Primal Temptation pg-4

by Sydney Somers

  She tipped her head back, unsure what to say. “No one here is the enemy. Yet,” she tacked on, her voice barely audible. If the wraith believed the others were an imminent threat, he wouldn’t stop until he’d destroyed them all or went down trying—if such a thing was even possible.

  An indulgent grin curved the wraith’s lips.

  Right. If the wraith believed the others were an imminent threat, they wouldn’t be standing there having this conversation.

  “It’s this place,” she guessed, looking over Lucan’s shoulder at the tree blossoms. “It’s making it harder for you to stay in control,” she guessed.

  Curious black eyes stared back at her, watching where she lifted her hand to touch him.

  “Don’t.” The rough voice was Lucan’s, but so much harder, colder.

  The wraith hadn’t spoken to her in the alley, and she’d foolishly assumed it reacted primarily on instinct, like her animal half.

  Although tempted to touch him anyway, she let her hand drop. There was no way to tell how volatile the wraith might be or whether or not Lucan was anywhere close to regaining control.

  The wraith’s attention slipped to her mouth, lingering there, then he tipped his face up to the sun. “She will never allow it.” He glanced back at her, his expression impossible to decipher.

  The sick feeling in her stomach at the thought of Lucan discovering the truth worsened. “Who?” she asked, though she was sure she knew.

  “Rhiannon. We belong to her.”

  If the wraith knew then…

  “He doesn’t know.” The raspy voice, both foreign and familiar, did nothing to reassure her that Lucan hadn’t pieced the truth together. He’d obviously been curious about the sun’s effect on her.

  “But you do.”

  The wraith nodded.

  Briana’s head throbbed from trying to make sense of everything. “How?”

  Another smug grin. “I fear nothing.”

  A killing machine who spoke in riddles. Even better.

  Sensing the tension mounting between the others, she knew she had to figure out something before they turned on each other.

  Feeling the Fae’s gaze, Briana turned toward him. She couldn’t do anything about the wraith at the moment, but maybe she stood a chance of getting to the bottom of whoever had brought them here.

  The wraith stayed close—too close—and she did her best to ignore him as she approached the Fae. Not nearly as simple as it should have been when the wraith’s gaze never left her.

  “What’s your name?”

  The Fae took his time looking away from the wraith. “Bran.”

  “Have you heard of this happening before?” She wasn’t prepared to voice her theory about the Gauntlet. There was no telling what that would do to the gathered immortals. As it was, they didn’t need a reason to be at each other’s throat.

  “I’ve heard many things.” Bran tilted his head to indicate her shadow. “But not of a gargoyle with a wraith bodyguard. Impressive, though I wouldn’t trust him not to turn on you. Only Rhiannon can tame them entirely.”

  That wasn’t a conversation she was having with anyone but Lucan. “Do you know who brought us here?”

  “Perhaps.”

  The wraith tensed beside her. Because of the Fae? Or the huntress walking back toward them?

  Nessa, who’d given up on arguing with the Korrigan, crossed her arms. “Perhaps Briana will tolerate your games, but I lack the patience.”

  “And also your sword,” Bran reminded her, smirking.

  “Are you refusing to tell us what you know?” Nessa looked like she was really hoping he would.

  “We don’t need to pick fights with each other,” Briana put in, though she knew it was a waste of time. If Nessa wanted to pick a fight there would be no talking her out of it.

  “Don’t be naive.” Bran gestured to the group. “Look around. If we were meant to get along there wouldn’t be a thieving Korrigan among us, a member of a race so desperate for acceptance they enslave others to keep them company. Or a fledgling sorceress so abusive with her magic half of Avalon would sell their children to get even with her.”

  “Only half?” Elena mused.

  Bran ignored her. “Who would put a huntress within striking distance of Arthur’s betrayer? Or a knight, now a slave to the creature within, capable of killing all of us?”

  Kel snorted.

  The wraith merely smiled, but Briana suspected his amusement stemmed from thinking of ripping the Fae’s head from his body. Or maybe the dragon’s. Probably both.

