by Skye, Sariah
I patted his arm and smiled at him. “Look, Rhys… you guys can always stay here. I mean… the walls are practically coated with testosterone already, what are two more guys around, huh?”
Rhys shook his head. “No… I can’t stay here. You’ll want to move on and live your lives.”
I poked him squarely in the shoulder and looked to him sternly. “This is my home too. If I want you here—you’ll stay. Period. End of story. I dare those incubus jerks to try to defy me.” I sat up straighter, posturing proudly.
“That would be interesting. All the spankings that would ensue,” Rhys said, wiggling his brow and grinning. I gave him a playful shove as he laughed.
“You’d like that too much, I think.”
“Probably. Anyway… I’ll let you get dressed finally.”
“Gee, thanks,” I retorted sarcastically. “Have fun with Mordred playing hide the sausage!”
“Ava, that’s gross,” he pretended to scold. He flipped his hair haughtily over his shoulder. “It’s at least a good footlong hot dog, not a stubby sausage,” he deadpanned.
I couldn’t hold back my uproarious laughter. “Footlong? What the hell are you looking at? Mathias’ cock? You better not be, or else—”
Rhys smiled deviously. “Hey with the right spell and magic… anything is possible.”
“Oh god…” I slapped my forehead and shook with laughter.
“All right, I’m gone. Thank you for listening, Ava. And—to show my appreciation—I won’t even try to peep on you this time!”
“You do not peep at me,” I insisted.
“I guess you’ll never know…” With a wave of his hand he disappeared, and I heard him laughing evilly down the hallway. I shook my head. I was really starting to like the freak. A lot.
But if Mordred ended up hurting him? Cousin or not, I’d find a way to impale him with my sword for it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“I am pretty sure this is the best damn soup I’ve ever fucking had,” I said, with a low groan of pleasure that probably rivaled something I’d do in the throes of passion if the wide eyed, eager looks the guys gave me were any indication. The wild rice soup and fresh rolls had Mathias made were off the damn hook with their deliciousness, and after everything from the day prior, nothing felt better than a warm meal.
Okay… almost nothing. I could think of about one thing that’d feel better but we weren’t going there right now. I was too hungry to even think about sex. Well… I was thinking about it, I just didn’t want to act on it. For once.
Mathias looked incredibly pleased though, watching me devour a bowl and ask for seconds. I put Trystan and his bottomless stomach to shame in my eating.
“Hungry, luv?” Trystan commented, with a smirk from his usual seat next to me.
I gave him a shove. “Stop. I was hangry, can’t help it.”
“I know that feeling,” Xander commented from across from me, grinning at me while he swallowed his bite of bread, and I snorted. Xander definitely got moody as hell when he was hungry. Hell, he was moody as hell many other times too. But it was part of his charm, and I loved him all the same anyway.
Mathias sat down at the end of the table with his own bowl and plate, eyeing the empty setting next to him with a cocked brow. “Where’s Rhys?”
“Umm…” I whistled nonchalantly and paid extra close attention to swirling my spoon in the creamy liquid.
“Find Mordred and you’ll probably find Rhys,” Bash stated, smirking at me from over the countertop.
“You know about Mordred being…?” I dipped my head and lifted one brow in a hinting motion.
“Lassie, we all know Mordred is gay,” Trystan said, with a shrug.
Mathias chuckled quietly. “It’s pretty obvious.”
“Hmm… is it wrong of me to think that’s hot? Except…” I grimaced and shuddered in disgust when I remembered Mordred was my cousin. “Okay never mind, forget I said that.”
“Och, that’s just… odd,” Trystan said with a frown.
“What?” Bash piped up, with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m secure enough in myself it admit Rhys isn’t a bad looking guy, and neither is Mordred. Doesn’t mean I’m hard over them though.”
“Ya sure?” Trystan quipped. Bash flicked a harsh glare at him, followed by his middle fingers.
“I just think it’s amusing,” I began to say, biting back my smirk, “that you all make all these jokes about your dicks being the biggest… all except Bash. What do you think that means?” I asked, fluttering my lashes innocently as Bash grinned with gloat, and the other three gave him gentle sneers.
“I think it means that I don’t need to parade around like a peacock. When you have a good thing, and you know it, you don’t need to advertise. Because it’s obvious without having to say a word,” Bash deadpanned as he dove into his soup.
I let out a wild laugh, smacking my hand on the countertop repeatedly as Mathias, Trystan, and Xander looked murderous.
