by Skye, Sariah
“Well, you’re not a succubus, though you certainly act like it sometimes,” he quipped, grinning from the side of his full lips.
I blinked, straight faced. “Ha. Oh, you’re brilliant, Spartacus. A real comedian, you should get your own special on Netflix.” I waggled one of my fingers at him, pretending to glower. He just smirked and shrugged indifferently. Playful Mathias was someone I didn’t get to see often, and I hated to be surly about it, but this zit was really bothering me.
“No, really… technically you’re half incubus, even though that’s a male. It’s confusing, but you don’t have actual life-force stealing powers,” Mathias explained thoughtfully, scratching at the persistent stubble on his chiseled jaw. “But you should have some of our characteristics.”
“But just not the ones that keep me from getting fat, or acne, or whatever. Well piss, that sucks…” I grumbled.
Mathias chortled gently. “If it hurts, find Rhys in the morning and maybe he can heal it.” He sounded like he was joking, but…
I snapped my fingers. “That is a brilliant idea. You’re as smart as you are sexy, handsome.” A blush spread over his cheeks as I leaned over to kiss him. He started to wrap his arms around me, when I suddenly began to shout as loudly as I could, “Rhys!”
Mathias gasped, wide-eyed. He scrambled under the blankets, pulling them up to his neck. “Stars above, Avie! Are you mad? He’ll come in here!”
“Duh. That’s the idea.” Snickering, I shook my head. “Rhys!” I hollered again. He had to be nearby—he never went far. Mathias pulled my side of the blankets over me, too, just as a short popping sound announced the arrival of Rhys, the long, wavy-brown haired, short but gently-muscular and handsome wizard. But don’t tell the guys I thought that.
“You rang, dear Priestess?” Rhys appeared at the bedside, pressing his hands together in a prayer gesture over his bare chest, covered with dark hair, and leaning at the waist to offer me a reverent bow—but I knew he was full of shit. He was mocking me.
“By the gods…” Mathias muttered in dismay, slapping his hand over his face.
“Quiet, incubus-boy.” Petulantly, I thrust my tongue out at him, making him chuckle. “Can you heal anything?”
Rhys chuckled. “Can I heal anything…well, mostly. What’s wrong? The lean-mean-Roman-machine finally pound you to oblivion and you can’t walk?” He wiggled his eyebrows and grinned hopefully. “Please tell me that’s it…”
“Rhys…” Mathias’ tone was a deep, warning grumble.
“No, you crazy bastard,” I replied, reaching out to slap him in the arm jokingly. He just tittered. “I mean—okay this is stupid but it hurts.” I pointed at the spot on my chin. Rhys cringed in repulsion.
“Oh yuck. Aren’t you half incubus? Shouldn’t you not be getting that crap?” Rhys sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t get that stuff.”
“Rub it in, Dumbledore. Just rub it in, why don’t you…?” I grumbled, and Rhys laughed.
“Well hell, that’s what I’m here for. And I’ll let your gladiator do the rubbing, spank you very much.” He winked between both of us, and Mathias let out a frustrated groan that only made Rhys and I laugh.
“Just heal her, and get out,” he ordered.
Rhys reached out his hand, and warm, golden magic permeated from his palm and my chin heated for a moment before he stopped. Smiling smugly, he said. “There. Just in time—that was gonna be a nasty one.”
“Rhys…” Mathias’ growled, his eyes narrow, forehead puckered between them.
I turned to glare severely at him, and he rolled his eyes, flung himself back on the bed, and pulled the blankets over his head as he swore an angry series of unintelligible curses from underneath.
“What? It’s no big deal. If it’s pain, I can heal it,” Rhys said, quite boastfully. “Comes in quite handy when I go a little overboard in bed, if you know what I—”
I held up a dismissive hand, pulling a sour face. “Rhys, I don’t want to know. Okay?”
His lower lip jutted out into a pout. “Oh fine. So am I done here, or are you going to invite me in? Because I gotta tell you—”
Now it was my turn to be annoyed. “—Rhys!”
He grinned widely, flicking his brown hair over his shoulder. “Kidding!”
