by Ines Johnson
“It is possible. Sure, it’s a one in a billion chance, but there is a chance.”
The corner of his lip tilted up. “Odds are against it, you know.”
Simon stared down at her. The light of the accelerator’s beam flashed in his eyes. Even after the beam paused, a fire was still there burning bright. Morgan turned back to the accelerator unable to withstand the heat of Simon’s gaze.
“You’re making a mistake,” said Simon. “If you don’t join this team, if you stay in your small town and let them make you into something that doesn’t use what’s in your head, you’ll regret it.”
Simon lifted a hand and traced the curve of her face. She turned to face him. There was interest in his eyes. The same interest she’d seen in Arthur’s eyes.
“I know,” Simon continued. “My parents both tried to force me down their paths. But I’ve made my own way. Don’t let them keep you there, Morgan. You’re far too smart. Your mind could be used to further a more noble cause.”
His touch sent a shiver through her. It wasn’t the same as when Arthur had touched her.
“You are not what I expected, and I’m glad of it. I’m glad you’re different. I want you on my team. Will you be on my team, Morgan?”
He’d said team but Morgan was smart enough to know that he was trying to recruit her for two teams; one here at the university, and a second team that would only consist of the two of them.
Simon’s gaze went to her lips. The moment was ripe for a kiss. Her first kiss, with a like-minded man. A man who wasn’t under the influence of a magical stag or a mind-altering pheromone. A man who didn’t call out for Constance in his time of need.
Simon leaned forward. The lead nugget that hung from the chain around his neck brushed against the skin on her chest. The abrasive rock made Morgan shiver.
If she leaned in, Simon would have the answer he wanted as their lips fused. If she leaned back, he’d misfire and miss his mark. Morgan swallowed hard and then went for it.
19
At nearly two in the morning, the last of the artificial lights went out. The King’s Head Tavern had gone dark shortly after midnight. It was the Witches’ Brew Coffee Shop that had been the last holdout. Alcohol coursed through the veins first as an anti-inhibitor, then as a sleep aid. Whereas coffee and tea loosened the lips and kept things lively.
But eventually, the body needed rest. And so the lights of the meeting place were snuffed. The revelers went off to bed. And all was peaceful in the town of Camelot.
Arthur walked in the middle of the empty streets. His movements slow so not to awaken the pain in his chest. The wound was covered with gauze, but the edges tugged where the skin had been ripped open.
That pain was bearable. It was the deeper ache, the one he couldn’t scratch and soothe with his fingers, that had him walking in the night.
Arthur’s steps brought him to the city limits where they parked the town cars. There was still one missing. He stopped and stared at the vacant space.
The clock struck on the hour mark. It was officially two in the morning. A light breeze whistled through his ear. A collection of twigs tumbled out of the forest and onto the pavement.
Arthur slid his palm down until he met the scabbard that held his sword. He wrapped his fingers around Excalibur’s hilt, allowing the leather to soothe his agitation. The scene had the makings of a Western standoff. The problem was, the villain in the story was late for the showdown.
Needless to say, Morgan was the villain in this story. She always had been for him. Whenever there was a mishap within the grounds of Camelot, he’d find her near.
Blue eyes flashing. Raven hair falling over her shoulders. The ends of her lush waves stopping at the tops of her breasts as though they wanted to rest and enjoy the view. Her hands would rest on voluptuous hips, hips that were meant to be hefted into a man’s arms and brought down on his—
Arthur cursed under his breath. Even though she’d betrayed him, he still wanted her. When had he crossed the thin line between love and hate?
No, he’d never been at either juncture. He’d never hated Morgan. There was no aversion to her presence. No hostility toward her existence that came with hatred.
If he were honest, he could admit that he’d never truly disliked her. He’d always had a healthy respect for her intelligence and her drive and her determination. Unlike most witches, he’d never fretted over pushing her because he knew she could not only take it, she’d push him right back.
If he were brutally forthright, he’d admit that he’d liked their verbal shoving matches. Morgan had never broken. Not even when she was stripped of her magic. She’d lifted up that defiant chin and carried on.
God, that chin. He’d planned to bite that chin tonight on their first date. Not hard, just a small taste of her to whet his appetite. But instead, she was out having drinks with humans.
And there was the hatred. It boiled up in him. His palm tightened on his sword, wanting, needing to slice into some libertine’s flesh, especially if that blackguard had their hands on his woman.
The intensity of his feelings forced him to take a step back, off the pavement and into the grass. Looking down, he saw the distinct white and yellow of hart flowers. The wind kicked up again, and the golden specks of the flower’s interior shook loose. Some of the pollen sailed through the air, other particles circled his legs and landed on the fabric.
In the distance, Arthur saw the headlights of a car. He took a few more steps back until he was in the shadows.
The car crept inside the city limits. The wheels aimed for the straight lines of the empty space but pulled just outside of the demarcations.
That didn’t surprise him. Morgan was never one to color inside the lines. Why should she park there either?
The car door opened, and her feet struck the ground. He spied the tan flesh just above where her toes bunched as they met the curve of the shoe. The palm of his hand tingled again, but this time it wasn’t steel he needed to touch.
