Primal Temptation

by Sydney Somers

  Ten feet away the wall disintegrated under the force of the three gods slamming into it. He needed to get her out of there before they brought the whole damn house on top of them.

  He scanned their surroundings, deciding the best path. “Hold on to me.” He slipped his arm under her.

  “No.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “Don’t. It hurts too much.”

  “You can handle it, Briana. You’re strong.”

  She shook her head. “Been fighting too long. Tired.”

  A yell pierced the air, and Lucan watched through the busted wall as Aren’s body arched. The dagger skated across the floor in the hall, bumping harmlessly into the crown molding.

  Held immobile by something Lucan couldn’t see, Aren missed seeing Rhiannon throw Maeve through the window. Rhiannon had Mordred’s sword in her hand by the time the other goddess regained her footing.

  Maeve shot her brother a helpless look, and vanished.

  Rhiannon spun, the blade in her hand going to Aren’s throat. “You wait thousands of years to get even, only to use them to get to me?” She jerked her head to indicate Lucan and Briana.

  “She killed their brother,” Briana said, her voice strained. “She broke their triumvirate.”

  “I was just returning the favor,” Rhiannon explained without taking her eyes off Aren. “They took both my brothers from me, first.”

  “Them, not me,” Aren insisted, betraying no concern over his fate.

  The goddess cocked her head.

  “I couldn’t stay in the cell any longer, Rhiannon. You needed me.”

  Lucan tried to follow the conversation, but Briana started to shiver.

  “I’ve never needed you, Merlin.”

  Briana’s hand tightened around his at the unexpected return of the exiled sorcerer.

  Sighing, Rhiannon let her hand and the sword fall back to her side. “I thought you were still locked up. Where’s Bran, the real one?” she clarified as Aren/Merlin relaxed.

  “Back in my cell. Still asleep in my body.”

  The real Fae, Lucan realized, had never been competing in the Gauntlet. His body had been no more than a vehicle for Merlin, the same as Aren’s was now. Later he’d ask how the sorcerer pulled off that kind of trick, right after Lucan made him undo what he’d done to Briana.

  “You did this to her.” Briana’s hand was the only thing keeping Lucan from going for the sorcerer’s throat. “Make it right.”

  He crouched next to them. “I’m sorry, young one. There was no other way to save her. Her death would change everything.”

  “Rhiannon’s,” Briana whispered.

  Aren/Merlin nodded. “I couldn’t let that happen.” His gaze swept over her. “If there had been another way…”

  “You can’t save me.”

  It took Briana’s words for Lucan to understand what the sorcerer was really saying.

  Lucan launched to his feet, the sorcerer’s throat in his hand and the wraith roaring in outrage. “You will save her.”

  “I can’t,” the sorcerer choked out. “There was no other way. I tried to alter the course of my vision during the games but nothing changed the outcome. You still won and Rhiannon still died. Then I realized that Briana was the key. Without her, you would lose the drive to compete.”

  “So you tried to make me kill her.” The Fae had been the one pulling his strings when he’d nearly strangled Briana.

  “Only with her death would the future correct itself.”

  “Fool,” Rhiannon growled. “You know better than anyone that trying to interfere with the visions—”

  “You’re an Oracle,” Lucan cut in, realizing that the sorcerer Arthur had trusted since boyhood was one of rare immortals who were also clairvoyant.

  “I had to try,” Merlin insisted, his eyes on Rhiannon. “I already lost Arthur. If anything had happened to you…” he broke off, and Lucan thought maybe the god inside him was fighting for control. Merlin shook his head, his hands coming up to brace his temples.

  “What’s happening?” Lucan released his grip on the sorcerer.

  “Another vision,” Rhiannon guessed.

  “No,” Merlin hissed, almost in unison with Briana.

  Something hit the floor, and Lucan turned to find the goddess unconscious, the hilt of the dagger lodged in her back.

  Behind her prone body, Morgana stood, her eyes narrowed in dark satisfaction. She held up a hand when her gaze fell on Merlin. “I’m the only one who can remove it, and I can’t if I’m dead.”