I pointed out of the doorway. “Thank you. But—go.” I tried to be irritated—genuinely irritated. But I just couldn’t, Rhys’ weirdness was part of his…charm.
“Have fun!” And with a pop and a puff of quick white smoke, he was gone.
“I intend to.” Mathias said huskily, pulling off the blankets and in less than a blink of an eye he was on top of me again, pinning me to the bed. A rush of arousal surged through my body and I smirked as his lips found mine in a sultry, probing kiss. I reached up and gripped his brown hair that flopped over his face.
“You really ready for a third time?” I asked in between kisses.
He paused looking down at me. “Avie, I’m an incubus. Literally I can be turned on in a split second—ten times less with you. Is that okay?”
I grinned, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him to me, searching his insanely handsome face. “Yes. It’s just fine.” And I proceeded to show him just how fine for the next thirty minutes. It was enough to get me to crash, finally, but I swore as I fell asleep again I could hear the same voice in my mind that I did from my dream.
“Trust in me, Ava… you must trust me…”
I must have been going crazy. I’d heard voices before but they turned out to be my grandmother, or my aunt, from Avalon. This was a male voice… and the only voice I’d ever heard in my head was my father’s… and this was not that.
Shivering from the anxiety, I snuggled up closer to Mathias, burying my face in the smooth skin of his strong chest. Lazily he opened his eyes and frowned. “Are you okay, beautiful girl? You’re shaking?”
I forced a smile, not wanting to worry him. Yeah I’m just fine, only hearing voices again and no idea who it is. No big deal at all…
“Yeah, fine. You just wore me out and I’m tired, handsome. That’s all.” Not entirely a lie…
He smiled gently, his big brown eyes regarding me with all the love in the world. I sighed contentedly as he drew me into his arms tighter and placed a tender, affectionate kiss in the middle of my forehead, and I was encompassed in all things Mathias. “If I hold you tighter can you sleep better?”
My lips spread into a warm smile. “As long as you never let go.”
“I can do that. I’ll always do that…” He wrapped his arms tighter around me, throwing one of his legs over mine. I stopped shaking finally, and the voice was nothing more than a faint echo as I finally drifted back off to sleep, with the promise of safety wrapped in the arms of my favorite gladiator who would chase all my fears away, and I let him.
Chapter Two
Lachlan
“Hold still, Lancelot.”
I cringed, as the stinking, steaming, putrid substance was poured on my arm. It burned and stung for a handful of long moments before it finally calmed and went numb.
“By the gods, I hope your commanding is better than your bedside manner,” I scolded, as Mordred wrapped the arm with a strip of cloth, that Nimue had scratched and drew blood from only hours ago.
Mordred glanced up at me, and smirked. “Let’s hope.” He stood back from the iron bars of the dungeon cell I was held in and crossed his arms over his crimson tabard. “I am sorry I cannot release you. If I did—”
I rose my hand. “I know. The cover would be blown. I understand that.” Sighing, I gently kicked at the iron bars at my feet, listening to the damning metallic sound as the sound echoed off the stone walls. “The rebels come first. Always.” Pressing my lips together, I dreaded to ask the question, but—
“Guinevere is fine. I assure you this. I will not tell you where she is just in case…” Mordred widened his eyes and cocked his head pointedly. I knew what he meant: just in case someone is listening. Frowning,
I eyed Mordred with a bit of… resolute sadness. He was the spitting image of Nadina—Nimue—with Arthur’s eyes. I had been betrayed in more ways than I could count, now, and it cut deep. This was probably how Ava felt, and I was determined to get the hell out of here one way or another and make it up to her.
Despite this, though, Mordred seemed to be a good man. I’d not known him long, but he was taking a giant risk coming here and healing my arm against the dark magic Nimue had imbued on me. I brought the arm to my chest, breathing out when it no longer stung to move it.
“It is not healed, this is just to temporarily stop the shadow infection,” Mordred said, with a frown. “Shadow magic is only healed by light magic, and the only light magic I know of is—”
“—Avalon, right. Well it feels better and for that, I’m grateful. I’d give anything to have that damn wizard bastard here right about now,” I grumbled, hating to admit Merlin’s presence would be desirable at this point in time. “Tell me, have you had any further contact with Ava? The incubi, at least?”