Morgan shut the door and stood tall. Her black hair in sharp contrast with the moonlight. The car keys fell from her hand and hit the pavement, causing her to bend over.
Arthur’s first instinct was to look away from the pull of her skirt that gave up every secret of how her ass curved. He didn’t need to look away. She was his, and he’d run his sword through anyone that dared stand in the way of that fact.
His feet were already in motion toward her, to reach out and grab what was his by right, by honor, by the simple fact that he’d seen her first. But the weary sigh that left her perfect lips stopped him.
Morgan looked up at the castle. Tintagel loomed large and magical in the distance. But Morgan’s expression wasn’t dreamy. It was wary.
Why? Because she did not want to go to him? Because she’d decided she’d rather stay in the human world, at the university?
Too bad. That wasn’t happening. Arthur took a strong step over the line, leaving behind his hatred of whomever she’d seen. That person was now a non-factor. The only thing that mattered was this thing between them. He didn’t care what to call it, so long as she was his. And she would be.
At the sound of his boots on the pavement, Morgan jerked back. She turned. There was no fear in her eyes. She was home, in Camelot, where nothing and no one would harm her. What was reflected back at him was disbelief.
“Arthur? What are you doing out of bed?” Her tone was chastising, brimming with displeasure.
“What were you doing out of town?” His tone was the same, though his displeasure had crossed the boundary into anger.
He felt his nostrils flaring, his chest huffing up, fingers balling into fists. He was a powder keg that only needed the slightest strike of flint to set him off.
Morgan blinked up at him. Her head tilted slightly to the side as the steam from his huffed air torpedoed toward her. Her hands slid up her arms until they crossed over her chest. Her brows rose as she regarded him.
“Excuse me,” sh
e bristled. “First, you are not the boss of me so you can just take a step back.”
He didn’t. She’d lifted her chin up, defiantly. It took every ounce of control inside him not to lean down and take that bite he’d planned.
“Second, I’m a grown woman. Where I choose to go and who with is none of your business.”
That snapped him back to attention. “Are you seeing someone else?”
“No.” But it wasn’t an emphatic denial. The oh sound wobbled and she wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“It was just drinks.” She tossed her hands up in clear exasperation. “With the professor who’s offering me a fellowship. And yes, he’s a man. But it’s not like that. I mean, there was a moment. But it was awkward. And I didn’t—”
Morgan stopped talking and glared at Arthur, as though he’d tricked her. She stormed past him off the pavement and onto the grass.
“Why am I telling you this. This is none of your business. My love life or lack thereof is none of your business. Go back and boss around your own fiancée.”
Arthur joined her on the grass in two easy strides. “You are my fiancée. Or you will be once you come to your senses.”
“Come to my senses?”
Morgan’s hands landed on his chest. Arthur’s heart leaped up to meet her touch. But she yanked her hand away in horror as her fingers met with the gauze that covered his wound.
Her gaze darted down lower, and she frowned. Not one of anger or irritation. Her eyes crinkled with sadness, as though she’d lost something.
Arthur followed the trajectory of her gaze, seeking to destroy whatever turned her blue. All he saw was the white and yellow of hart flowers.
“You’re not in your right mind now,” Morgan said. “You were when you were wounded when you called out Constance’s name.”
“I did no such thing.”
“I was there. I was standing right there in front of you. You didn’t want me. You called for Constance.”
Arthur thought back. Things were hazy around those events. But he knew he never would’ve called for Constance. Not when everything inside him cried out for Morgan.
“I’ve figured it out,” she said. “This thing between us was just a result of the hart flowers. We’re standing on some now. It’s putting you out of your mind. But you were in your right frame of mind earlier and you called out the name of the woman you truly want.”
“No.” Arthur reached out for Morgan and pulled her to him. “You don’t get it.”
Morgan struggled in his grasp, but not roughly. Whether because she was afraid of re-injuring him, or because she didn’t want to leave his embrace, he didn’t know. He didn’t much care.
She was exactly where she was supposed to be and that was all that mattered. That and clearing up this fallacy.
“I didn’t call for Constance,” he said. “I was trying to explain to you what happened to me.”
She held still now, waiting for the new piece of knowledge to be unveiled. Eyes bright and curious. Ever the attentive student.
“It was constant velocity,” Arthur said.
“Constant velocity?”
“Yes. The hart charged me while I stood still. I lost the battle of physics.”
“You were trying to say ‘constant velocity’, not ‘Constance’?”
Arthur nodded, pulling her more snuggly into his embrace. Her hand rested just below his heart now, where the wound was. He felt the tug of skin more acutely, but that deeper ache had subsided and was nearly gone without a trace.
“Because you stood still to meet a charging hart?” Morgan was saying, turning the knowledge he’d given her over in that beautiful brain of hers. Then her blue gaze turned dark as she met his. “That was stupid. Weren’t you listening to me when I explained the law?”
Arthur threw his head back and laughed. This moment was perfect. He had the woman he wanted here, safe in his arms. All was serene in the place he loved most in the world. He knew there would never be silence with Morgan.
