TheKingsLady (14 page)

And what about you?

The unbidden thought whispered in the confines of his brain and for once he admitted yes to the large vacant space which lived inside him for so long. Only, today he didn’t feel as hollow and knew the reason why. Even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it, even to himself.

An ear splitting howl broke into his thoughts as everyone swung their attention to the open door where Neil and Andrea stood, a squirming ball of white fur in her arms. Another yowl rebounded through the room before Salt squirmed free, landed on his feet and ran to Juliet still standing by the window.

Juliet picked up the agitated cat and frowned, her eyes growing more alarmed by the minute. “Oh, no, Gwen took off. She locked Salt in her room and it seems they disagreed on her decision to leave.”

Arthur cursed, running an agitated hand through his hair. “That woman will be the death of me yet,” he growled as he crossed to the door, only to have it blocked by Lancelot, his eyes narrowed, jaw tightened, and body tensed for a fight.

“Get out of my way.”

Lancelot glared back at him. “If you can’t be what she needs this time around, you need to let her go.”

“Don’t you dare presume to tell me what to do.”

Viviane’s voice came to him in soothing tones, which did little to douse the fear and anger warring inside him.

“Lancelot is only being a friend to both you and Gwen. If you care for her perhaps you should let her go.”

“Ask anything else of me, Viviane. She needs protection against Vance, and you damn well know it.”

“She’s a witch and a powerful one at that, for goddess sake. I think she can handle herself,” Merci drawled as she moved into view in the hallway with Drake trailing behind.

“
Christ
, what in the nine levels of hell are you guys doing here?” Simon snapped from his position at Darius’s side. Rhea narrowed a speculative look at where Merci stood, partially hidden by Lancelot’s large frame at the door.

Merci peeked over at Simon, her eyes widened with shock, then fury as her gaze locked onto Rhea. “Why, you little
bitch
, takes a lot of balls to fucking show your face here,” she spat out avoiding Drake’s attempt to grab her. She pushed past Lancelot, marching right up to her. The room crackled with magic as the two faced off.

“Nice to see you, too, Merci,” sarcasm laced with acid dripped from Rhea’s honeyed words.

Darius quickly stepped in front of Merci, showing no sign of his earlier weakness, while Simon moved in front of Rhea. “Back off, Merci, Rhea is no threat to you or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Great, first Gwen and now Morgause. Why don’t we invite Vance and have a party?” Merci rolled her eyes.

Drake pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently on top of her head. “Before you go off halfcocked you really need to hear what everyone has to say, little spitfire. Then perhaps you can explain to us how you know each other?”

“We have known of each other though we haven’t met, until now,” Rhea supplied. “The le Fey bloodline knows their own. The magic responds.”

“Whether we like it or not,” Merci grumbled.

“As interesting as all this is I need to try and find Gwen,” Arthur interrupted with an irritable growl. His gut churned with frustration and helplessness, stretching his nerves taut.

“If you can’t be the man she needs, leave her alone. We will find her and put her somewhere safe,” Lancelot spoke gently, his gaze asking him to back down.

“Whatever you do. You need to look for her now. She’s in danger and there is little time left for her.”

Darius’s words sent a chill skittering over Arthur’s skin. “Don’t even try to come between us, Lancelot, you won’t like the outcome,” he promised in a smooth deadly tone.

“She took one of our vehicles heading out of state,” Darius chimed in, breaking the tension between the two men. As they gave him an incredulous look, he glared at the two of them. “Check the GPS on the SUV for Christ’s sake if you don’t believe me. There is more at stake than the lives of both Nimue and Gwen. If Vance succeeds in raising Morgan le Fey, the result will be apocalyptic. No one will be safe.”

“Then it’s time to bring Gwen home. Merci, I need your assistance,” Arthur stated flatly.

Salt meowed his agreement.

No one stood between him and Gwen.

No one.

Chapter Twelve

Gwen’s eyes felt as if someone scoured them with sandpaper as she stared out at the Las Vegas strip from her room at the Camelot. A multitude of lights blinked like precious jewels among the jagged mountain range in the distance. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool windowpane.

A lone tear streaked down her cheek as her mind once again turned to Arthur. No matter how she worked it out in her mind, the only solution she could come up with pointed to her leaving. She needed more than he could give and this time, she would not settle for less than all of him. Unfortunately, she had a gaping wound where her heart once beat, but hey, not like she would need it.

And if Vance got his slimy hands on her, it would all be a moot point anyway.

She hated leaving Salt behind, but knew it would be best for him. The argument between them still cut her to the quick. Their first fight and sadly, she knew it would be their last. He just didn’t understand why she couldn’t put her trust in Arthur and the men under his leadership.

She shoved a hand through her tangled hair with a sigh. Salt would be kept safe and loved. He could always find another witch. The thought of losing her connection with Salt completely brought more tears coursing down her face.

Again, she found herself completely alone, cut off from anyone who would care if she lived or died. The reality was not a comforting one, and felt far too familiar. Would she always be doomed to this half existence? Just once she wished she would be placed first, to matter. Tousled blond hair framing dark brown eyes flashed in her mind and her chest constricted.

She closed her eyes and shook her head to clear the image of Arthur. She straightened her spine and wiped away her tears, determined to stop the pity party of one she indulged in for far too long. She took a hot shower, then slipped in between the cool sheets of the queen-sized bed. Exhaustion, both mental and physical, took her before her head hit the pillow.

Guinevere paced the receiving room, her hands worrying the rosary she held between her fingers. The icy cold of the stone floor seeped into her bones despite the thick wool of her gown and the fire crackling in the fireplace. Hazy sunlight came through the high arched windows of the nunnery, reflecting off the simple wooden chairs and table in the center of the room.