“What would you say, Ava?” Mathias inquired, tight lipped, grabbing his spoon in his fist so hard it started to bend.
“Who has the biggest cock?”
“Who has the best one,” Mathias insisted.
“Oh come on I can’t choose. Maybe you should all like, do it with each other and figure it out for yourselves,” I said mischievously, wiggling my brow. The four of them instantly looked mortified.
“I think we need to discuss this guy on guy action stuff here, laddies,” Trystan said, motioning between the storm wielder and the siphon. “You’re giving Avie way too many ideas.”
I snorted. “Like I got that idea from you. Please. I have the internet. I… see things…”
“Is that so, luv?” Trystan challenged, shooting me a smoldering hot, green-eyed stare.
“Yes, that’s so. I told you, no boyfriend for long time, vibrator named Buzz. Something had to get the old juices flowing,” I said, with a casual shrug, continuing to dig into my lunch.
“Stars above…” Mathias uttered under his breath, as Bash released a loud peal of musical laughter.
“Och, can we not talk about you’re flowing juices at the table, eh?” Trystan said, nudging me with his elbow, shifting uneasily in his seat. “I don’t need any more visuals than I already have.”
“You people… I swear…” Mathias tipped his head back and laughed, the noise joyful. “Seriously, we’re about to pack up, go to a foreign kingdom located in another realm, full of medieval soldiers and a demon army… and all we can do is joke around about our fiancée’s… umm…” he trailed off, blushing profusely as he shifted in his seat, pretending now to be really interested in his soup.
“Yeah I’m with Spartacus on this one. My juices aren’t exactly appropriate table talk,” I said, with a nonchalant shrug.
“You brought it up!” Xander exclaimed in protest. I narrowed my eyes at him and tore off a bit of the roll in my hand, and tossed it at him.
Xander lifted his hand and a slight breeze appeared, whipping his hair gently and he used it to dodge the offending bread from hitting him. It landed in Bash’s lap instead.
“Thanks, dickhead.” Making a face at him, he took the bread from his lap and popped it in his mouth, grinning obnoxiously at him. Xander shuddered.
“Ugh, I know what’s been in that lap of yours, that’s nasty,” he said, with a frown, and now it was my turn to glare again.
“What now? What else, besides me, has been in his lap that was nasty? You want to try that again?” I challenged. From next to me, Trystan gasped out a laugh and started choking on his soup so hard I thought he appeared to turn blue. I reached out and slapped him firmly between the shoulders, and glowered at Xander who bit his lip sheepishly.
“I wasn’t talking about you, dearest…” His eyes flashed alight with mischief. “I’m sure knowing Bash, he probably bent you over from behind.”
Bash’s eyes widened and this time it was Mathias’ turn to choke on his surprised laughter. Trystan roared
with laughter again and Bash appeared absolutely homicidal.
We heard thunderous footsteps from the stairs and Rhys appeared in the kitchen, with Mordred in tow. The two of them appeared a bit disheveled; Rhys’ hair was slightly mussed, and Mordred’s shirt was wrinkled, and he wiped his fingers over his lips. I smirked between the two of them as they pulled chairs out and sat down with the group.
“Hey, what did we miss?” Rhys suddenly asked.
“Uh, perhaps we should as you that same question?” I asked, lifting a brow, and Mordred dropped his gaze, as his cheeks flushed intensely.
“Just sleeping, sheesh,” Rhys clearly lied through his teeth.
“I, for one, am thankful you’re here. You just saved me from getting murdered here, so thanks for that,” Xander praised, and Rhys grinned.
“I aim to please. Hey, can we have some of that?” Rhys motioned to Mathias’ bowl and the gladiator grumbled.
“I’ll get it,” Mordred insisted quickly, appearing a bit too relieved.
“Actually, I’m glad you’re both here. We need to sit down and discuss what’s about to go down,” Mathias said, and Rhys turned serious.
“I wish there was some way to avoid this,” I muttered, shaking my head. “So many are going to die…”
“Not if we can help it,” Mathias said, and Rhys chimed in.
I sighed, swirling my spoon in the soup, suddenly feeling weighted and full. “I wish there was a way just to get Arthur to call back his army. After all he’s being controlled by Nimue, right? Maybe he can be healed?”
“Lassie, that’s not a bad idea,” Trystan praised, setting a hand down on the counter’s surface. “Mordred, you know him best. Is there any part of your actual father still inside of him?”
