He moved with the awkward gait of someone who didn’t trust their cane to keep them up, but something about the movement felt…exaggerated.
“This is Graegor. He will be your guide into the catacombs.” Maeve waited for the man to join her, her eyes narrowing as he paused in front of the entrance and bowed his head for a moment.
Praying?
Once he stood next to Maeve, she continued, a slight pout in her tone. “You will stay with Graegor and not explore any of the other chambers or tunnels, unless you wish to be left behind. Inside, one of you will retrieve the Scroll of Nogard. When the scroll is read aloud where I’m standing, the competition ends and you will again be returned to the mansion.”
It couldn’t possibly be as simple as it sounded.
“This way.” Maeve motioned everyone to the entrance. She handed Graegor something that looked a lot like the gemstones from Tintagel castle. Briana stopped. Why would Maeve give the Eyes of Afanc to Graegor?
Oblivious to Briana’s scrutiny, the goddess disappeared and Graegor limped over to lead the way. Once he crossed the threshold of the entrance—one of hundreds to the catacombs—his spine seemed a little straighter, his step more confident.
He glanced back only occasionally, his gaze straying to the Fae each time. Curious, she kept Bran in her line of sight. Did the two men know each other?
Presented with more questions and few answers, Briana stuck as close to the pair as she could as the passageway ahead narrowed and branched off. They stayed to the middle path, winding around corners, the ceiling low enough they had to duck in places.
Lucan jostled her from behind, the heat of his body making the warm tunnel almost suffocating. She breathed through her mouth, determined to avoid inhaling the scent that continued to unravel her. She couldn’t block out the sound of his footfalls behind her though, or stop herself from picturing where his hands might land if he got too close.
It could have been worse. She could’ve had Kel behind her. Instead the dragon walked ahead of her with Nessa right on his heels. If the close quarters weren’t enough to deal with, Kel had a huntress breathing down his neck.
Briana might have grinned if she didn’t have to contend with the six-foot-two male invading her personal space with every other step.
The trail eventually opened up, the air weighed down by the scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation. The humidity in the chamber stretched over her skin, settling on her chest as she pulled in each sticky breath.
And yet the chamber was empty.
Intricate columns were scattered across the chamber, each one painted with elaborate vines and branches. Tilting her head back, she discovered a rainforest canopy drawn across the chamber’s stone ceiling. Limbs and leaves crisscrossed overhead, appearing glossy from a recent shower, though it couldn’t have rained in there.
Could it?
Beneath their feet, the realistically painted maze of roots and vegetation covered the floor, prompting more than one of them to step carefully. At the sound of scurrying feet, Briana glanced down. The leaves near her feet stirred as though a creature had dived between the one-dimensional foliage.
Something crunched beneath Lucan’s feet. He lifted his foot and searched the ground for the source, and their gazes met.
She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or annoyed that he didn’t appear to have taken the enchantress up on her offer. He had to be starving by now. How could he think he stood a chance of fighting off Kel or Nessa if he was too weak from hunger?
You don’t care.
The reminder didn’t stop her from watching him from the corner of her eye as they moved around the chamber.
Graegor limped toward the wall where paintings of the trees separated, revealing an altar of sorts. His post? The human’s gaze continued to follow Bran.
Distracted by the trickle of an unseen stream, she paused. “Where’s the water?”
“There.” Elena pointed to the streaks of blue peeking through a wall of leaves. Though the sorceress didn’t warn the others, she kept a careful distance.
Both Briana and the sorceress knew that drinking water in the catacombs could lead to forgetting who you were. It had happened to Cian and Emma only weeks ago, and Emma’s Fae half had likely been the only reason she’d been resistant to the magic that would have kept the couple stranded in the catacombs indefinitely.
Skimming the walls of the rainforest, Briana frowned. How were they supposed to find a scroll here?
“Was that there a minute ago?” Nessa waved to a mural on the far wall, half hidden by the vines.
