy and the world begins winding down. Dusk... dusk is a nice word. The first few beams of moonlight stream through the breaks in the clouds. Already a few pale stars are shining in the sky above them. The air is cold, turning their breaths to ghostly white mist with every exhale. She loves it, almost as much as he does. The cool night air flowing through your hair, the feeling of running free in the open air with no cares in the world, where you experience the freedom and oneness that is your true nature. Not much beats it.

He gives her one last look—adrenalized, challenging, inscrutable—daring her to keep up. He's pushing her to her limit while he exceeds his. Then he starts sprinting through the snow at full speed, kicking up puffs of powder.

There's a steep rise leading up to a cliff at the edge of the woods. He keeps running against gravity, not letting up on speed, not even when his heart rate increases significantly and his lungs feel like they're going to explode. At the top he waits for his fairer and smaller cousin, whom he lost at the incline. Her body weight, though slim holds her back, but she joins him a few moments later, leaning into her knees, breathless when she summits.

"I almost had you."

No, she didn't. And they both know it. He makes sure to say something to that effect. Couldn't let her have that. He was too honest in his remarks.

"Of course you did, babe."

"The weaker you are the louder you bark."

He patronized her and she chastised him. They were the perfect counterparts of each other; different in ways while providing a sense of completeness when they are joined. Their bigger similarities were in their looks. Although she favored her mother's side in overall facial features and bone structure, Morgan and Cass shared the Connor colloring: dark hair, medium skin tone and hazel eyes. His being on the lighter end of the spectrum than hers.

"Next time you'll do better," he nods confidently at his own words, like he has some faith in her. "You always do."

Morgan rolls her eyes and nudges him in the side with her elbow, gaining a little laugh from him. They're side by side now, standing on the cliff's edge overlooking a small section of the forest. A fresh layer of snow lays on birch bough and bare tree limb, giving the feeling of a great wide clean world. The trees and brush surrounding them exude a nutty, musky aroma. "Mother Nature's perfume," her cousin calls it. A smell which, like hickory wood smoke, reminds her of their grandparent's house.

She stands with arms akimbo, her long-fingered hands—nails painted red and miraculously unchipped—resting on the high-rise waistband of a fleece lined yoga pant striped black and gray, which she wore with an old highnecked wind jacket. One she never did like the color of but never bothered to replace. It's unbelievable how pricey activewear is.

She enjoys the silence, the calm, the lack of electronic devices and the warmth of relaxation just as much as curling up with a good murder mystery and a cup of Nana's cider hot chocolate in front of the fireplace on a rainy evening, but Cass decides to ruin the serenity with his voice.

"Take your time, but know that you don't have to do this."

In the moment his words are out of context, but she knows exactly to what he's referring because it's all they've talked about for months. She stares for a moment in disbelief, trying to read his eyes. He admits he could have chosen different words, maybe less abrupt, but he is standing by what he said. It's something she's always hated about him; the fact that he never backs down or sees where he might be wrong. Typical annoying alpha mentality. He would say she's far too sensitive, emotional and all those other words that offends females.

Maybe she should be touched by his concern, but all it did was irritate her. Unknowingly he had poked the sore spot she had been avoiding, even in her thoughts. She doubted herself for many reasons she would never admit to out loud and apparently she wasn't the only one. He clearly didn't believe in her capability or trust that she could succeed.

"I do," she ground her teeth in vexation, a lifelong habit that probably contributed to the square jaw she wasn't particularly fond of.

Instantly, she's counting off all the proactive steps they've taken so far, as if he needed a recap. He didn't, but he humored her, allowing her to get her rant out.

"What the fuck, Cass?! We've spent months planning! I moved out here to sleep on your nasty old couch, transferred in the middle of the year to a school full of strangers, plus we already involved Lucy and Troy. You don't abandon a plan a quarter of the way through! It's too late to pull out now."

The stereotypical male part of him wants to say "That's what she said" so bad but he has to hold it in and feign sweetness and understanding or she'd claw the shit out of his face in a heartbeat. In the same concept as snuggling a cat close so it can't get its full reach to you.