  “How did you—”

  “You’re not the only oracle in town, you know,” Morgana offered as though it might explain how she’d managed to out maneuver all the gods and Merlin. “Father.”

  Lucan released his grip on the sorcerer, his attention darting to Briana. Merlin was Morgana’s father? That didn’t make any sense. She and Arthur were half-siblings and Arthur’s father had been human. Even Rhiannon had claimed that, told everyone he’d died.

  “I wasn’t always as I am now,” Merlin offered.

  “You were human once, before you, too, drank from the Grail,” Briana whispered, the wheeze of her breathing rolling into a cough that brought blood to her lips. “You were still human when you fathered Morgana and Arthur.”

  Merlin nodded.

  “Fathered being a very loose term,” Morgana clarified, her expression dimming when her gaze locked with Briana’s. She scowled at Merlin. “Didn’t Arthur’s death teach you that you cannot stop fate?”

  “Our choices are not predetermined,” he argued.

  “Maybe not, but the end result often is.” Morgana took a step toward Briana, but that was as far as she got before Lucan was in her face, letting the wraith all but claw its way through his skin.

  Arching a brow, the sorceress leaned past him to see Briana. “Are you really, really sure?” She sighed a moment later. “Apparently we really should’ve had that chat about slumming it.” She glanced at Lucan. “You can move your ass, or you can watch her die.”

  He didn’t let himself believe a word. “They said—”

  “And how many of them are even standing here in their own bodies?” She glanced at Merlin. “No offense.”

  “Lucan?” Briana could barely raise her voice above a whisper. “It’s fine.”

  Though it went against every protective instinct in his body, he stepped aside. The sorceress crouched next to Briana.

  She held out a hand and the Grail appeared in her open palm. “Be a good wraith and put some water in this for me, ’kay?” She waited for him to take it, adding “Seeing as how my father, the body snatcher, didn’t even use it to save Arthur, I don’t think you want to trust him to fill it up.”

  “It would have destroyed him,” Merlin snapped.

  The Grail could have saved Arthur? Not waiting to hear Merlin’s explanation—Lucan already wanted to tear the sorcerer apart, never mind what the wraith wanted to do—he rushed to fill the chalice with water and hurried back to her.

  Morgana waved for him to give it to Briana.

  “If she suffers any further,” Lucan warned, his hand tightening around the stem.

  “Then your Mr. Hyde will hunt me down, suck me dry and crush my bones to dust.” She rolled her eyes. “I get the gist. Get on with it.”

  Briana’s scorching skin heated his palm as he slipped a hand behind her neck. She whimpered, but parted her lips to drink. The seconds ticked off in his head.

  Her arms shot out as her body arched off the floor, her eyes rolling back into her head.

  No! “What the fuck did you do?” He demanded an explanation though he didn’t let his eyes leave Briana.

  “Patience, Lancelot.”

  Her body curled inward, her claws scraping the floor as she shifted into her cat from. Eyes a vibrant blue opened as Briana raised her head, her sleek panther form rising to curl around him, purring.

  He buried his face in her soft fur, his fingers sinking in until she butted him with her head, telling him th
at his grip was too tight. Sweet Avalon. He hadn’t lost her.

  “You owe me one, Lancelot.”

  He met Morgana’s gaze.

  The sorceress winked at him. “And I always collect.”

  The next moment the sorceress and the Grail vanished, leaving them alone with Merlin. He crouched next to Rhiannon, stroking her hair.

  “You still love her,” Lucan said, absently running his hand down Briana’s back.

  Merlin raised his head. “Perhaps.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  “She sleeps, much like Arthur.” He stood. “There’s a reason gods do not procreate.”

  Lucan glanced at the dagger that had been crafted by Constantine, who carried Arthur’s life force. “Aside from the swords, they’re vulnerable to pieces of themselves.” Rhiannon’s own son had been her weakness. “And the Gauntlet?”

  Merlin shrugged. “If it had been the real thing, she’s the only one who would have survived.” He nodded to Briana. “You’re not easy to kill.”

