by Ines Johnson
A knock sounded at the door. It wasn’t the secret knock that Gwin and Morgan and I had created. It was the knock of authority; the way a police officer would pound a doorframe before barging in.
Geraint.
When I didn’t move fast enough, the knight opened the unlocked door. His eyes were closed as he waved a steamy bowl in front of his face. “Loren? You decent?”
A joke was on the tip of my lips, but my tongue felt too heavy to make it. “I’m dressed.”
He opened his eyes and took me in. Then he winced.
I hadn’t looked in a mirror for days, not since we got back. Somehow I had—or someone had—changed me out of the clothing I’d worn in the arena—probably Morgan. All my outer cuts and scrapes were healed—probably Gwin. But I was still ragged inside. If anyone looked in my eyes, they’d clearly see it.
Geraint looked into my eyes. He held up the bowl. It smelled awful, like offal. I took it from him and began shoveling the innards down my raw throat.
Geraint took a seat at the foot of my bed. He remained quiet while I ate, but that wasn’t a very long time. “I heard from the Olympians,” he said.
I didn’t meet his gaze.
“Zeus has returned,” he continued. “A date has been set. Do you want to know any more details?”
I shook my head.
“If you want to go to Athens, I’ll come with you.”
I looked up into his dark eyes. No, they weren’t dark. They were hazel. It’s just that there were many dark flecks in the hazel that made them appear darker than I’d originally thought. I’d never noticed.
“You’d do that?” I said.
“Of course,” he said. “We’re brothers.”
I sniffled. Then I covered by punching him in the shoulder like a real brother would. “Thanks, but no. I already said my goodbyes.”
Those goodbyes had been about the time when Baros had held a blade to my throat preparing to spill my life’s essence to save his own. I might hate him, but I didn’t want to see him die. If I had wanted to see it, I’d have done it myself.
Besides, I was weak. I’d always gone back to him in the past. And every time I did, I managed to trip and fall into him. He deserved what was coming to him.
I set the empty bowl aside and brought my knees to my chest. I expected Geraint to leave as melancholy settled over me, but he kept his seat.
“Gyges is gone,” he said. “And so is the Ring of Invincibility, since no one claimed it that night.”
I rubbed my nose against my knees and then rested my chin on my kneecaps as I looked at Geraint. There were dark spots under his eyes like he hadn’t slept any of the three nights we’d been home. There were new wrinkles in his brow, as though something pressed on his mind.
“But now that he’s on our radar,” Geraint continued, “we’ll be ready the next time he surfaces to play his sick games.”
Geraint’s lower lip curled in undeniable hatred. It caught me off guard and caused me to lift my head to see it better. This was nothing like the looks he’d given me when he protested my claim to the seat of Galahad. And I knew why. I was sure Geraint wanted to find Enid more than he wanted a crack at Gyges.
“Hey.” I reached out my hand to him. “If she wants your help, she’ll come to you.”
Geraint stared at my palm, then he looked up into my eyes. “You think so?”
“I saw the way she looked at you when she had you all tied up with vines. Like she wanted to do more. Like she wished no one else was present so she could have her wicked way with you.”
He shoved my open palm aside, but he did it with a mocking smile. We shared a well-needed laugh for a moment. But all too soon, his face sobered.
“You good?” he asked.
Was I? I didn’t know. But that’s not what he meant. I shrugged one shoulder. “You?”
He shrugged one shoulder, too. Then he held out his palm to me. I grasped it immediately and held on. Neither of us said anything for a moment. We just sat there, holding on, taking strength from one another, but giving a piece of ourselves in return.
“I’ll let you rest.” He reached out and rubbed my shoulder. It was comforting this time. Like a big brother would give to his annoying little sister.
Geraint opened the door and headed out, but not before turning back and offering me another smile. It was a smile of solidarity; a smile that said he was here if I needed to talk. But there was also a wince at the corner of his eye that said he was a man and he’d rather not talk about his feelings. I laughed and shooed him out. I heard his sigh of relief as he shut the door.