  Bran didn’t seem to notice or care what the wraith was thinking when he turned back to Briana. “What would you have all us do? Do Tequila shots and sing karaoke?”

  “I could go for a drink right about now,” Vaughn muttered.

  “Whatever we were brought here for,” Bran continued, “I guarantee it was not to get along.”

  “That’s your opinion.” The Korrigan rose to his full height, barely reaching the Fae’s chest. “Assuming you’re not the one who brought us here.”

  “Hardly.”

  “And we’re just supposed to take your word on that?”

  The Fae didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “Believe what you want.”

  “Or maybe I’ll just make you tell us what you know,” the Korrigan challenged, the black veins beneath his dark complexion zigzagging across his face.

  From somewhere behind her, Briana heard the dragon laugh and knew it was pointless to try and prevent any bloodshed. The best she could hope for was to stay out of the crossfire.

  Chapter Six

  Lucan finally felt the wraith retreat and mentally tightened his grip on the reins. With the exception of a few moments, he’d remained vaguely aware of what was happening around him.

  Still, his control hadn’t slipped like it had in the alley or now in over two centuries. What had changed?

  He glanced down at his hand, pulling off the make-shift bandage. The gashes from punching the brick had finally closed and no longer looked as red and angry, but still throbbed when he flexed his hand.

  He vanished his sword despite the wraith’s protest. His dark side lingered much too close to the surface.

  “Not another word, wench!” The Korrigan puffed up his chest, glaring at Nessa.

  The huntress lunged for the dark fairy, looking like she wanted to tear him in half.

  “Oh my, has the competition started without us?”

  Like everyone else, Lucan turned at the sound of the new voice behind them, careful to keep both the Fae and Kel, the two genuine threats to Briana—he hadn’t made up his mind about the wolf—in his peripheral vision.

  He wasn’t sure how many more unexpected guests they could handle before somebody did more than lunge. The tension in the courtyard was thick enough to choke on.

  Briana angled her body toward him. The relieved expression on her face when she met his gaze faded much too quickly. If the others were tense, the weight of the world seemed to sit squarely on Briana’s shoulders, and he knew he was to blame for that.

  Resisting the urge to fill the space she put between them, he glanced at the couple dressed like medieval royalty. It took half a second to realize they had just become the biggest obstacle to getting Briana home. He’d promised Tristan that he’d keep her safe and here she was surrounded by those capable of enslaving her or burning her to a crisp.

  And then there was the wraith.

  The darkest part of him grew increasingly curious about her. With immortals all but going for each other’s throat, the wraith should have lost interest in Briana, not stuck close to her.

  Shaded by the largest blossom-covered tree, the couple’s faces were shadowed, yet the tease of power they exuded rode on the air like a mist, thickening and weaving around Lucan.

  Had the Fae been right? Were the gods responsible for their abduction? If a Campaign was brewing, then sleeping gods would awake—and look for recruits.

  “My apologies
for bringing you here without your consent. My brother can be rather impulsive at times.” Beautiful to the point her face looked like chiseled porcelain, the red-haired female stepped away from the tree.

  Even Kel, who lounged in the sun, unaffected by the Fae’s earlier remarks, stood, his gaze following the goddess’s casual stroll around the perimeter of the courtyard while her brother remained beneath the protective shelter of the tree.

  Lucan edged a little closer to Briana, not fooled by the goddess’s interest in the courtyard’s lush greenery. Whoever they were, Lucan had to appreciate any circumstance that brought Kel to him, even if it had been arranged by a god.

  The last time he’d seen Kel, the dragon had broken ranks during the battle of Camlann, fleeing with a handful of his men and leaving Arthur open to attack, which Mordred had taken full advantage of.

  A respected leader in the Guard, Kel had also been a close friend to Lucan and Arthur, making his betrayal slice even deeper. Their days spent training as brothers in arms and nights drinking and competing as friends had meant nothing to the dragon. When the stakes had been the highest, Kel had turned his back on them, leaving them all for dead.