From her vantage point, Briana could just make out the figures locked in battle on a muddy battlefield. Another mural of a Campaign?
Closer than the others, Vaughn ventured toward it.
“Don’t,” Elena called out, half a second before the wolf’s fingers brushed the surface.
A gust of glacial wind snapped through the chamber that vanished around them, leaving them on a field that didn’t look so different from the painting.
Iron-gray clouds rolled across the sky toward them, the dampness promising a torrential downpour. All around them hundreds of bodies covered the ground, some dying, some already gone. Moans from those still clinging to life broke the screams of pain that echoed across the meadow.
Among the twisted and broken human bodies, lay horses. Beheaded wolf and cat gargoyles, many bigger than Briana’s own feline form, lay motionless and scattered across the field. The still smoking body of a fallen dragon rested a short distance away.
Briana’s throat cramped, the absolute carnage threatening to empty the contents of her stomach at her feet. Next to her, Lucan didn’t move, his face paler than before, if that was even possible.
Vaughn shuddered. “This can’t be real.” He pointed to the emblem of Morgana’s army on one of the dead men. “No one would be stupid enough to wage war on Morgana.”
“Not even the rebellion?”
He shook his head. “Not a chance. And they don’t have the support to pull off a battle of this scale.” Grim, he scanned the field, the wolf in his eyes.
“No.” Kel clenched his jaw. “This isn’t a new fight.” His gaze found Lucan’s. “It’s the battle of Camlann.”
“Impossible.” Bran shook his head, his expression stricken. “Another illusion.”
A dark blur shot past Briana’s face, and an arrow lodged in Bran’s arm.
Elena scoffed. “Still think so?”
A group of riders crested a grassy knoll, bearing down on them. It was right at that moment they all seemed to realize the weapons they’d carried with them had vanished along with the catacombs.
Stooping, Lucan grabbed a sword from the ground, and tossed it to Briana. “You always said you wanted to join the Guard.”
Lucan picked up an axe from one of the slain men nearby—one of Morgana’s—and made another sweep of their surroundings, noting the terrain that would be problematic for the approaching riders.
Encircled by war and death, the wraith remained conspicuously quiet. Had been ever since he’d left Briana in her room after their last conversation. Not even the hunger that stole through him, a subtle invasion of every cell in his body, roused the darkness.
An unexpected development that would have worried him if there had been time for it.
“This is where we’re supposed to find the scroll?” Elena asked. The glow of blue fire brightened in her palm.
The riders bearing down on them burst apart under the force of Elena’s magic, but most of them managed to remain in control of their horses.
“It’s a little early in the inning to have to pull the star pitcher.” Vaughn winked at the sorceress.
The group of men was larger than Lucan realized, close to fifty in the group. Another volley of arrows darkened the air. A burst of flame destroyed most of them before they hit the ground.
Lucan flinched, one of few arrows that got through slicing across his biceps. He sucked in a breath,
the wraith finally stirring.
The ground vibrated as the men drew nearer, all of them Morgana’s. He knew without checking that Briana wasn’t as close to him as he wanted, but there was no time to maneuver closer.
The lead man raised his arm to throw a spear, and Lucan let his shape slip away to allow the weapon to pass through him.
Someone screamed directly behind him. The enchantress.
Eyes wide, the man pulled at the reins of his horse, and the animal reared up, giving Lucan an opening to strike. Arm raised, he froze. The scent of blood—sweetly metallic and pulsing with life—struck with sharper precision than the spear.
He spun around, felt the wraith roar to the surface. His gaze locked on the stream of blood trailing from the spear embedded in the enchantress’s side. His incisors lengthened, aching in his mouth.
From the corner of his eye he saw Briana herded toward three men. He took a step toward the enchantress. A little blood and he’d be in a better position to help Briana, to help himself stay in control…
Briana tripped, and one of men lunged off his horse, rolling to the ground to pin her beneath him.
