Knight Hunted (The Return of the Queen Book 1)

by L. A. Grant

  Smart man.

  “I don’t know where they’ve taken her,” he said, his voice raw and vulnerable. I believed him. But it wasn’t good enough.

  “Take a guess,” I offered, leaning in close to him, blade held over his foot. “You’ve seen some of their operation.”

  “I have,” he said. “But not much of it. Morgana is quick, and full of magic. You’ll never catch her.”

  I held up his chin to get a better look at his eyes, swollen though they were. He met my gaze, though I could see the fear in them. Sometimes I still felt like the lion, and could sense things beyond my human senses. Fear was palatable. Tasty, even. I would sink my teeth into the tender skin of his throat if I could shift.

  But I couldn’t, so instead, I quickly brought up my sword to that throat, beheading him. I stepped aside to avoid the spray of blood.

  “I believe you,” I whispered to the dead man.

  Wane

  My wounds sufficiently healed, I left Hayden and Percy to be tended to by the witches of Avalon and headed off to find Lancelot.

  I didn’t know a lot about what was happening, and the lack of information rattled me. We’d been attacked. The witches had been put under a temporary spell, woven deep into their magical channels.

  The High Priestess Elaine still worked at undoing the threads, but Avalon was protected once more.

  Or, most of it.

  Arlena was gone, taken before we could save her, for whatever nefarious purpose Morgana had.

  Morgana had breached Avalon and taken Arlena.

  My blood ran cold as I rounded the corner to head down to the dungeon, where Lancelot interrogated the only prisoner. That Morgana had managed to pierce Avalon so easily terrified me, That she’d taken Arlena rattled my soul, anger coiling around my heart.

  The entrance to Avalon’s dungeon stood at the back of the courtyard behind an elderberry bush which bore fruit all year long. Before I could cross the threshold into darkness, Lance appeared. He looked like shit. Blood, fresh and old, spattered his face and clothing. I was sure it was not all his. He wiped his blade before sheathing it again.

  I stopped cold at the look in his eyes. I’d seen that look before, only a few times. It was when he braced himself to do what needed to be done, no matter the cost.

  “You killed him,” I said, not sure how I felt about it. On one hand, I wasn’t sure he’d gotten everything we needed from Mordred’s knight. On the other hand, I was grateful I didn’t have to deal with him.

  “He had no useful information to give,” Lance said, voice cold. He shrugged as though to lighten the mood.

  Failed attempt.

  “We’ll get her back,” I said, but I didn’t feel the conviction of my words. How could we track her? Why did Morgana want her? That much Lance might know. He knew her better than I ever did.

  “Why would they want Gwenhwyfar?” I asked. “What will they do to her?”

  Lance stopped and looked at me. Really looked at me this time, as though he hadn’t done so since we’d all come back.

  “They didn’t tell you?” he said, then shook his head. “The witches of Avalon are as damn bitchy as ever.”

  “Didn’t tell me what?” I said, blood growing even colder, as though winter settled in my bones and intended to stay. At least until I was once again warmed by Arlena’s presence, but I doubted I’d ever see her again.

  “That was Arthur, Wane,” Lance said, his voice choking with emotion. Grief, anger, surprise. “Arlena is Arthur, not Gwen. She’s the one we’ve been waiting for all this time.”

  My mouth tried to form words but failed.

  Arthur had returned. I’d followed the beacon straight to Arlena. I should have known who she was. But I didn’t, and because of that, we unprotected. Morgana had managed to reach her.

  And it was all our fault. We were the knights of the Round Table, bound to keep her safe, returning to this life to ensure it.

  “What have we done?” I whispered. We’d failed at our most basic duty.

  Again.

  “The real question,” Lance said, his voice unexpectedly soft, “is what are we going to do about it?”

  I stared at him as though I too was seeing him for the first time since before he’d left with Gwenhwyfar all those years ago: determined, jawline set, eyes focused.

  For the first time in this life, I was glad that Lancelot was with me. And I intended to get Arlena back, or lay down my life trying.

  Arlena

  They’d left me locked in a room at the top of a tower. Stormer’s Keep, I’d heard them say. A tiny window showcased a lush moonlit forest, and the ocean, or at least a hell of a big body of water in the distance. A river raged directly beside the keep, just below the cliff. If I craned my neck, I could see white waters spraying the stones below.

  Bars prevented me from even attempting to jump, not that I through that was the best idea.

  But what were my alternatives? I’d been healed, so I felt fine, but I’d also been tossed unceremoniously in this tiny room. Morgana hadn’t even come here, saying something about needing to plan next steps, leaving me in Mordred’s care.

  Mordred. There was a guy I didn’t like.

  I pushed at the metal bars, seeing if I could nudge them a bit. Rust crusted their edges, so maybe I’d get lucky. Pushing didn’t work, so I tried pulling, placing my feet against the wall and putting my full weight into it. My hands slipped and I flew back, landing hard on the stone floor.

  “Damn it,” I picked myself up, pride more wounded than my ass.