  Not even Nessa’s hunger for justice could compete with Lucan’s gnawing need for revenge. If Kel hadn’t deserted, Arthur might not have fallen in battle and Rhiannon might not have lashed out, making everyone suffer for her loss.

  Distracted by the slow burn of betrayal and the wraith’s subtle push to take action now, it took him a few moments to remember his priority stood two feet away. As grateful as he was that Kel had been delivered to him, he also wanted to curse those responsible for reminding him of what Briana looked like in the sun.

  As much as the shadows and moonlight suited the woman who hadn’t flinched from the wraith, the sight of her in the sun—the lighter threads of her dark hair the color of fire, her eyes more stunning—took his breath away.

  Most remarkable of all was the way she ignored the sun completely. Even the wolf, who’d agreed the sun was likely an illusion, continued to turn his face up to the brilliant light. The dragon had made no effort to hide his indulgence, and yet Briana remained unaffected.

  “I am Maeve,” the female announced.

  Nessa straightened. “The goddess of war.”

  The wraith stirred, intrigued, but Lucan didn’t let the leash slip. Getting Briana back to her brothers came first, and then he could deal with Kel, even if it meant using the huntress to make it happen.

  Maeve smiled, though her eyes narrowed at Nessa’s interruption. “I am known for many interests.” She waved in the direction of the tree. “My brother, Aren. We thank you for accepting our invitation.”

  Elena snorted. “You might try going with a simple Evite next time.”

  The goddess gave her a blank look.

  It wasn’t hard to see why Elena had gained such a notorious reputation among immortals. It was rumored her house’s allegiance to Rhiannon was the only reason she hadn’t been confronted by a huntress or marked for assassination by a wraith.

  “You have all been selected to participate in our games,” Maeve continued.

  Elena frowned. “Games? Are we celebrating something?”

  “Our awakening, of course.” Maeve’s brother finally stepped from beneath the tree. His hair was the same fiery red and nearly as long as his sister’s, though he wore his tied back. One half of his face was as flawless as his sister’s while the other looked as though someone had taken a blow torch to it and the pink, blistered wounds never healed.

  “Why us?” Briana asked, challenging the goddess a little more diplomatically than Elena.

  “You all met our criteria.”

  The Korrigan threw his hands out. “How could a lusty wench—” he pointed at the enchantress who apparently did know when to keep quiet and stay under the radar after all, “—ever be competition for the largest tradesman in Avalon?”

  Nessa snorted. “Don’t you mean slave-dealer? And by largest, I know you’re not referring to your size.”

  Briana reached for Vaughn, turning him around.

  Lucan’s instinct to put himself between the two of them rattled him. He flexed his fist at his side, certain the enchantress’s spell was still affecting him. Standing motionless, he watched Briana point to the cross-like glyph on the back of the wolf’s shoulder. Lucan might have noticed it sooner if he hadn’t been preoccupied with figuring out why the wraith had taken control twice now.

  “And was the Fae warrior part of your selection criteria?”

  Maeve tilted her head, her gaze fixing too intently on Briana. “For some of you.”

  “And by games,” Briana continued, her chin rising a notch. “You’re referring to the Gauntlet.”

  Lucan’s head buzzed. The odds of getting Briana home unscathed had just been stacked against them.

  He scanned the faces of those around him, their expressions a similar mix of confusion, and for those not quick enough to mask it, worry.

  So it was true then. Another Campaign was definitely brewing, another explosion of ego-fueled shows of power that had the potential to wipe out at least half the immortal population.

  Worse than that, though, was the likelihood the battles would spill into the earth realm. Lifetimes ago such a war wouldn’t have touched humanity or exposed Avalon. There would be no avoiding it this time. Even Rhiannon’s drive to keep their world hidden from the human race would cease to matter in the face of war with others like her.

  No one made a sound for a long moment.

  The goddess ran her hand across a flower with thorns that looked sharp enough to sever a finger. “I knew there was a reason we chose to include you instead of another from your gargoyle clan.” Her gaze landed on Briana, and a chill ripped up Lucan’s spine.