  The cat bared her teeth at him.

  “Did Arthur know you were his father?” Lucan asked.

  “No.”

  “Did he know he would die that day at Camlann?”

  Merlin took his time answering. “No. Even the events that seem so clear have a way of changing. Nothing is static. I know that better than anyone and yet…” Crouching once more, he placed his hand on Rhiannon. “I’m taking her to the huntresses. They’ll be her best protection for now.” Right before he vanished, he said, “I’ll be in touch.”

  Hours later Briana hadn’t moved from Lucan’s side. Not even when Tristan insisted on speaking to her alone, code for talking some sense into her.

  All three of her brothers and their mates had walked into a disaster zone less than an hour after both Morgana and Merlin disappeared.

  “So what I don’t understand,” Kennedy began, the youngest immortal among them, “is why Arthur didn’t die the way Mordred did since they both had swords from the gods.”

  Lucan ran his fingers back and forth across Briana’s wrist. “To make Constantine his heir, Arthur had to bind their life forces. As long as Constantine lives, there’s a chance of resurrecting Arthur. If we find Excalibur.”

  “So why did Maeve and Aren give a sword to Morgana?” The question came from Sorcha who sat perched on the arm of the chair, next to Cale. Although her oldest brother hadn’t wanted to attack Lucan on sight like Tristan had, his brows scrunched together every time Lucan went out of his way to touch her.

  “Contributing to Arthur’s death was a way for Maeve and Aren to hurt Rhiannon.”

  “So with Rhiannon out of commission, where does that leave us?” Kennedy glanced at Sorcha. “Have your abilities changed?”

  “No. My guess would be everything Rhiannon had in place remains the same as long as she’s technically not dead.” The former huntress glanced at Lucan. “You?”

  “The wraith is still a part of me.”

  Briana squeezed his hand. There hadn’t been time to talk about how he felt now that the wraith wouldn’t be going anywhere. But with Rhiannon out of the picture, he no longer had to worry about being compelled to carry out her orders.

  Tristan shook his head. “I still can’t believe that Morgana is the reason you’re still alive.”

  “And her connection to Merlin…” Emma shook her head, leaning back into Cian’s chest where they sat on the floor. “Mind blowing. Do you think that’s why Arthur could never get close enough to kill her? That Merlin was protecting her?”

  Lucan shrugged. “I’m still having trouble getting past the fact that he can get inside immortals and run the show whenever he feels like it.”

  Cale nodded. “So what happens now? I mean, will Maeve just give up or is the next Campaign and the real Gauntlet about to start as we speak?”

  No one had an answer for that.

  Briana rubbed her head, massaging the vicious ache hammering between her temples since she’d drunk from the Grail. Exhaustion pulled at her limbs, but she didn’t want to sleep, not yet. She wasn’t done with just holding on to Lucan, still trying to convince herself that they’d found a way to beat the odds that had been stacked against them from the beginning.

  Tristan crossed his arms, watching her. “You need to rest.”

  “I will.”

  “You almost died.” Her brother narrowed his eyes at Lucan.

  Her mate cocked his head, then met her gaze, a hint of a grin catching the corners of his mouth. “I think he wants me to act like an animal and just carry you off to bed over my shoulder.”

  “Do not push me, wraith.”

  “Or?” Lucan drawled, his voice the perfect balance of himself and his feral half. But Lucan understood what she wanted. Neither of them were prepared to sacrifice a moment, not even for sleep. Not yet.

  Kennedy stood. “I don’t know about Briana, but I’m exhausted.” She tugged Tristan’s hand.

  Tristan’s attention drifted back to Briana, and she nodded. There was still plenty to be said before Tristan would accept Lucan’s role in her life, but she didn’t have a doubt in her mind that he would.

  “I’m tired too.” Sorcha nudged Cale. “I vote for picking this up tomorrow at Pendragon’s.” Cale nodded and stood.

  “Hold on tight, tiger,” Sorcha warned, then flashed the two of them away.

