The dwarves started talking over each.
“My name was . . . is . . . Snow White, and I am Merlin’s daughter.”
Val slammed a fist on the table. “Lies.”
“Is this a joke?” Tristain muttered.
“Merlin had no daughter.” That from Lance.
Eddie, meanwhile, watched her closely. “You are a witch.”
Sasha held up a hand, waiting until they quieted down.
“I am no witch. Just a daughter of a wizard who died because none of you”—she paused and sent a hard look to each of the men before her—“could see Morgan Le Fay for who she truly was. Until the hour grew too late.”
She paused, gathering herself for the retelling. “Only King Arthur knew who I was. My father had some kind of premonition, one he refused to share with me, and I was kept in a cottage in the woods outside Camelot’s walls. But I knew you. All of you. I possessed an enchanted mirror, stolen the day Morgan cursed you, which I could use to watch whomever I wished.”
“That is quite the declaration,” mocked Lance.
Sasha held in a sigh. After so many lies, she didn’t blame them, Derek included, for their lack of belief. A demonstration was in order, it seemed.
“I’ll show you, but first, I want to be fully transparent.” Crap, this would go over like a lead balloon. “I also possess an ability to compel people to do my bidding. Recently I’ve been able to hear thoughts. I ask that you keep your minds clear.”
Only since she’d met Derek and touched that damn stone, actually. She frowned down at the rock.
“You expect us to believe you?” Lance questioned. “According to Derek, you tried to steal the stone. Why should we believe anything you say?”
“I know it’s a big ask, but I’m asking you to trust me. Give me a chance to explain everything.”
Lance’s eyes narrowed, looking like he wanted to argue more, but Haden laid his hand on his brother’s arm.
“C’mon, Lance, there’s no harm in listening.”
Lance waved his hand, his carry on order.
She started with Tristain who stood closest to her, green eyes keen on her face. “Sir Tristain, strong, an expert marksman with a bow. Beloved of Isolde. And, in my opinion, the kindest of Arthur’s knights.”
Tristain didn’t move, didn’t even look to his brothers-in-arms. But he did slow blink. Twice.
One down, six to go.
She moved to the next closest, Eddie.
“Sir Bedivere. Who returned Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake after Arthur’s death, despite not believing in the existence of such a lady. One of Arthur’s most trusted knights. And one of the most liked because of your . . . unusual sense of humor.”
Eddie’s guard, too, dropped, and he gave her a wink.
She allowed a small smile in return, but she wasn’t done.
She turned her attention to Gareth. “And I do know you, Beaumains. Isn’t that what Sir Kay, your friend and one of the Knights who died before the curse was uttered, used to call you? Pretty hands?” Gareth grimaced, but she continued anyway. “Quiet but deadly was how I always thought of you. A master at jousting. Gawain’s blood brother. And beloved of Lynette.”
She didn’t wait for his response before moving to stand before his brother, Waine.
“Sir Gawain, of Greene Knight fame. One of Lancelot and Arthur’s closest friends. A natural healer, always mucking about with herbs and things. A compassionate warrior. And, despite being a bit of a playboy, a defender of women. Will you defend me still, as you swore to do only yesterday?”
Waine placed his hand over his heart. “You have my sword, m’lady. The stone doesn’t lie. But I don’t know what he has to do with it.” He flicked an ambivalent glance Derek’s way over her shoulder. Sasha could practically feel Derek’s stare burning a hole into her back, but she didn’t turn. Waine continued. “However, I trust you are special to us in some way.”
She had her champion. Arthur had been right to trust Gawain above all others. Sasha bowed her head regally. “I accept your honor, great knight. Let us hope your brothers find the truth as you have.”
She moved to stand before Val, the one and only knight who’d ever caught her watching. Sasha’s views with her looking glass had been limited. Like a two-way radio, she needed glass or mirrors at the other end to see through.
“Do you remember me, Sir Percivale?” she asked.