  “The Gauntlet is a myth,” Vaughn said, talking to no one in particular. “Isn’t it?”

  Briana tensed beside Lucan. “The mark on your shoulder blade is the symbol of the games.”

  Vaughn reached back. “What mark?”

  “I have the same one on my hip.” Briana tugged the waist of her pants down enough to expose the symbol that mirrored Vaughn’s. “I imagine we all have one.”

  Lucan knew the brand explained the irritation he felt at his lower back.

  The lines around Maeve’s mouth tightened. “The mark is a safety precaution. The Gauntlet is sacred and we couldn’t have any of you leaving—” she seemed to choose the last word carefully, “—before everything was explained.”

  What was there to explain? The little Lucan knew of the Gauntlet came from Rhiannon’s own lips, and even the goddess regarded the event as a waste of time. Gauntlet victors—mere immortals in her eyes—couldn’t possibly affect the outcome of a war between the gods.

  “And if we choose to decline your invitation?” Both gods glanced Lucan’s way, and he welcomed their attention.

  Neither man nor wraith liked how closely Maeve watched Briana. If she’d been a last-minute selection, he didn’t want them changing their minds and lashing out at her because she’d provoked them.

  The gods exchanged long looks and laughed—the sounds high-pitched, unnatural—as if they were the only ones in on the joke.

  Aren tossed an apple that appeared from nowhere, into the air. “So eager to return to murdering innocents in service to your goddess?”

  Lucan knew when he was being baited and kept his opinion of Rhiannon to himself. He hadn’t been selected to compete because of his loyalty to Rhiannon, but nothing could be gained by admitting just how deep his hatred for her ran.

  “Or perhaps you haven’t had your daily fill of slaughtering yet,” Aren taunted. “Have you fed today, wraith? That one has a pretty neck.” He pointed at Briana. “Or would you prefer another?”

  With a snap of the god’s fingers, the same redhead from the underground parking lot appeared next to Lucan.

  Her eyes widened and she stumbled back a step, her terrified gaze darting around. Her lips part
ed, but Aren cut her off with a wave of his hand.

  “Do not bore me with your questions, mortal.”

  Her eyes went wild with the realization she couldn’t speak.

  Aren wandered closer, paying no attention to the woman. “Is she not acceptable?” The god shifted his attention to Briana. “Your wraith’s new friend is quite beautiful, is she not?”

  Maeve sighed. “Stop toying with them, brother. They’re our guests.” The redhead vanished with a snap of Maeve’s fingers. “No one will be forced to compete, but I will ask that everyone listens to our proposition before making a decision. I promise it will be worth your while to stay.”

  “If he stays, then I hope you’ve got an endless supply of redheads for him.” Elena nodded at Lucan. “No offense.”

  Maeve ignored the comment and continued her stroll around the courtyard, her long navy gown trailing across the stones behind her. “The Gauntlet is comprised of five rounds. Each one will be worth more than the last, making it possible to fail in the first rounds and still win by succeeding in the final challenge.”

  “And how do we know the competitions haven’t been rigged?” Kel interrupted.

  The goddess frowned.

  “I believe the gargoyle wants to know if we plan on influencing the competition in some fashion.” Aren took a bite of his apple.

  Laughing, Maeve approached the dragon. Her lips parted, her cheeks pink with amusement that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I suspect you meant no offense.” She stroked her finger along Kel’s jaw. “However—” the skin along the path of her finger darkened to a chalky concrete, “—I’d advise you to choose your words more carefully, lest you imply something you cannot take back.”

  The lower half of the dragon’s face turned to stone, the rock face traveling toward eyes that remained hard and fixed on the goddess. With a knowing grin, she stepped back, releasing him. Within seconds his face returned to normal.

  “No offense, but doesn’t allowing a wraith to compete put everyone else at a distinct disadvantage?” Vaughn asked.

  Apparently Lucan’s doubts about trusting the wolf hadn’t been off the mark.