  “Think he gets motion sickness from that?” Cian pulled himself and Emma to their feet. He gave Tristan a stern look. “No dueling at dawn, bro. We’ll see you guys in the morning.” The pair walked out of the room, presumably to Cian’s wing of the house.

  It took another minute of coaxing for Kennedy to persuade Tristan to leave the room.

  “He hates me,” Lucan groaned when they were alone.

  She cupped his face. “He’ll come around.”

  “This century or next?” He leaned his head back against the couch. He stared off into space for a moment. “You were right.”

  “Of course I was,” she answered, grinning. She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but the way she took credit for it made him smile. She knew she’d never get enough of the devastating curve of his lips.

  “About the wraith,” he lapsed into silence, and she rested her head on his shoulder, content to let him sort through it on his own. “He was protecting me. And regardless of what Rhiannon did to me, she didn’t create the wraith, not entirely.”

  She tipped her head back, watching him frown.

  “I think there’s always been a deeper, darker part of me. The same part that we all have, that always finds a way to survive. Maybe the wraith is just an extension of that instinct.”

  “Maybe,” she agreed. The only one who really knew exactly what had been done to all of Arthur’s knights was out of commission.

  Like Tristan, Lucan would need time to adjust, and although she didn’t say it, she was pretty sure the deeper, darker part of him wouldn’t be nearly as much of a concern as he feared.

  Her knees barely shook when she stood and held her hand out. “I don’t want to sleep but I’m not opposed to being carried out of here over your—”

  Lucan flipped her up and over his shoulder. “Say no more.”

  Less than twelve hours later she was ready to carry him away over her shoulder.

  “Can I take the blindfold off yet?” The damn thing was itchy, but she hadn’t stopped smiling. Not even Tristan’s continued foul mood at Pendragon’s this morning had put a dent in the drugging euphoria that accompanied waking up in Lucan’s arms.

  “Soon.”

  She waited until she sensed he was looking at her, and tipped her head back.

  Stepping behind her, he covered the blindfold with his hands. “No peeking.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.” She had, however, been thinking about getting him closer. With his chest brushing up against her back and his arms framing the sides of her head, she couldn’t think of anything much closer, except maybe—

  “
Don’t,” he growled against her ear.

  “What?” She gave her hips another wiggle, biting her lip at the feel of him getting hard for her.

  He nipped her neck. “I’m trying to show you something.”

  “This century or next?” she teased.

  “Wench.”

  She grinned again. She hadn’t minded crossing the veil into Avalon or the long trek through the woods with only Lucan’s hand to guide her. “Do not make me tickle you again, Lucan.”

  He shuddered. “I’ve heard a lot of threats over the centuries, but that is by far the most terrifying.”

  She spun in his arms, gripping his shirt as she rose up to find his mouth. She might have to wait for him to reveal his surprise, but she didn’t want to go another moment without remembering the taste of him.

  His hand fisted at the back of her hair, tipping her head back to allow him better access to her mouth. Smooth and hot, he deepened the kiss, dragging it out until there wasn’t an inch of space between them.

  Every doubt, every fear, every single hurt, had been worth it to finally be with him. And she wasn’t letting him go. Not now or ever again. That fierce certainty made her heart thump hard as she leaned into him, meeting the bold sweep of his tongue and almost forgetting what he’d wanted to show her.

  Her back came up against a tree, and something dug into her. “Ouch.”

  He kissed her again, slower, then turned her around, tugging the blindfold from her eyes.

  She blinked, grateful that the canopy of trees overhead kept the sunlight from blinding her. It took a moment to notice the curving stairs that wrapped around the massive tree trunk. Each step looked built into the tree, rising to the balcony above.

  Walking backwards to get a better look, she shook her head. “You built this?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the elaborate tree house that looked more like a modest cottage, complete with a thatched roof, upper loft with a ladder propped against an outside window and a swing that creaked in the early evening breeze.

  “Whenever Rhiannon forgot about me for a while.”

  “And you built it here?” She’d recognized the tree she’d been sitting in that night, waiting for him to find her when she’d run from him.