The knight paled. “I have a vague memory of a figure in a mirror. You wore a white dress. I thought you were a ghost.”
“I wasn’t a ghost or a spirit. I’m sorry if I frightened you.”
Val looked to Lance. “I’ve never told anyone about that.”
Lance, who now stood in her periphery, feet planted wide, arms crossed, didn’t move. “Our story is famous, you ass. You think she can’t find a library?”
“I’ll get to you in a minute, Sir Lancelot.” She didn’t deign to look in his direction.
Val yanked his gaze back to her, eyes wide and wary. “Maybe you are Morgan’s servant. Sent here to kill us.”
Sasha rolled her eyes. “Why would she kill you after she cursed you? She’s after me. Or has everyone in this room forgotten the attack in the car park yesterday?”
She shook her head. Time to get this over with. “Sir Percivale. The most loyal of Arthur’s knights who once, unbeknown to the Knights in this room, rescued Excalibur from a swarm of mischievous faeries to whom Arthur stupidly lost it to in the first place.”
Val pulled his shoulders back. “You have my sword as well, m’lady.”
“Fool,” Lance spat.
Sasha ignored him. Haden was already smiling. “I can see I don’t have to convince you, Sir Galahad. But for the others?”
He waved for her to go ahead.
“The red knight, considered Arthur’s best fighter, particularly with the sword. Some rumors abound that you, and not he, pulled Excalibur from the stone. But we both know that’s not true, don’t we? As we also know Lancelot is not your father but a brother-in-arms.”
She glanced down the line of men she’d already dissected. Each now watched her with rapt fascination.
“How am I doing so far?” she whispered to Haden.
He grinned. “Good. You just have to convince grumpy over there.” He hitched a thumb toward Lance. Then he leaned toward Derek. “And I can’t tell what he thinks.”
Sasha grimaced. “Neither can I, even with my new ability to hear thoughts.” Derek remained a total black hole to either of her powers.
“So you claim,” Lance sneered.
Finally, she turned and faced the man she’d hated for centuries, the reason she’d avoided the Knights all this time. “Yes, I do claim, Sir Lancelot. Much like you once claimed Guinevere was fated for you, not Arthur. Sucks not to be believed, doesn’t it?”
She cocked her head to the side, considering the glowering man before her. “You know, I’ve blamed you all these years.”
“Me?” he scoffed. “Not Morgan or Arthur? You were in love with him, weren’t you?”
She flinched but took heart. He might be coming around. She held his gaze. “Yes, I did love Arthur.”
From the corner of her eye, she caught movement and turned to see Derek now standing, fists clenched at his sides. He looked to take a step toward her but stopped and took two back, increasing the distance between them instead.
And her heart ached. To her, the space was as big as the Grand Canyon.
With the blinding realization of one who’d been denying the truth to herself, she knew. She loved Derek. Maybe more than she had ever loved Arthur.
Her love for Arthur had been born in their childhood, morphing into a form of hero worship. They would never have been equals.
Derek looked away, lips compressed, shoulders stiff. She wanted to go to him, argue with him, convince him, but now wasn’t the time. Her relationship with either man, past or present, wasn’t going to help her in this situation.
She turned bac
k to Lance. “I don’t blame you anymore.”
His thick brows drew down over his eyes, and a flash of something—vulnerability?—darkened his blue eyes. “You don’t?”
She shook her head. “No. To love someone that much and be denied, to be leashed to a fate you don’t feel is yours because of some prophecy, is like a prison sentence.” She pointed at the rock still sitting on the table before Derek. “I know now I would have done the same. I might not have betrayed my best friend and king in the process, in the way you chose to do. However, I also know how stubborn he was. I witnessed his inability to look past lust and pride—Guinevere was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—to see the truth. She was your soul mate, Sir Lancelot. Not his. I’m sure of it.”
