Resurrection: A Historical Adventure Romance Novel (Legend Book 3)

by Kylie Stewart

  For the first time since my capture, Lancer released my mouth so I could reply. “Go to hell,” I spat.

  Mordred chuckled and motioned toward the car. “Oh, I believe it will be you traveling there, my lady.” His eyes darkened. “Put her in the back and stay with her.”

  “No, no, no!” I put my feet on the door of the car to push back against Lancer. “Please, don’t do this, Lancer.”

  He wordlessly shoved me inside and slid in next to me. As soon as the car door slammed, we were off. The vehicle sped away from the clearing and away from Caliburn. I swallowed back tears.

  Now is not the time to break.

  I searched the interior of the vehicle to try to find an escape route. There was none.

  A black divider cut off the driver and Mordred from the back seat.

  I glanced over at Lancer and really looked at him for the first time in a long while.

  His expression appeared long and drawn as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. Usually, Lancer wore a cheery expression, but this forlorn demeanor was foreign to me.

  Reaching over to touch his arm, I whispered, “Lancer, please.” His gaze flickered to me. “Help me, don’t do this.”

  The look in his gaze was cold, unfeeling, and made me sick to my stomach.

  “Lancer … after all we’ve been through.” I tightened my grip on his forearm.

  “All we’ve been through?” He snarled. “There is no we, Alexandria.” His hand reached out and snatched my chin. “You made that so fucking clear.”

  His fingers pressed into my jaw like an iron vise. “You’re hurting me …” I whimpered and lifted my hand to grip his wrist.

  “Funny.” Lancer ripped my opposite hand away from his arm and placed it on his chest over his heart. “You did the same to me.”

  Fear sliced through my core at the emptiness in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to, Lancer. You know that.”

  “You did, though, Alexandria.” His hold on my jaw turned into a gentle caress, pulling me closer. Our lips were just a whisper away from one another. “I could have given you a life without complications. Avalon will never be able to do that for you.” He brushed his nose against mine. “I still can give you a future without complications.”

  “I don’t want it.” My voice shook.

  Lancer’s lips curled up into a sneer. “Why not?”

  I shut my eyes to prepare myself for his reaction. “Because I love Arthur.”

  With a hiss, he released me and sat back in his seat like a child who had been told no by his mother.

  The silence between us hung like a heavy veil. I knew the virus within him hindered his ability to think and feel rationally. Mordred was controlling him.

  Please, Avalon.

  I tried to send a message based on our soul connection.

  Please find me.

  Tears blurred my vision of the countryside passing by.

  I need you.

  We arrived at a dilapidated manor house about an hour and a half away from Caliburn Estate. I heard whispers of where we were—Holston Manor. An old and powerful family once resided here as their summer home until their strange withdraw from society. As a child, rumors flew that the home was haunted. I guess I would find out if that were true.

  Lancer opened the door to the car and held out his hand for me. “Either you come with me, or I drag you out.”

  Well, that leaves me little choice …

  I took his hand and followed him to the front entrance of the manor.

  A very distressed looking Morgan waited for us on the stoop.

  We exchanged a glance, but her message was clear—You are in grave danger.

  My stomach churned in protest. Bile crept up the back of my throat, and I forced myself to swallow it down. I had to keep my head so I could think my way through this mess.

  Lancer led me over the threshold and continued to drag me through the vacant house. Priceless furniture that must amount to a fortune hid away under dust-covered white linens. They were the ghosts people spoke of. They held stories and secrets of their previous tenants that would never come to light.

  I jerked to a halt in the center of a miniature ballroom. It seemed grand for a simple manor home yet dwarfed in size compared to Caliburn Estates. The chandelier tinkled above us, ornate crystals brushing against each other from some unseen breeze.

  Mordred entered from a second doorway flanked by Dr. Tristan and Morgan. Lancer’s hold on me never wavered. My former lover was now my jailor.

  “Welcome to Holston Manor, Alexandria York.” The son of Arthur Pendragon clapped his hands together. “Sorry it’s a bit drab, but we don’t plan on staying long.”