When the door was firmly closed behind him, and I was sure no one else approached my room, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Ring of Invincibility.
There had been a moment when Gyges had stood in front of me at the end of the tournament. He’d spoken to me, but I hadn’t heard him. He’d taken my hand, and I hadn’t pulled away from him. I’d been too busy trying to hold my tears at bay.
Later, when Geraint had placed me in my bed, and Morgan had changed my clothes, and Gwin had healed my wounds, I opened my clenched fists to find the ring. I knew I should take it to Arthur. And I would. Eventually.
The door to my bedroom creaked open again. Before Geraint poked his head back inside, I fisted the ring and shoved my hand beneath the covers.
“By the way,” said Geraint. “Igraine said you should come down. She said a friend just landed and will be here soon.”
My eyes widened. There was only one person I wanted to talk to. Nia.
“Thanks, I’ll be down in a second.”
Geraint nodded and closed the door again.
I looked at the ring for another couple of seconds. Then I slipped it on my finger. But I didn’t disappear. I didn’t feel any different. Not invincible, anyway. I still felt like a vulnerable little girl with a broken heart.
Was this yet another trick of Gyges? Was he trying to see if I would turn the ring over or keep it to myself? I wouldn’t be surprised.
It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to do anything with the ring. I would turn it over to Arthur to put in the vault. Soon. But for now, I put the ring back in my pocket.
Chapter Twenty-Five
As I made my way down the hall, I took in the portraits of the knights who’d come before me. They were all men. They all stood or sat with their chests puffed proudly at the great honor that they’d each earned.
I took a deep breath as I came to stand before the portrait of the last Sir Galahad, my mother’s father. This was a habit of mine. I’d been coming to stare at this portrait nearly every day since I’d been in residence in Tintagel, and still, I couldn’t see the resemblance.
Sure, there was the golden hair, the blue eyes, the proud chin. But I wasn’t sure if I favored him in any other way. It was said that Galahad was thought to be the most chivalrous of knights. That was quite a lot to live up to for a girl whose morals weren’t still screwed on so tight.
Down the hall, I heard footsteps. I looked up to see Arthur coming out of the Throne Room. Over the past three days, I’d been neglecting my duties as a knight, but no one had chastised me.
I’d been through an ordeal. No one here had ever had to send someone they loved to the executioner. Well, no, Arthur had. But he’d shown mercy to his brother who was now in the infirmary. If anyone would understand what I’d been through with Baros, it would be Arthur.
I palmed the ring in my pocket, twiddling it between my thumb and forefinger. I should have turned it over to Arthur the first day I’d been home. It was what my grandfather would’ve done.
“We’re headed out,” Arthur said when he spotted me. “You wanna come? I’ll be the first to buy you a stiff drink.”
I smiled up at him, catching the ring in the palm of my hand. I fisted it and brought my hand out of my pocket.
“I’d gut that Baros if he wasn’t already set for death,” said Arthur.
I crossed my arms over my chest and, keeping my h
and closed, I turned my heavy fist into my heart.
“You deserve better,” Arthur said. “You know that.”
I knew it. I believed it even. I just wasn’t ready to accept it as my due. Not just yet.
“Thanks for the offer of a drink,” I said unable to meet his gaze. “Can I have a raincheck? A storm check, actually, because when I do come out with you guys, I plan to get stupid drunk.”
Arthur chuckled. It was a nice sound. I realized I hadn’t heard it before. He’d always been so stern with me. But in his defense, I wasn’t the easiest person to lead.
“Of course,” said Arthur. “You’re family. But, hey, don’t wallow over that demon for too long.”
“I won’t. I’ll come out next time. I’m expecting company tonight.”
As if on cue, the doors to the castle opened, and a dark figure crossed the threshold.