Mordred shook his head. “No. About a week has passed over there, I believe. I haven’t been able to gain access to the table. I have tried porting into the land directly, but I’m instantly rejected.”
“Sebastian is a genius alchemist. No doubt you won’t get in unless he allows you,” I replied with a knowing smirk. At least I knew that Ava was probably pretty safe. As much as a father begrudged to admit it, her four protectors could and would probably do a better job of it than I ever would.
“I have a diversion set in place for this afternoon; it should allow me enough time to get to them without being seen.”
Before I could respond, we heard the distant noise of a rock against the ground, and Mordred turned to me quickly. “I must go. I’ll be in touch.” And with that, in a swirl of black shadow Mordred disappeared into thin air and I was left alone in the dungeons once more, to muse where everything went wrong, and pray helplessly that my daughter and her men could somehow fix the damage I’d inadvertently caused.
Chapter Three
“Babe, you look… upset.” From across the kitchen island where we were eating lunch, Bash chose his words carefully as I mindlessly picked at my BLT.
I laughed dryly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Aye, ye look tired. Beautiful, but tired, luv,” Trystan said in agreement, sliding in the seat next to me. Grinning, he reached over and picked a piece of bacon from my plate and popped it into his mouth. “These heathens must be running ye ragged all week.”
Xander glanced up from his sketchpad to glare at him scathingly. “Who are you calling ‘heathens’? Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”
Trystan shook a finger at him. “A heathen that hasn’t been running Avie ragged.”
Xander snorted at him, and went back to his sketching, while he mindlessly picked at a pile of chips on his plate.
“Seriously, what’s wrong?” Bash inquired, his steely-eyed looking at me with concern. I flashed him a warm smile.
“I’m just worried about… well everything. Fighting this war, Arthur… and how am I supposed to do anything? I can’t fight. Sure I can shoot a stunner but unless Excalibur has the ability to turn into one of those, it’s not much good.” Sighing, I slumped in my chair.
“You did okay in Alexandria. Doesn’t the sword just… make you able to fight? Maybe you just need to trust in it more,” Bash suggested.
“Maybe,” I said, feeling slightly unsettled by his choice of words. Trust in me…
“Maybe ye just need some sword practice,” Trystan said in between bites of his lunch. He turned to Mathias who had been silently reading a pile of documents from a folder, his black leather briefcase was open next to him. Trystan reached his long arm over and pulled down the papers Mathias was engrossed with. “What do ye think, Mathias?”
“What do I think about what?”
Trystan let out a groan. “About giving Avie some sword practice.”
Mathias looked at me warily and shrugged. “Not sure. I mean…” Nervously, he wrung out his hands and ran them through his hair, pushing it back out of his face. I swallowed thickly, it was almost like the man was taunting me. He probably was. “I don’t like the idea of Avie being in the middle of all that combat. Surely there is a way to avoid that.”
“That’s the goal,” Bash said, with a nod of agreement. “But just in case, it’s not a bad idea.”
“I think I should—” Xander began, though Bash and Mathias both shot him dirty looks. “What?”
“We all know you won’t keep your hands to yourself,” Mathias insisted sternly, and Xander’s mouth dropped open, dismayed.
“Like any of you would—come on!” Xander protested.
“Um, how about Avie decides who teaches Avie, huh?” I blurted out. All four of them glanced at me, looking guilty. “I think I’m perfectly—”
The front door was suddenly flung open, and we were interrupted by the sounds of two flirty female giggles belonging to two of the witches, and Rhys’ voice. One of them, a voluptuous blonde who was a bit shorter and curvier than I, was draped around him, nibbling on his ear, and the other, a tall red-head—about as tall as Bash so quite a bit taller than Rhys himself—was trying to sneak her hand down his pants. I spun around in my chair, smirking with a raised brow, but Mathias crossed his arms over the expanse of his wide chest and let out a pointed cough, interrupting the three of them.
Rhys had been whispering something into the blonde’s ear and judging by how hard she giggled and how impish Rhys’ handsome face was, it was nothing clean. But he glanced up, looking guilty the moment he noticed us. “Damn. I knew I should have teleported in.”