  “Why am I here?” I demanded.

  Mordred inhaled deeply. “My dear, you are here to send a message.”

  My arm tingled under Lancer’s grip. “A message to whom?”

  Morgan moved to take the place of Lancer while the beast of a man strode to take his side by his master.

  A smug smile crossing Mordred’s lips hadn’t been lost on me. He knew Lancer would come whenever he called. Lancer would do whatever he asked.

  “Oh, I think you know.” My enemy clasped his hands behind his back. “I just need to have a conversation with my father. I need him to understand where he fits into all this.” Sky blue eyes too beautiful for the monster they belonged to burned my gaze. “And I need him to realize that nothing he can do will save you.”

  Morgan rested her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t try to run, Alexandria. This entire area is spelled so you cannot leave.” The woman’s obsidian pools apologized silently. “You can only leave once it has been lifted.”

  I bit my lip. “And how is it lifted?”

  Morgan opened her mouth to answer, but Mordred stole her words. “When you belong to me.”

  My legs gave out beneath me, and I slipped to the ground. The marble floor met my knees with a brutal kiss. I hardly felt the pain ricochet up my body from the jolt of crumbling. Morgan sunk with me, failing in her attempt to steady me.

  I couldn’t refute the panic and choking sobs of fear as they clawed their way up my throat. Anxiety gnawed away holes into my consciousness. My mind wasn’t able to separate rationality from reality.

  This was my reality.

  Mordred planned to kill me and use me to open whatever he needed for his master plan. I would be drained of blood, killed, and discarded once I dried up.

  No. Please, Arthur get here now!

  “No worries, my sweet.” Mordred sauntered toward me, leaning down to lift my chin to meet his evil gaze. “I am sure my father would give away his soul in order to keep you safe.” He shrugged. “At least for a little while longer.”

  My limbs shook under the stress of facing the end. Everything felt cold, so cold, and Morgan rubbed my arms, trying to calm me down. “Alexandria, easy,” she whispered.

  “N-no …” I managed to mutter under my breath. “I don’t want this.”

  “Of course, you don’t.” Mordred released his hold on me and motioned for Lancer to come forward. “If dear old Dad could have just kept his hands off you, you would have a future.”

  “I don’t want that future,” I spoke through gritted teeth. “I want to go home.”

  “And where is home now, Alexandria?” Mordred continued to push. “Is it in London? Or is it in bed with a man hundreds of years your senior?”

  I flinched at the truth of his words.

  Once again, I dug deep and continued to push. “My home is with Arthur.”

  Mordred’s chuckle echoed around the empty ballroom, sinister and vile. “I will never understand what you see in my father.” His blond head shook. “He’s selfish, even bonded you in blood to keep you close. Are you sure he really even loves you the way you are in love with him?”

  I glowered at Mordred as he spoke words he had no right to speak. He fueled righteous anger that curled together with the knowledge of what he had done to Genevieve in the past. He armored me against him the mo
re he spoke.

  “I can understand now why he never wanted anything to do with you,” I seethed. “You are nothing but a low, vile, pretentious bastard. You should have been snuffed out the moment you entered this world.” A rage that didn’t belong to me caused such horrifying truths to escape my lips. Mordred seemed to understand who was speaking now, and his Adam’s apple bounced as he swallowed back his unease.

  “Your life was worthless. Your claim to the crown pathetic.” My finger pointed in his face. “And if you think that raping your father’s queen hurt him in any way, you are so wrong.” Tears slid down my cheeks as Guinevere moved me to speak on her behalf. “He was already done with me once you had me. The only reason he showed rage was due to defending my already tarnished honor.”

  An unsteady tension rippled through the air.

  My outburst had shocked everyone.

  After a long moment, Lancer’s attention snapped to the door from which we entered. “They are here,” he growled.

  “Good.” Mordred flicked a quick peek at me before huffing. “I’m over all these theatrics.”