"Technically Lucy involved us," he reminds her. It was fact she couldn't dispute. "She was the one who first spotted the witches. And Troy doesn't know shit. He's too busy killing brain cells on a daily basis to have much time to be inquisitive. I'm just saying we can find another way to fix this that doesn't put you on the front line."

She knows Cass always takes leadership roles in everything, especially matters that concern his family. A part of her understands that it must feel weird for him to sit back behind the scenes without feeling guilty that he should be out doing more, but she insists there is no other way and in his heart he knows it too. All she wants is a little more credit to stand on her own two feet. There's enough self doubt in her own head, she doesn't need his adding to it.

He relents but she doesn't respond, so he grabs her shoulders and repeats himself, shaking her until she laughs. They never stayed mad at each other. Well, he never stayed mad. His feelings never got hurt enough to remain upset, but holy shit, she could hold a grudge for a millennium sometimes. Libra women...

"So then, moving forward... how have things been going? The Simms kid seems to have taken quite the liking to you. You must have had fun with him, right?"

His head is bent as he examines her shoes. The left one is undone. He takes the initiative, tightening the laces for her. Cass rolls his eyes at how oblivious she can be, but she doesn't notice.

"We talk," Morgan shrugs, looking at her feet also.

"Don't be coy," he stands up, grinning. "You know you're cute. Guys fall over themselves to get to you."

"Not always true," she tells him. "I mean we have been talking a lot, which is good. Just about every day for the past few weeks now. We just haven't made plans because he says he's busy with school."

There's an unexpected look in his eyes, intrigue.

"What do you talk about?"

She stammers a second or two. Ironically, trying to find the words.

"Uh, everything," she brushes her hair up and away from her face. The pieces that fell apart from her ponytail. "From the most mundane things like the weather, our favorite colors or what we should eat for dinner. And some more serious stuff. We've talked about politics, religion, life and existence, our opinions on the world and how we live today."

"Well shit," he chortles, a cloud of white breath floats and disperses in front of their eyes. "That's probably deeper conversation than you and I have had."

"That isn't saying much. You're not exactly the caring and sharing, spill our guts type."

His expression reads, "What can I say?"

"I just think he's a little afraid of me," Morgan continues.

"It's probably that praying mantis vibe you give off. Fuck 'em then cut their head off."

She gives him a shove and calls him some name that sounds nasty enough. They share a laugh.

"But seriously Mac, this is why he's our boy. Simms is the chink in their armor, your best shot at getting in with them."

He proceeds to give her an analogy that makes her skin crawl: a graphic story about a barnacle that injects itself into a crab from a crack in its shell. It sends roots out, taking nutrients from the crab's bloodstream until it is able to wrap around the crab's eyestalks.

Not wanting to hear more, she cuts him off, accouncing that she's ready to go home and shower. Maybe later relax with a movie if they could agree on one. Cass actually wouldn't mind going to bed early. In all honesty, he's tired from that run. They still have the trek back out. Again, she's determined to beat him. He challenges her with one last remark before they begin the return.

"Last one back's a rotting crab with a parasite!"

The weeks fly by when you have so much to do. When you're consumed with individual and group projects, research papers, verbal presentations and observational testing. When you're beyond busy and before you know it, it's the weekend again. Unfortunately, it was only Thursday and still Reid was about to burst into a million scraps of human.

The three people he unfortunately ended up partnered with in Environmental Science were the typical anal, overachieving, annoying little brats who think they know all there is to know about any given topic. So matter-of-fact in their inconsequential details.

The subject to begin with was of very little interest to him so he was happy to hand over the reins while he coast on their coattails, but no. They expected him to contribute his share of work. They just nitpicked every fucking thing about it from start to finish, which was bullshit and a complete waste of time. He wanted his workload reduced by half, not mutiplied.