“I can’t believe you thought I wanted Constance,” he said.
“Well, you did. You were set to propose to her before you got caught with me.”
Arthur ran his thumb along Morgan’s chin. “I wanted you.”
She tilted her head up, bringing her chin in perfect alignment with his mouth. All he needed to do was lean down and take a bite.
“Then there is something wrong with your head,” she said. “There’s a town filled with actual witches who can help you when you’re hurt, who can reinforce the covenant. I’m not one of them.”
“Yet, somehow, I’m under your spell.”
For the first time ever, Arthur saw Morgan Galahad at a loss for words. The moment was perfect for their first kiss. Except there was one thing that nagged him.
“How could you leave like that when I needed you?” he said. “I was on my deathbed.”
“You were not dying.” She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes, much like her sister had earlier. “And there was nothing I could do for you. I’ve never felt so useless in my life.”
“You’re not useless. You’re the most capable woman I know.”
“I’m a witch without power. I’m a human with breasts.”
Now Arthur was speechless. He was certain it would be bad form to look down and ogle her breasts. At least, not in this moment.
“What I mean is, I’m a woman in a man’s field. I don’t fit. Not in the human world. Not here in the magical world. Not with you. You know it’s true, Arthur. You’ll be back to your senses and you’ll make the right decision about your future. You’ll marry a witch who can run a castle, and heal you in your dangerous line of work. That’s not me.”
She wriggled out of his hold. Once free, she turned to walk away. He grabbed her again.
“Don’t walk away from me, Morgan.”
“Don’t lay siege to me, my lord. You’re bombarding me with this rush of emotions, and I don’t know why.”
His hands recaptured her chin. He cupped her face, holding her firm. She couldn’t look away from him.
“There’s a thing between us,” he said. “You feel it.”
“It’s the hart. That’s what makes the most sense.”
“No,” he said. “It was here before. It was just different. You know it’s true.”
Her eyes flashed fire. “You think I’ve been pining for you for years like some lovesick lass?”
“My father always told me that only iron can sharpen iron,” he said. “You challenge me like no other.”
“Are you calling me a metal now?”
“No. You’re stronger than that. You’re a diamond. You make me stronger, sharper.”
Morgan let out a gush of air. “Such elemental words. It’s making me go all fluttery inside.”
Her words were spoken flatly, but Arthur heard the ring of truth in them. “This thing predates the hart. The hart may have made us look at it differently. But it will be here after the hart. It’ll probably take a lifetime to solve. We can work together on it.”
“Was that a research proposal?”
“Will you accept my hypothesis?”
Morgan laughed as she studied him. Arthur held still for her perusal. When she opened her mouth to speak, Arthur saw a flash of white behind her.
The hart.
It trotted past them without a care in the world. But not before turning its head to gaze at Arthur, as though to say Catch me if you can.
Oh, Arthur could. He would. He would put an end to the hart’s existence and prove to Morgan once and for all that this was no fluke.
“Arthur? Did you hear me? I said I would—”
“Stay here.”
“—marry you. Wait? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to finish this.”
Arthur tugged at the sword at his side. In the peaceful, predawn night, he brandished his sword. Excalibur’s steel glinted in the moonlight, as though it were giving a sigh of relief at being of use once more. Then he
dashed into the wood to put the weapon into play.
20
That’s not how she expected it to go. But Morgan had never truly expected to be proposed to, let alone to accept said proposal. She’d definitely never imagined the intended groom to run away from her immediately after her response. A groom hightailing it a few days before the wedding? Maybe.
Arthur raced away from her now. Even though he was still injured, his powerful legs ate up the ground. He gained on the hart as the stag raced into the woods.
“I said yes,” Morgan yelled after him.
He didn’t turn back. His large body disappeared into the dark forest. The only sign of him was the glint of his sword that caught in the moonlight.
“Typical,” Morgan muttered.
She picked her way over the earth. It was thawing as spring inched its way into the season. Her heels sunk again and again into the softening soil.
Arthur moved farther and farther away from her, but she still felt his presence. This thing between them didn’t follow the normal bounds of space and time.
She’d realized that back in the lab when Simon leaned in to kiss her. As he did, she couldn’t lean forward. It had felt like there was something in the way.
The thing.
Morgan wasn’t entirely convinced that the hart had nothing to do with the thing. Each of the amorous escapades between her and Arthur had taken place after an encounter with the hart or its byproduct.
She kicked at one of the white flowers standing proudly in the night. It did not let go of the earth. No matter how she tried to add it all up, the hart was the constant in this equation.
But it was no matter anymore. Morgan decided right here and now that she would complete this experiment with Arthur, wherever it led them. Which was into a dark forest in the middle of the night. Weren’t there cautionary tales about this sort of thing?
She caught another flash of Arthur in the distance. His sword was drawn. She caught the glint of steel. A flash of white from the hart. And then darkness again.
Morgan groped around in the darkness, wishing she could flare up some witch fire in her palm. Or to at least use her cellphone’s flashlight. But neither her hands or her phone had power. And so she pressed forward in the dark.