  I had to figure out how to escape, or to get word to the knights. Maybe they’d find me? The same way they’d found me before?

  No. Wane had said the beacon had stopped as soon as they’d brought me to Avalon. I walked back to the window, hoping the view would inspire an idea. It’s not like I had anywhere to sit. Not a stick of furniture graced the room, so I had stone floors to sleep on.

  I was too terrified to sleep, anyway. And hungry. And inexplicably angry. No, that part had an explanation.

  I’d been attacked multiple times over the past few days, and dragged into a life I’d known nothing about. I’d been made to feel like a traitorous queen, and fallen for four guys that I’d just met, even though I felt like I’d known them for lifetimes. And I’d been ready to just, I don’t know, figure this new life out with them, when it had all come tumbling down.

  Again.

  The sun broke over the horizon, rays of light igniting the sky. And now it was a new day, and I was alone, with no hope of escape.

  The door creaked opened and I whipped around. Mordred stepped in, looking smug. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt with a snake emblem over his heart. His pale hair highlighted his golden eyes. They would have been beautiful, if not for the coldness burning in them. His entire face was set in a smirk.

  My hands formed fists at my sides, though I knew I couldn’t take him. Arthur might have been a mighty warrior in his day, but all I’d ever done was throw a few punches. Worse come to worst, it would do.

  “Arthur,” Mordred closed the door and crossed his arms. I heard the door lock, so someone stood on the other side. No chance of getting out that way, either.

  “It’s Arlena,” I said. “And you have no right to hold me.”

  He laughed, but it lacked any warmth, as cold and hard as his eyes. “We don’t operate by the laws of your world.”

  “Then by which laws do you operate?” I said, trying to buy some time. He took a step forward, and I forced myself to hold my ground. My features were set in as relaxed an expression as I could manage, under the circumstances. The room wasn’t big, and he stood only about three feet away from me.

  Not exactly comforting.

  “We operate by the laws of Avalon,” he said, his voice suddenly soft. “The real Avalon.”

  “What do you mean?” I tried to sound neutral.

  He took another step forward, eyes sweeping over me.

  “You know,” he
said, ignoring my question. “I killed you, back in the day.” He grinned, like he was telling a joke. “Me! I took down the mighty King Arthur.

  Spear in my side, pushing my sword into him as he pushed his own weapon into me, dying united, but dying nonetheless.

  A sharp pain hit my right side and I couldn’t breathe for a few moments. My eyes widened and my head spun, my mind overwhelmed by fear.

  “You were alone,” he said, taking another step forward as I struggled to catch my breath. “You were alone then, left to bleed out on the battlefield, your brave knights nowhere to be seen.”

  Pressure crushed my brain and my sight began to double. My breath became ragged, and my side throbbed with pain, sweat pouring down my face.

  “Alone then,” he said, taking a strand of my hair in his hand as I struggled to remain standing, “alone now.”

  I snapped, my knee coming up and hitting him in the groin, hard. He fell over, clutching himself. I tried to kick him in the face, but he recovered quickly and grabbed my foot, sending me to the floor. I kicked again. It didn’t connect, but he let me go. I scrambled back up.

  “Fucking bitch,” he spat, his pupils turning into narrow slits, the whites of his eyes yellow. Scales suddenly covered his skin, and a forked tongue darted out as he hissed. His clothes collapsed as he completely shifted into the massive snake and slithered toward me, fast and angry.

  I tried to move out of his way, but he was too big, too fast, and the room was too small. Cold snake skin coiled around my ankles, and I slammed hard against the ground, hurting my shoulder.

  I’ll fucking crush you until you pass out, bitch, his voice rang in my mind. I could make him change back. I needed to touch him, like I’d touched Boars and Wane, and just force him back.

  How the hell did I do that?

  No time to think, I reached for his face as he hissed threateningly at me. He tightened his grip on my leg and I yelped. I struck to the right, missed his face completely, striking in his open mouth instead. And hitting his sharp fangs.

  The wound burned and I screamed. He pulled back, as though surprised he’d just bit me. His grip on my legs loosened, and I pushed myself away, unable to stand. My head fogged up, and I couldn’t figure out how to make my legs work.

  How badly had he hurt me?

  “Don’t panic,” Mordred said, suddenly naked beside me, his eyes wide and still snake-like as he finished shifting back.

  “Get away from me,” I tried to shout, but it came out in a mumble.

  “Don’t panic, your blood will flow faster. Shit! Antidote!” he shouted back at the door. I felt myself slip away, layers of mist collapsing in on my mind, like the mists of Avalon except thicker. Impenetrable. Unstoppable. All-encompassing.

  Help me! I cried out to my knights, shouting as loud I could.

  Only I hadn’t opened my mouth, and I could feel myself being held.

  “Don’t die,” Mordred said, holding me. His words were almost tender, confusing me.

  You killed me, I thought, gasping at the remembered pain of my death, and drifted on the strange mists as the venom coursed through my blood.

  Mordred had been right. I was alone.

  And, once again, he’d been the one to kill me.

  To be continued!

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