In their dorm after school, Reid had been venting to Tyler for about an hour in between more homework and additional research. He'd mutter pointless things about how he wanted his partners to go step on a landmine, play in traffic or fall in a hole. About midway through it, Tyler was starting to get irritated that he couldn't concentrate himself or retain a damn thing of his own work.

"Today sucked ass. Tomorrow will suck. This week is killing me. I need to get laid or get a drink, pronto. Let's hit up Nicky's for a bit."

It was time for a much needed break before he put a ten cent bullet between his eyes right then and there. It was tempting, but Nicky's sounded more appealing in the end.

"I really have to get this assignment done, Reid. It's due tomorrow."

Reid's already up, rummaging through his drawers to find something appropriate to wear out besides the sweats he's got on.

"Come on, Baby Boy, live a little. You're already three-fourths done. You could invite your girlfriend," he teases, drawing out the word like a child swearing for the first time. "That way you can talk in person until midnight instead of on the phone."

"She's not my girlfriend. We're just friends," he corrects his friend.

Doesn't he like her? He thinks about it for the first time. Slowly, he makes up his mind. While she's not his usual type personality wise, yes, he does like her. Her voice, her sense of self, her bravado, her humor. It intimidated him at first, but after talking to her for awhile, getting to know her a little better through conversation, it became clear to him that she actually was deeper and more profound than most of the girls he knew from Spencer. It was still a little too early to tell if he had legitimate feelings for her, though.

"Fine, I'll see if she wants to come," Tyler caves. "Just let me finish this chapter first."

A few moments later, before Tyler could even wrap up chapter twenty-two like he requested, Reid's already dressed, throwing him a clean blue shirt and some black jeans with his belt still in the loops. He sighs but gives in with minimal complaint. He haphazardly tosses a chewed up pencil as a bookmark to keep his place before taking his things with him into the bathroom.

"Shut up, hurry up and get dressed," Reid says, sitting on the edge of his bed to put on socks and shoes. "And I suggest you fix your hair before I take you outside for the world to see you."

Funny coming from the guy who wore beanies twenty-four seven to avoid styling his own. Literally, there was a ratty old gray one on his head as he criticized him.

After fumbling with his contacts, Tyler steps back into the room with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, mumbling a "How did you get ready so fast?" to his blond friend.

"Because I'm not a woman," Reid says simply. "Speaking of women, see if your girl has a hot friend."

"I'll see."

Surprisingly, Tyler is able to meticulously work the last bits of product into his hair without interruption. No Reid standing behind him, harassing him or hurrying him along. In his peripheral, he sees him on the desktop computer, a welcomed distraction he won't pull him from. He even gets to reapply some deodorant and try a little of the new cologne he's been waiting to crack open.

Satisfied with how he looks, Tyler replaces the comb in his pocket with his wallet, grabs his phone and keys. The main door is ajar with Reid in the doorway, taping something to the front side of it. It's an extremely basic looking sign, created in Paint and printed just minutes ago. There's a poor depiction of the two of them looking similar to stick figures drawn by gifted and autistic children at summer camp, a map of the building and a giant red arrow poiting towards the opposite direction of where they are headed. In bold, the words "GONE TO THE CAFETERIA. DO NOT LOOK FOR US!" appear in a lower portion of the illustration.

"The arrow is a decoy. I want to be left the fuck alone tonight."

Reid grumbles the last part and grabs one of his heavy overcoats, the navy one he favors, and hands a snickering Tyler his own black one on the way out.

Author's Note: This one's extra long. I hope it was worth the wait.

And LOOK! I updated the Book Cover Photo. It's ten times more awesome now, right?

Fun fact: I named Morgan after a local urban legend/haunted location known as Morgan's Corner. The entire area is super creepy at night. I grew up in a similar neighborhood on the other side of town. More populated, but still up in the mountains with its own spooky stories.

So what do you guys think of Miss Connor so far? Shady little ho or no?

Readers, followers and favers: TYSM for your continued interest! My reviewers: Hael2009, AliH1 and bjq, THANK YOU big time for taking the time to leave feedback! I appreciate it more than you know!