“Loren, seriously?” growled Arthur. “He’s no better than Baros.”
Tresor Mohandis ignored Arthur’s jab as he walked into the castle. He was dressed all in black, which complemented his sand-kissed skin. His broad shoulders were backlit by the moonlight, making him look like an ethereal god, not a man. He was hot enough to take my mind off of Baros for a second, but only a second. Because then I looked up at his face.
That handsome face that I would always sneak glances at when he was looking at Nia was drawn and somber. He had the same dark shadows beneath his eyes and the same heavy crease to his brow as Geraint. What kind of ordeal had he just come through?
I looked past him, but there was no one behind him. I opened my mouth to speak, but it filled with such dread that I had to close it, swallow, and try again.
“Where’s Nia?” But my voice was a whisper against Tres’s heavy boot falls.
I couldn’t remember the names of the people who’d come to tell me that my dad was dead. I couldn’t remember if it had been two or three people. I couldn’t remember their heritage or the colors of their eyes. All I could remember was that grim expression. The same expression that Tres wore now as he came to stand before me.
I stepped back from him. Then I took a few steps away as he kept coming toward me. I wanted to run. But I didn’t. I stood and faced him and his haunted eyes.
It was absurd. Nia couldn’t die. She was immortal.
I pulled my hand out of my pocket. In it was my phone. I flipped it open and dialed Nia’s number.
Just like the twenty-odd times it had done before, it rang and rang again. It went on like that for a quarter of an hour before I’d even look up at Tres to listen to him. And still, I couldn’t believe him. The only thing that I could think was that Nia would tell me if she was dead. It was stupid, I know, but it was all that made sense.
Suddenly, the earth was coming out from under me. The walls around me were moving. Then I felt something under my butt and something cold in my hands. It was the stiff drink that Arthur had promised. He was pushing it into my hands.
I drank from the cup, downed it, and then motioned for another. And then another. I was tipsy before I gained the presence of mind to finally listen to Tres’s words.
He told me about the Balam and Mohegan shifters, about the God Twins, and the Serpent Mound. About an underground cave and a door of light. Nia and Zane had fallen through a crack in the earth, fallen to their deaths.
The last time Nia had been here, Igraine had told her of a prophecy. I knew about the prophecy, but Nia hadn’t told me the particulars. She’d insisted on leaving me behind while I was still recuperating from my run in with the Spear of Destiny. She’d promised that she’d return. But she’d lied.
But Nia wouldn’t do that. Not to me. She would tell me if she were going to die.
It was the same argument I’d had with the bearers of bad news about my father. He’d always told me where he was going and when he’d be back. He’d always checked in when he was away too long.
Nia was my bestfriend. She would’ve told me. And so my mind refused to believe it.
“We need to go down there,” I said.
“Loren …” Tres's voice was so soft.
He’d only ever growled at me. I didn’t know he was capable of such gentleness. It caught me off guard, but only for a second. This was Nia we were talking about.
“We have to save her,” I said. “There has to be some way into the garden.”
“She’s gone, Loren,” said Tres. “They’re both gone.”
His brown eyes were filled with such sorrow and guilt. Tres loved Nia. I knew he cared for Zane too, even though the two of them had been at war over the same woman. For the briefest of seconds, I felt an intense moment of jealousy. For just once in my life, I wished a man would have that depth of feeling for me.
“Who are you looking for, dear?”
We all turned to see Igraine. I looked around, finally noticing where we were. In the kitchens. I supposed Arthur or Tres, I wasn’t sure who, had carried me in here.
On the table, was the same bottle of rum I’d used to make Midnight Margaritas with Gwin and Morgan just a week ago. Those spirits had given me such joy then. They were doing a terrible job of trying to cover my pain now.
“Nia,” I said to Igraine. “We’re looking for Nia. Tres says she’s dead. But she’s not. She can’t be. Is she?”