  Lancer’s body trembled, and my jaw went slack as his transformation began. Flesh and clothing turned to purplish-black armor. The first time I had seen it up close, I saw the scales much like that of a dragon linking together. Now that I stood a good distance away, the body armor looked like a suit worn by motocross riders.

  The painful wail pierced my ears.

  Lament.

  The sword created to answer Sinfonia’s Aria.

  The blade emitted a miasma that swirled around in a black mist. Instinct told me if one was cut by that blade, the miasma would attempt to infect and control. My eyes widened. Mordred really wanted to create an army—his Legion all controlled by his virus.

  I could hear faint sounds of speaking outside. The slamming of car doors and crude words as orders were given.

  Lancer shuffled from side to side just waiting on the hair trigger to be detonated.

  Minutes ticked past before I heard the second-best sound other than Avalon’s voice.

  The Aria of Sinfonia.

  The twin blade to Excalibur.

  The sword that bound us soul to soul.

  That means … my thoughts grew giddy the louder it got.

  Avalon appeared at the door flanked by M, Vivian, and John. David and Isaac hung in the background ready to fight.

  He did it.

  Silver armor encased Avalon’s muscled, athletically toned body. The golden Welsh dragon emblazoned on his chest made pride surge through my chest. He had been able to use the power God had deemed him worthy of wielding.

  “Lancelot, are you ready to have some fun?” Mordred checked his nails as though a war wasn’t on the brink.

  “Yes.” The black knight took a fighting stance.

  My heart seized in my throat.

  “Mordred.” Avalon’s eyes glowed vibrant silver. “Let her go.”

  My captor chuckled. “Oh, Arthur, I wish to have a bit of fun first.” He snapped his fingers, and Lancer shot forward with inhuman speed.

  “Arthur!” I cried out, bringing my hand to my chest. Morgan held my shoulder. To Mordred, it might look like she held me back, but I felt her own anxiety. She held me because she didn’t know the outcome of this match. Neither of us knew if Arthur could handle Lancer.

  The haunting wail of Lament’s virus met the soaring song of Sinfonia’s Aria. Pitches clashed and molded into the sound of metal on metal. Two men’s desires met on an open playing field. One man needed me; the other wanted me.

  I knew who I chose, but it wasn’t my decision.

  This would be fate’s choice.

  I prayed fate was kind to me.

  I prayed fate would see Avalon through tonight as the victor.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Avalon

  Alexandria surrounded me the moment I stepped out onto the gravel drive of Holston Manor. She was here. I sensed her fear, her anxiety. On our way over, my chest felt as though someone had reached through my body and gripped my heart. I shared that strange sensation with Vivian, and the priestess’s face paled.

  Vivian had then gone on to explain that what I just experienced was Alexandria’s fear. Someone had told her something that caused her to panic. The car couldn’t go fast enough.

  I wanted—no, needed—to rip Mordred’s spine out by his throat. That bastard played with me for the last time. My heart was no longer spurred on by revenge, but love. Alexandria had become my reason to fight and finish this never-ending saga of pain and misery.

  Merlin came behind me and tapped my shoulder. “It is time.”

  Centuries melted away, and I took this moment to breathe in the air around us. The smells of fall, crispness, and England flooded my senses. England opened herself to me, for I was her king. I lived every ounce of her history since my birth fifteen hundred years ago.

  A wild thought occurred to me.

  I am England.

  I watched as William the Conqueror pulled England from the clutches of Vikings.

  I advised Edward the Confessor to be a little more involved and a little less religious.

  I fought among the armies of Edward I and stared William Wallace in the eye. In him, I found a kinship—and fate brutally immortalized him in death while I lived.

  Henry the V and I celebrated on the fields of France while Margaret de Anjou cried night after night over her child’s lost inheritance.

  I argued viciously with Henry the VIII over his divorce to Catherine of Aragon. And the next wife, and the next, and the next …

  Queen Elizabeth I vowed to do well by my example for crown and country. Her cousin James I came down from Scotland to take the crown—my crown—and a new era began.