Protect.
The wraith’s fury overrode the bloodlust, and he charged toward them. A wolf gargoyle, a mercenary fighting for Morgana shifted form mid-jump, landing between Lucan and Briana.
Not understanding what he faced, the wolf sprang forward and flew away from Lucan, knocked aside by a fist that would ruthlessly take down every obstacle between him and Briana.
He grabbed the closest of the group stalking Briana from behind, and sank his fangs into the side of the human’s neck. The blood curdled on Lucan’s tongue, sour and smelling like death.
Spitting it out, he shoved the man away. He wasn’t real. The Fae had been right. Another illusion.
The man holding Briana to the ground soared past his friends as she kicked him off. She dropped the third where he stood with a swing of her sword, grinning when the fourth scrambled away.
Pride filled Lucan’s chest, and the first real smile in days curved his lips when she glanced his way. He’d known she would be a sight to behold in battle, and when she plunged between two men, sliding to her knees in the mud to take them off their feet, he knew he’d been wrong to doubt her. Maybe she wasn’t a mercenary or a trained huntress, but she was just as capable, just as fierce as ever.
Hearing footsteps behind him, Lucan whirled, found himself face to face with Nessa. Both of them breathing hard, they stared at each other, weapons drawn.
“You’ve got a little something on your chin, wraith.” The huntress turned toward another small group of men close to those that Vaughn and Elena pursued.
Ten feet away, the Fae scanned the field, his gaze following something that moved away from them.
Kel.
The enchantress yelled, finally managing to pull the spear from her side.
Real, the wraith hissed, propelling Lucan toward her.
“No. This way.” Briana grabbed his hand, tugging him in the opposite direction. “We’re getting through this competition first and then you’ll feed.”
“Volunteering?” he snapped, the long-ignored compulsion for blood an ugly, ravenous beast fighting him from the inside out.
“Yes.” She kept walking, her gaze strategically sweeping the area.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t deserve to suffer.”
He stopped. “Maybe I do.” There wasn’t any maybe about it, in fact.
“Why?” Eyes a brilliant blue and glowing around the edges, she faced him. Blood stained her clothes, smeared her cheek. “Because you were forced to do things against your will? Rhiannon didn’t give you a choice when she created the wraith inside you.”
“No,” he growled. “There’s always a choice.”
She frowned. “You would have taken your own life?”
“To spare others, yes.”
Skepticism tightened the lines around her mouth. “Then why didn’t you?”
Tracking Kel’s progress, he let out a breath. “It wasn’t for lack of trying.”
“The wraith?”
It was always the wraith, had been for centuries. “It took over every time I tried until I gave up.” It had been hundreds of years ago, when the black-outs faded and he was faced with memories of what he’d done.
“Lucan,” she began, taking a step toward him.
“No. Don’t look at me like I was a victim. I’ve killed, Briana. Hundreds of times. Hundreds of deaths in a hundred different ways.”
She shook her head, and he knew she wasn’t getting it. Not really.
“I made them suffer. Killed them in front of loved ones or when they were on their knees, crying and begging for their lives. Once I stood for peace and honor, and now it’s misery and death.” He took a step toward her, hating that she retreated even though it had to be that way. “Still think I don’t deserve to suffer?”
“The wraith was in control,” she insisted.
“And that’s supposed to give me a free pass?” That wasn’t the way the world worked and he knew that better than anyone. “The wraith wasn’t always in control. It doesn’t care about being merciful and lessening someone’s suffering. Completing the objective any way possible is all that counts.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes, but instead of retreating further, she held her ground. “You made their deaths easier.”
“They shouldn’t have had to die at all,” he yelled, his anger fueled by a punishing hunger he was terrified would lead him to hurt her.
Never.
The monster’s confidence didn’t do a damn thing to improve the situation.
With the few of Morgana’s men left standing being dealt with by the Fae, Lucan scanned the area for Kel.