“No, ye shouldn’t have. That’s the damned rule, remember?” Trystan appeared mostly amused, but the corner of his mouth quirked downward partially, resulting in an unusual sneer from the eagle-shifter. “And just what do ye think ye’re doing? Ye’re not bringing yer sexual escapades in this house, dammit!”
Rhys frowned, eyes beginning to narrow defiantly when Mathias slid out of his chair now and began to cross the room. “Oh shit…”
“Mathias, just wait,” I said, and reluctantly with a sigh, Mathias paused.
“We’re sorry, priestess. Merlin said you wouldn’t mind…” The red-head said guiltily. I admitted I was having trouble remembering all of their names, but I thought this one was Bronwyn.
“Did he now?” I exchanged an amused look with Xander and Bash behind me; Xander barely looked up from his sketch pad but I could hear him chuckling lightly to himself. Bash appeared indifferent, somehow.
“We can… ah… go…” The blonde insisted, and the two of them pried themselves off of Rhys. Rhys began to protest but I spoke up,
“I think that’s best.” Last thing I wanted to hear was the shrieks and moans of Rhys banging a couple of the witches. There was no doubt in my mind that he could be quiet. Right now, I just wasn’t thrilled with the idea.
“But…” Rhys protested like a petulant child, with a gentle stomp of his foot as the two witches departed, their white, gossamer robes swirling out behind them as they gracefully walked out of the door. When they were gone, Rhys glared profusely. “What did you do that for?”
“What do you mean, ‘what did we do that for’?” I argued.
“You are not—” Mathias cut himself off, blushing uncomfortably. “You are not to bring your conquests in here.”
“But, you—” Rhys began to gripe, but Mathias straightened his posture and arched a severe brow, while the rest of his face remained generally stoic. He reminded me of a dad who had just caught his kid with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner, and the kid knew he was busted. It was… kind of hot actually.
The hell was wrong with me?
“We can fuck whoever we want in here,” Bash insisted, and I turned to glare severely at him. He laughed uncomfortably and continued, “—and when I say that I mean just Avie, but this is our house. N
ot yours.”
Rhys blanched, obviously hurt by his words. Immediately my demeanor softened.
“I think he means that this house is full enough without you bringing a ton of people in here,” I filled in, and Rhys’ hurt expression relaxed.
Mathias pressed his fingers to his temples and attempted to roll the tension out of his shoulders. “Rhys, you have to understand, we just brought in what—thirty-five new people? More? It’s a bit stressful.”
“Add in the fact that there is a war about to happen, and we have no idea what we’re doing, or when, we are fucking wrung tighter than a pair of britches coming out of the laundry—” Trystan said, and I interjected with a snort at his imagery. He grinned at me and continued. “Ye have to understand, we’re a bit… tense.”
“Yeah, what happens if you knocked one of them up?” Xander asked, setting down his sketch pad finally.
“’Knocked up’? I wouldn’t hit anyone… at least not if they didn’t ask me first, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his brow and made a lewd gesture of pretending to spank someone in the ass. There was a sound of hand slapping skin as Mathias facepalmed himself and grumbled, storming away back into the kitchen.
“You all deal with this…” he said, motioning to the four of us as he opened the fridge and began to search for… well, whatever it was sexy gladiator guys who could cook looked for.
“Not that. It means to get someone pregnant,” Bash corrected, and Rhys immediately looked terrified. He covered his wide, gaping mouth with his hands.
“Oh shit, I didn’t think about that.”
It was Trystan’s turn to facepalm himself. “Och, shite… ye mean ye didn’t think about it before ye stuck your dipstick in? Just what we need, a dozen little Merlins running around.”
“No. That will just… no…” Xander shook his head severely.
Rhys looked around guiltily, afraid to look the others in the eye. I sighed and motioned for him to come over. Reluctantly, like a scared child about ready to get a spanking, he slowly trotted over to the kitchen island and sat next to me. “I don’t want to know what you’ve been doing, but can we maybe wait until after this is all over? We’re dealing with a war, opening up clubs, thirty-five new mouths to feed basically… it’s stressful.”