  From the discovery of America to the beheading of Charles I, I had lived it all. While the Victorians indulged themselves and George III went mad in his revolution, I continued to try to win woman after woman. All the while failing.

  I went to the trenches in World War I and landed in Normandy on D-Day. Countless other wars, political conflicts, and the abdication of one king to a young queen happened on my watch.

  I lived the steep history of England.

  I could tell historians where ruins were, what they looked like, and who lived where. No one else could do that. Just me.

  That thought alone flooded me with power.

  No matter who wore the crown of England, I was her king.

  My skin prickled once again, and this time, my transformation came easier. Somewhere inside, I flipped a switch. I understood where the power came from, and I allowed my old self to share his wealth of power.

  The armor embraced my body as though it were a second skin. I didn’t fight, just accepted it. This would be how I would fight from now on.

  A moment later, I called forth Sinfonia, spreading my palms from a praying position to open them wider. The sword appeared, and I took it by the hilt. She sang an Aria just for me as I swung her gently back and forth, testing her weight.

  She feels like an extension of me, I pondered for just a second. A part of me just like Alexandria.

  “Arthur.” Merlin drew my attention away from the golden hue of the blade. “We must go now.”

  I stalked toward the front entrance, and John opened the doors with a slam. David and Isaac took the responsibility of clearing the rooms. They motioned through a hall that opened to a ballroom.

  My breath hitched when I laid eyes on her.

  Alexandria.

  She stood in the center flanked by a pale-faced Morgan. I glowered at my sister who shared a silent message.

  You won’t win this, Arthur.

  I refused to believe that.

  My eyes scanned the room, evaluating my options.

  Lancer stood in his own armor that sinful blade crying and smoldering in his hands. Mordred stood next to Tristan—Dr. Tristan. What a hoax. My eyes narrowed at the blond man who refused to meet my gaze.

  Coward.

>   Mordred said something to Lancer, and I heard his faint reply. “Yes.”

  “Mordred.” My eyes burned with a force. “Let her go.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, Arthur, I wish to have a bit of fun first.” With the snap of his fingers, Lancer shot forward with inhuman speed.

  I too vaulted myself forward, ready to face my greatest adversary.

  “Arthur!” Alexandria’s voice barely resonated as our blades created an eerie harmony before the metal ground together.

  Unlike the last time Lancer and I came to a head, his force didn’t throw me. I held my own, able to parry and block his attempts to land a blow.

  We parted only to come together again.

  “Just give in, Arthur … It’s over,” Lancer hissed through gritted teeth.

  I kicked him in the gut, swiping at his open side. “You know that is far from the truth.”

  The miasma swirling around Lancer’s blade had me step around him with care. In this form, I saw it for what it truly was—a demon blade. Sinfonia had been a demon blade, but Vivian cleansed her, and in my possession, she had been purified. Lament, that vile thing Lancer wielded, would poison.

  “Please stop this!” Alexandria cried out again. “Lancer!”

  She and I both knew my former charge was too far gone for rationality. I assaulted him with a sequenced of finished steps. He did better than I expected and backed away, blocking my sword’s advances.

  “Arthur!” I ignored Alexandria’s pleas and continued to focus on my target.

  With a flourish, I attacked again, keeping Lancer on the back foot. This time, I successfully landed a blow, slicing his left side. The younger man hissed, his hand going to the exposed area of his armor.

  Blood coated his hand.

  I drew blood again.

  Lancer staggered, my sword’s properties having an obvious effect on him. He blinked, and for a moment, the black veil over his eyes faded.

  Waiting with bated breath, I didn’t strike him while he was disoriented.

  “Lancer, do not defy me.” Mordred’s voice cut through to my core, and I refocused my glare onto him.

  I pointed Sinfonia at my estranged son, and his brows furrowed. His lips twitched downward and moved swiftly to take hold of Alexandria’s hair. Her head wrenched back, and he brandished a dagger against her throat.