A flash of red insignia streaked across Lucan’s peripheral vision, and his stomach bottomed out. “Arthur?”
“Where?”
Heart punching through his chest, he pointed to where a man with the dragon shield separated from his men.
“He’s still alive?”
For now. Lucan glanced up, but the dark sky made it impossible to tell what time of day it was and how long the battle had been waging.
“It can’t be that simple?” Briana murmured.
He was already moving toward the man with the shield, the spiked tips of anxiety digging in. “What?”
Briana kept up with him. “Dragon. Nogard.”
He frowned.
“Nogard is dragon spelled backward.”
Son of a bitch. Tracking movement toward Arthur, he broke into a run. Kel was already too close to him. If the dragon wanted to be the one personally responsible for killing Arthur in this twisted playback of history, Lucan had no intention of indulging him.
Briana sprinted next to him, and they both saw the approaching band of men change course, heading toward Arthur. “I’ll be faster on four legs.” She threw her sword at Lucan and yanked at her clothes, preventing them from getting in the way during her shift.
He blinked at the explosion of magic and color, and the sleek grace of the huge black predator, tearing across the field.
More men burst over the knoll, pounding onto the battlefield. The sound of Nessa’s laughter carried on the breeze to his right.
Ahead of him, Briana pounced, knocking a man to the ground, her powerful paws incapacitating him. Another leap took a rider from his horse, giving Lucan fewer obstacles to deal with.
Between the gaps of fighting men that separated them, he glimpsed Arthur. Real or not, his friend moved with the same lethal precision that left every man who challenged him dead or dying. The three trying to surround him met with the same fate as the others, before Arthur faced another threat altogether.
Mordred.
Hundreds of years ago Lucan had lost track of Arthur in battle, though he’d sworn when they were barely past boyhood to always have his back. He hadn’t been there when Morgana’s son had somehow gained enough advantage to fatally woun
d Arthur. Constantine had been the one to find and drag Arthur from the fight, not realizing the extent of his injuries.
Everyone had been so convinced Arthur was invincible that no one had been prepared to deal with the agony he suffered for hours afterward, his screams heard for miles before they lost him.
Lucan searched the swarming bodies for Kel, but couldn’t spot the dragon. Pushing through the men, he used both the axe and Briana’s sword to fight his way to Arthur’s side.
Twice he saw Briana go down beneath Morgana’s men and both times she fought the bastards off, staying close to him.
Bleeding from injuries that didn’t matter, sweat running into his eyes, he hunted for Kel, cutting down every man or gargoyle foolish enough to fight for Morgana who got in his way. By the time he made a path through the last group of warring soldiers, he didn’t have the strength to slip into his phantom body, his body too weak from hunger and injuries slow to heal.
Calling out a warning to Arthur would distract him from his confrontation with Mordred, and Lucan refused to be the reason Arthur lost concentration. Although deadly in his own right, Mordred still wasn’t a match for Arthur. Too quickly Mordred’s movements grew sluggish and clumsy, and he retreated more than he advanced.
Kel stepped into Lucan’s path as Mordred went down, but not before he brought his sword up, slicing deep into Arthur before collapsing.
Kel bolted in front of Lucan, his sword raised.
“No!” There was no time to reach the traitor. No time to prevent the dragon from murdering the king he’d signed the death warrant for centuries ago.
Dodging the thrust of another spear, Lucan delivered a death blow to his latest attacker, stumbling forward as Kel buried his sword in…Mordred’s back. He hadn’t come there to kill Arthur?
Ignoring Kel, Lucan reached Arthur’s side just in time to catch his oldest friend as his legs buckled.
Grabbing his arm, Arthur hissed out a breath. “Always there when I need you, Lance.”
Lancelot. The nickname he hadn’t heard in centuries squeezed his throat. “I’m a little late this time.” The words tore at him.
Primal Temptation pg-4 Page 18
