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  “Since when did I ask for a protector, you big ass,” Rhea rasped out, punching Simon hard on the shoulder as she stepped in front of him. “I’ve been able to stabilize Darius.”

  Arthur didn’t let her finish. His gut churned as dread coiled tight in his belly. “What about Darius?” he demanded.

  “He’s resting,” Rhea evaded.

  “Bullshit!” Arthur snapped, striding toward the bedroom. “I’m checking on him.”

  Simon moved to block his way. “He is fine now. He had one of his visions, but with Rhea’s help, he came out of it. He finally dozed off.”

  Arthur narrowed his eyes on him, gauging if he spoke the truth or not. Never before did he question one of his men, but the sudden appearance of Rhea and Simon’s apparent protectiveness threw him.

  He battled the urge to push Simon clear and see Darius for himself. Taking a deep breath, he focused on calming his pounding heart and clearing his mind. Simon deserved his trust, earned it many times over, and he refused to give into the fury seething through him like toxic sludge.

  “What did he see?” Arthur’s voice came out on a rasping growl, the urge to hit something intense. He felt his control slip further. With a hard mental yank on his emotions, he forced his tone to smooth out, injecting a cool level tone he was far from feeling. “His visions have saved our buts in more than a few situations.”

  There, calm, controlled and in charge.

  Yeah, not even close.

  “Then this latest one can be added to his tally since he saw the end of life as we know it.”

  “Cut the cryptic shit and just spit it out,” Arthur demanded, his drawl becoming more apparent.

  “Your little witch dies at Vance’s hand. Is that clear enough for you?”

  Arthur went cold at Rhea’s words. An ache began his chest, taking up residence at the thought of Gwen dying. “He saw this? I need details,” he nearly shouted, holding onto his composure by sheer force of willpower. He wanted to shake the woman until her neck snapped, then grab Gwen and run. Irrational yes, there could be no running. Not from this and even if he did, it would only delay the inevitable conflict between Vance and him.

  He found he looked forward to the battle to come.

  “He said there was a large arena somewhere inside with stands for spectators. Darius said he saw Gwen tied to a stake with another, Nimue, I think he said. He has the ashes of Morgan le Fay, and he’s determined to bring her back.”

  Viviane let out a painful moan, her pale eyes full of horror. “Not my sister, he wouldn’t dare.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to her, Lady Viviane. I give you my word,” Lancelot soothed.

  “He would dare many things,” Arthur cut in grimly. “Did Darius mention anything else about the area, any landmarks?”

  “Only that it looked like one of those places you can eat and watch some kind of medieval fighting. The floor was covered in dirt.” Rhea shook her head and let out an irritated sigh. “Honestly, if there was anything else I would give it to you.”

  “Would you? I mean our last meeting was not a picture to put into a family album, unless your family happened to be filled with sociopaths.” He couldn’t help the bitterness lacing his words. The wound sill festered deep in his soul, a caustic acid eating a hole through him. If not for her magic added to her sister Morgan, he would never have fathered Mordred.

  “My sister deceived me as well, Arthur. I never meant harm. I believed Morgan’s lies. By the time I realized my spell would be used against you to sire a child it was too late.”

  Rhea’s gaze darkened with so much pain Arthur could no longer look at her. Regret seeped into the very morrow of his bones. Could he have been so wrong? It dawned on him in that moment. He never gave her the opportunity to tell her side of things. In fact, he refused to speak to her again after Morgan announced her pregnancy. The glamor to resemble Gwen worked to perfection. His seed had taken root within a monster. It seemed they both were caught in the machinations of Morgan and her hunger for power and the throne.

  “I’m sorry, that was…unnecessary.” The apology came out on a rasp, as if he swallowed a mouthful of sand.

  “I will do anything it takes to keep my sister from being brought back. I am here to right the wrong she did to both of us, Arthur. You can trust me to guard your back and your men as well.” Rhea lifted her chin, determination glittering in the storm-tossed depths of her gaze. “Just give me a chance, please.”

  Arthur frowned at her. “Am I that implacable?” A chorus of yeses sounded throughout the room.

  Nice.

  “Fine, but I am not unreasonable,” he grumbled.

  “Well, um…there are some things that you refuse to listen to,” Viviane ventured.

  Arthur arched one brow at the goddess. “And what things would those be?”

  “Me, for one,” Rhea chimed in.

  “The jury is still debating about you,” Arthur snapped, his tone thick with warning.

  “And then there’s Gwen,” Vivian interjected. The air grew heavy in the small room as the tension built.

  “Look, I was a real bitch before…and I owe her an apology for my behavior. We all do. Lancelot gave me a better perspective and well…we were wrong to judge her.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Arthur growled, stalking over to tower over Viviane, his body tense with anger. “Just like that all is forgiven? She helped to end Camelot!” His voice rose to a shout.

  Lancelot moved Viviane behind him in a protective move not lost on Arthur. “Calm down and think. There were many things eating away at your idea of a perfect utopia. Wars, the fighting and plots within your circle of knights, you can’t blame everything on Gwen. Besides, what did you expect?”

  Arthur’s head snapped back as if slapped, shock registering in his dark eyes. “I expected loyalty gods dammit!”

  “Then you should have been there for her,” Lancelot shouted back, his face flushed with anger. He glared at Arthur, his words lashing out to whip. “You never had the time for her, always the men, your responsibilities came first. You ignored her and after years of isolation, she found me.”

  Arthur snarled, feeling heat scald his veins at the memory Lancelot dredged up and with it, the pain and bewilderment of their betrayal. “I had a country to run, what did you expect me to do, disregard my duties? Don’t you think I would have loved to spend all my time with my wife? I didn’t have that type of luxury then, and I sure as hell don’t have it now.”

  “Then you don’t deserve her and never did.”

  The room turned deadly silent as the two men faced off. The air crackled with the threat of violence.

  “Can the two of you keep it down? Your yelling is enough to wake the dead.” Darius’s voice, thin and weak, broke the tension as both men whirled around to face him.

  Rhea and Simon both went to Darius, who leaned weakly against the doorframe, his face waxen, long hair falling in tangled disarray down his back. He looked at Arthur, speculation gleaming in his dark gaze.

  “Arthur, you know better than anyone you have tunnel vision when it comes to your work. Then and now, I’ve never seen you relax even once in all the time I’ve known you,” Darius gently scolded.

  “How do you feel?” Arthur asked, concern worming its way into his gut at the dark circles underneath his friend’s eyes.

  Darius’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “Seen better days, but thanks to Rhea here I think things are going to improve drastically.” His gaze met Simon’s in a pointed look, who grinned back.

  Arthur ground his molars at the undercurrents running rampant through the room. First, Lancelot’s protectiveness of Viviane and now this…no, he didn’t even want to touch on it and besides, the three were entitled to live however they wanted to. He only wished them happiness.

  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 fo
r 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 he
ar 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.