Lance stared, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
. . . can’t even forgive myself. I know the men still blame me. Could she be who she says? But what does that mean? And who is Derek to her? The stone is supposed to show the fated.
“What’d you say?”
He leaned back. “I didn’t say anything.”
But he’d thought it, and it was the longest thought she’d heard since she first worked out her power was evolving. The stone showed the fated. Had the dwarves assumed that meant only the fated women?
She glanced at Derek. Could they be fated soul mates? Did the Immorality Stone work for people not included in the curse? Or was he one of the long-dead knights reincarnated? Had she missed him the first time around?
She opened her mouth to ask when a shrill alarm went off.
“Shit,” Derek muttered as he pulled out a small tablet, or possibly an over-large cell phone, from his pocket.
“What the fuck?” A few taps on the screen, and he swore again. “We’ve got company. Armed.”
“Where?” Lance demanded.
“Foyer.” Derek scowled. “What the hell? No one in the foyer is stopping them. Or even noticing them. They’re in full tactical gear, so there’s no way they could be missed. Now they’re in the elevators.”
Her ring was still hidden in the bathroom. Could it be possible a similar magic protected their assailants? Perhaps Morgan had decided subtle was no longer worth the trouble. “That might mean they’re magically concealed.”
“But my systems are picking them up.” He held up his device.
“Well . . . ” She scrunched up her nose as she watched him for reaction. “I may have stashed an enchanted ring in the restroom toilet to make your devices pick up any magical means of thievery.”
Derek blinked for a second then shook his head. “Of course you did.”
“Are they going for the vaults?” Lance asked.
“Looks like it. They’re getting off on that floor.” He watched for another minute. “No. They’re entering the stairwell, coming up to us—” He looked closer and swore again.
Skirting the table, he shoved the phone in Sasha’s face. “Recognize anyone?”
She watched on the black-and-white video feed as ten men dressed in black tactical gear, but not masks, moved up the stairs. It took her a moment to track with the changing perspective as the cameras switched. Motion censored, she guessed, displaying the closest view.
Then she saw him.
“Holy shit!” One of the men coming up the stairs was the bald asshole from the bar. The one who was going to drug her the night Derek “rescued” her.
She turned wide eyes to Derek, who glared back.
“You think he’s with me?” Her voice cracked on the last word. When he didn’t budge, the frustrations of her entire life, but especially the last few days, piled up into an explosion.
She shoved him in the chest. “He tried to dope me up at a bar, you jerk.” Her shove only rocked him minimally.
“That could’ve been a setup, to ingratiate yourself with me.”
He would think that, the suspicious arse. She crossed her arms. “I guess we’ll know in a minute.”
“Oh?”
“They’re coming down the corridor, headed this way.” She glanced at the rock, still sitting on the table, appearing all innocent and harmless. “I suggest you put the stone back in the safe.” She smiled with fake sweetness. “Or you could stash it somewhere else. I promise to close my eyes and count to one hundred before I look.”
Even as he moved to snatch up the stone, Derek managed to grit his teeth. “Sasha.”
“Shhhh.” She closed her eyes and held up a hand. “I’m concentrating.”
“Move into Lance’s office. I’ve compelled them to think we’re here.” She suited action to words, not waiting to see if the eight men in the room followed her lead.
But they did, closing the door behind them. Derek immediately shut the stone away in the safe and locked it. Meanwhile, the other seven opened a secret panel in the wall to reveal an arsenal of guns.
It made total sense they’d be armed. They’d been expecting Morgan to make her move.
Sasha positioned herself behind Lance’s desk, out of the way of the initial line of fire. “With them thinking we’re still in the conference room, they’ll enter in two-man teams and use flash grenades.”
“Right.” Lance took charge. “Haden, Tristain.” He pointed toward a side door, and they disappeared through it without a word. “Waine, Gareth.” Now he jerked his head at the door directly opposite.
“You’re going to flank them,” Derek said.
“Yes,” Lance said.