“Oh,” said Igraine, her eyes going fuzzy like they did when she was having one of her visions. She reached out for something to steady herself. Arthur was there by her side in an instant. “She’s not dead.”
I turned to glare at Tres, ready to say I told you so.
“But I saw them,” he said. “I saw them fall. They couldn’t have survived.”
“They didn’t,” said Igraine.
“What?” I shouted. I ran to Igraine. “But you said she’s not dead.”
Igraine blinked her eyes, trying to focus. The old witch had no control over her powers, but I could see her wrangling for control. Nia had been coming to visit her for centuries. She loved her as much as I did.
“I see her,” Igraine said. “She didn’t survive, but she’s not dead.”
I stopped trying to make any of it make sense. I just needed the facts. “Igraine, please, tell me where Nia is.”
“She’s with her parents in the garden. But she can’t leave. I think she’s grounded.”
“How do we get there? How do we get to the garden?”
“The only way into Eden’s Garden,” said Igraine, “is with the Hammer of God.”
Loren will return in The Hammer of God, Book Three in the Misadventures of Loren.
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Two if By Sea Preview
Set sail on this fish out of water adventure as the Arthurian Lady of the Lake crash lands into the Greek God of the Sea!
Finally freed from her role as Camelot’s Lady of the Lake, Viviane sets off on the quest of her life—to nab her very own pair of Italy’s hottest designer high heels! But when she turns up in Athens instead of Rome, she’ll face her greatest challenge when the God of the Seas decides she’s the catch of a lifetime.
Tired of fake women, idol worshippers, and followers who are only after what he can do for them, Poseidon is captivated the moment Vivi washes up on his shores. She’s a breath of fresh air with her garish fashion sense and cold-blooded curves. Psi’s all too happy to help her on her quest for shoes, but only after he takes a bite out of her.
Chapter 1
Longing clung to Psi as he stood on the hotel balcony, peering across the city at the neglected temple of the Parthenon. The bones of the building were still sturdy, holding everything aloft. There was much wear and tear on the once pristine marble. Psi had been there when the shrine had been lovingly carved and raised to the sky. The temple had been built in his family’s honor in the fifth century during the time when the Greek gods had many devoted followers. But much had changed since then.
Construction was currently und
erway to restore the aged structure. Pristine marble was mixed with the ancient stone of old creating an eyesore. Steel rods were put in place to give the structure a new backbone that made it stand rigid. It was an absolute travesty what the human race was doing to honor the memory of the gods.
“Lord Poseidon, it would be my honor and privilege to offer you pleasure tonight.”
Psi didn’t even bother to turn around to address the human woman who spoke to him. There was no point. The women were all alike. Plastic faces colored with powder. Inflated breasts, surgically flattened middles, and engorged behinds, cloaked in labels like packaged foods.
That was what was considered sexy in this age. Dozens more just like her buzzed around the party going on in the suite behind him. Why did they even approach him when the thought of water getting anywhere near their starched hair or their painted faces or their delicate fabrics would make them yelp and spring away from him?
“You can have me in any way you want me. And you can put it anywhere you like. Choose me and I’ll give you my complete eternal devotion,” the woman said.
Right. That was why they approached him. To offer him their devotion in exchange for immortality and riches. Unlike the temple builders of the past, modern humans gave nothing freely. But wasn’t that the way of mankind and gods? Humans only called on the gods when they wanted something.
He should’ve gotten angry at the insult of her words. First came devotion, then a god chose whether or not to bless the disciple with gifts. But he couldn’t even muster any emotion other than boredom and dissatisfaction.
“You haven’t chosen a woman in a long time,” she purred.
Her warm-blooded hand landed on his bicep making him shiver like he’d been plunged into ice-cold water. No, that wasn’t a good comparison. He loved the feeling of cold water surrounding his body. Or hot water surrounding him, for that matter. This human’s touch felt like sand scratching on dry skin in the middle of a desert.