Something was terribly wrong. She awoke with a feeling of dread after meeting with Arthur just the night before. After years of estrangement, he chose now to see her? The feeling of finality lay heavy between them, the conversation stilted and strained.

Yet, she could hear the farewell in the words, he didn’t utter.

Her heart broke as she gazed upon his beloved face, now lined with age and marred with the heavy burden of duty.

She loved him still, and knew she would do so even unto death.

And that happened to be the quandary. With the feeling of dread nearly overwhelming, she knew Arthur’s death was imminent. Grief held her heart in a steel fist, crushing the life out of her with every labored breath she took.

The door squeaked in protest as it opened, allowing an icy blast of frigid air to rush in. The scraping sound of metal armor and heavy footfalls neared where she stood, frozen in place. The scent of blood and death permeated the air around her, and she closed her eyes against the pain engulfing her.

“My Queen, I come with grave news.”

She recognized the deep bass of Lancelot, yet she still didn’t have the courage to turn and face him. The low emotionless tone of his voice told her more than mere words. The desire to run from the nunnery almost eclipsed any rational thought. She heard him speaking as if from far away, the words not making sense as her world teetered on the brink of a vast void. She felt so tired.

Tired of living a life without Arthur in it.

“Did you hear me, Guinevere? I said Arthur is dead by Mordred’s hand. His was body taken to Avalon by Viviane’s ship.”

“And what of Mordred?” Her voice sounded funny even to her ears as it rasped out the question, as if she gargled with shards of glass.

“Also dead, my Queen.”

“Don’t call me that, ever,” she snapped out, turning to face her one-time lover. A choked gasp struggled out of her constricted throat. She was shocked to find him covered in blood and dirt. His eyes echoed pain and regret in a face far too pale. Her gaze flew over him, looking for any signs of injury. There was too much blood.

“Come sit, you are injured. I’ll summon Sister Ellen to tend you.” She motioned to the chair.

He waved her concern off. “My Lady, ‘tis not my blood, worry not.”

The idea of so much blood shed by others brought bile rising up the back of her throat as nausea stirred in her stomach.

“From this moment on I am only Sister Guinevere. I shall do my penance and die within these walls alone and forgotten.” She held up a hand to stop him from speaking. “This is my penance and wish, Lancelot. Do not think to sway me from this course. Now go from here and do not look back.”

An insistent pounding on the door jarred her from the memory and dug sharp spikes into her temples. With a low moan, she buried her head beneath the pillows and wished the pounding to go away.

“Gwen, let me in.”

Startled, she sat up in bed and blinked at the door, biting her bottom lip until it stung. The voice sounded a lot like Arthur.

“I mean it, Gwen. If you don’t let me in right now I’ll break the gods damn thing in.”

Yep, it was Arthur.

But what…
how
did he find her? Why would he even care? Her head spun with more questions than answers, and she knew the only one who could give them to her stood on the other side of the door.

“Just one moment, hold your damned horses already.” She scowled at the door as she tried to run her fingers through her tangled hair and smooth her rumpled clothing.

With a deep breath, she opened the door and was hit by pulsing waves of fury from the scowling man on the other side. Her stomach pitched and the air she just took into her lungs wheezed out of her much like a ruptured balloon.

His chocolate brown eyes glittered. Golden brows dipped low over a perfect nose. His broad forehead creased in displeasure and those full sensual lips thinned. Dear Hecate, he was beautiful standing in front of her like an avenging god.

Dressed in low slung jeans and a pale green polo shirt, he looked good enough to nibble on. And oh, dear goddess above, did she ever want to let her mouth and tongue have their wicked way on every inch of him.

“We need to talk,
now
.”

His voice came out in a deep rasp that stroked over her skin, sending sparks of fire over her flesh and moisture pooled between her legs.
Crap.

She could only nod, not trusting her voice, and stepped aside so he could enter. He brushed past her and she nearly groaned out loud at the heady mixture of sea swept beaches and bergamot.

She closed the door and leaned against it, striving for a casual unaffected air, even though her legs shook so bad if not for the door, she would have been a puddle at his feet.

“How did you find me?” She was surprised her voice came out without a wobble.

“No matter where you go or how far you run. I
will
find you.” His penetrating gaze held no sign of doubt.

A shudder of excitement, fear or perhaps both, filtered through her body. Her heart fluttered like a caged bird in her chest, but she refused to be intimidated, not this time around.

“You are very scary, you know that?” she shot back, lifting her chin in stubborn defiance. “And you may find me, but I will still keep escaping.”

“Stubborn female.”

“Really? This is coming from the guy who’s a walking poster boy for obstinate?”

“At least I don’t run off with a big target on my back. I swear you don’t use the common sense the good Lord gave you.”

She bristled at his offhand remark. “I have plenty of common sense. I ran from
you
, didn’t I?”

He stood in front of her so fast she didn’t have the time to react. His hands gripped her arms firmly as he brought her up against his muscled body. Heat spread through her chest as his heat enveloped her, her breasts pressed against the hard slab of his chest grew heavy, and her nipples puckered.

He bent low, his warm breath puffed against the sensitive shell of her ear. “As long as there is a breath in my body, I will never let you go.”

“Is that a threat?” Her voice came out breathless as his nearness churned up emotions she didn’t dare look closely at.

“No, love, that’s my promise.” His gaze warmed. His hands stroked up her arms in a tender caress, causing a sparking shiver of expectation to sluice through her veins.