“I can add to your advantage,” Sasha said. “I can try to direct them toward where you can attack without them knowing. Pass on any thoughts I catch.” Though that skill was still hit and miss, like a radio station coming in and out.
“Fair enough. Arthur, you armed?”
A glowing blue ball, beautiful in its terrible power, appeared in his hand. “You could say that.”
For the first time, Lance smiled. “Good man. Blast anything that comes through that door after we go in. Sasha and the stone are yours to protect.”
They exchanged a manly nod.
Seriously. Now they both believe me? Men! And who needs protecting anyway?
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. After the incident in the car park, during which she’d had to play the helpless female to keep up her cover story, of course they’d think she was weak and in need of protection.
Plus, they were ancient knights. The whole, “Me Tarzan, you Jane,” thing was ingrained. They might speak modern language and carry military-issued assault rifles instead of swords, but they were still the same men underneath. And Derek was as much a warrior as they were.
Lance, Val, and Eddie positioned themselves on either side of the door, and Lance looked over his shoulder to her. She checked on the others, who were now in position behind other doors leading directly from their offices into that shared conference room.
She inhaled a long deep breath, closing her eyes and focusing hard. Nudging one man was easy. Compelling a group of ten men would be challenging.
“They’re in position,” she whispered to Lance.
Under the door, the brilliance of flash grenades showed a blinding white light, preceded by a boom that left her ears ringing even from behind closed doors.
As soon as the light dimmed, rather than the battle cry she’d expected, the Knights entered the room, swift and silent, took stock, and opened fire.
In rapid succession, three of Morgan’s men—she had to have been the one who sent them—dropped, with single shots to the head.
But as soon as their companions fell, the remaining seven, some still entering the room, took cover and opened fire in return.
Bullets burst through the wooden doors into Lance’s office, and Derek tackled her to the floor, covering her with his body. “Stay down, princess.”
She did as he said, too busy directing the assailants toward where the dwarves had taken up battle positions.
Tristain rolled to his right, just missed being shot. Haden took out perp number four. And Val and Gareth moved to Lance, the thr
ee of them converging on three of the attackers, cornering them under the round table.
Fragments of stone and dust flew as they opened fire. The poor table had never taken a beating like this before.
Two men still managed to make it through the door into Lance’s office.
“Blast the door,” she yelled.
But Derek was already on his feet, hurling the energy ball he’d formed in his hand. It hit one of the men, slamming him back against the wall, his body jerking as the electricity zapped through his nerves, white bands of lightning wrapping around his body before dissipating. The stink of burning hair filled the air.
She didn’t have time to call out to the Knights in the next room; the other man locked Derek in his crosshairs.
Sasha scrambled to her feet and put herself bodily between Derek and the man before he could fire.
“Sasha—”
“They’re here for me. He won’t kill me.”
Wrong. She caught the thought as Baldy stepped through the door, weapon trained on Derek as well. How he had gotten away from the Knights in the other room, she had no idea.
“Derek,” she hissed.
“What?”
“On my signal, drop and roll behind the desk. Use it as cover.”
“No.”
“Trust me. Please.”
Indecision warred across his face, but there was no time for him to argue with her. “You better know what you’re doing,” he huffed.
God, she hoped so, too. She may have trained in self-defense, but she’d never actually used it in real life against anything more dangerous than a purse snatcher. “Move,” she called, saving her telepathy for what she was about to do.
As Derek rolled to safety, she ran toward the man. Baldy aimed, but before he could squeeze off a shot, she projected a thought into his mind and hoped to hell it worked.
Don’t shoot her.
His face contorted, and he lowered the gun a bit, then brought it back up, drawing his brows down into a scowl.
Don’t shoot.
She could see his trigger finger practically jerking with the mental battle going on inside him.
She repeated the words over and over as she slowly approached, ready to drop if he gave her any hint he’d stop listening.
White Knight Page 11