“He can’t be all bad,” Bash said thoughtfully. “I mean, you’re related to him. Ava is as well, and there is good in you. I think, anyway,” he said, winking towards me. I stuck my tongue out at him immaturely in response, and he just chuckled.
“Just because the parents are good, or cruel, doesn’t meant their children are,” Mathias reminded.
“I know. But… Mordred is there a chance? I know that that kind of shadow ‘infection’ over so many years has got to be devastating but do you think there’s a chance he could be healed? With Ava and Rhys?” Bash inquired, and Mordred tilted his head thoughtfully.
“I’m… not sure.”
“The magic is strongest on Avalon. Maybe if we got him to Avalon, and away from Nimue,” Rhys suggested, “it might be possible. Even if not, just Ava and I could make a big impact on him.”
“We’re going anyway. We have to take the fight to them. And we have to go heal Lachlan anyway,” Xander reminded. “He’s got to be nearby the castle. We just saw him in the table last night. Camelot time that’s only about what? Ten minutes?”
Mathias sighed. He breathed in deeply, and scrubbed his hands over his face, rubbing at the temples like he was stressed. “I don’t like putting Ava in such direct harm.”
“Uh, I’m there too,” Rhys reminded, with a scoff and a click of his tongue. “I haven’t disappointed yet. Right, Morty?” He slapped at Mordred’s arm with the back of his hand, grinning widely. Mordred’s cheeks flushed and he looked away, clearing his throat gently before turning to the group.
“It has merit,” he said, ignoring Rhys’ quip. “How do we get in without being detected, though? Regardless, I’ve been gone too long. My absence will be noticed. It’s been what? Three days here? It’s probably about evening back in Camelot. If I’m not seen by morning, they will know something is up.”
“No one night stands for you, Dark Prince?” I asked, with a grin.
Mordred smiled subtly. “Not as such. But it’s not unusual for me to be seen enjoying the comfort of food and drink. And finding myself in strange places in the morning,” he explained, with a wink in my direction.
“Right…”
Mordred’s expression turned serious. “And even though he had yet to mobilize anything, with the attack on Avalon, Nimue’s presence… Arthur is getting close. And, I promise you, if Lancelot has escaped, he has patrols all over looking for him. We could easily get caught.” Bash laughed with a quiet deviousness.
“Just leave that to me. Right, Xan?” He said, smacking the storm-wielder in the arm. Xander looked at him expectantly, confused.
“Right…” he agreed, unconvinced.
“Fine then. Avie, are you sure you’re okay with the sword? I mean it, any hesitation—” Mathias asked me solemnly.
“—Nope. Not a bit,” I replied, probably a bit too quickly for his liking. He arched a brow as the blade heated gently in its pendant form under my shirt. The blade’s voice in my head spoke,
Damn straight we got this.
I wished I was as confident as Excalibur was.
“All right. It’s time. Bash, Xander, get your potions and weapons. Anything you think we can carry or will need. Trystan, start packing and help Ava. I’m sure she isn’t real knowledgeable on what to bring to a war,” he added bitterly, and Trystan nodded in acknowledgement.
“I’ll start the preparations… talk to Link about the clubs, get everything set. I will ask him if he can check on the isle and home in our absence. Igraine and Morgause can handle most of that I think but just in case. Well… I guess we leave in the morning.” Mathias spoke with foreboding, and his dire expression made me shiver.
“We’re going to be fine, luv.” Trystan reached out and set his hand over mine. “Trust us, eh?”
I gave a small smile; small, but earnest. “Always.”
“Well then. Let’s go prepare for war, shall we?” Trystan kidded as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “Sooner we get this done with, sooner we can go home? Right?”
“Right…” At least, that’s what I hoped.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What exactly does one wear to a war?” I inquired, rummaging through the dresser in my room, with Trystan’s assistance. I’d spent the better part of the day packing and unpacking and packing again; I just wasn’t sure what to bring. I think actually I was stalling. If I couldn’t pack, we couldn’t go, right? Not right but that was the mindfuck my brain was playing with me now.
Of course, Trystan being Trystan was aptly searching through my top drawer: the underwear drawer. He pulled out a pair of hot pink lacy panties and flashed a salacious smile. “This I think is definitely something you should wear to a war.”
I feigned a glare at him, and ripped the underwear out of his hand, shoving it in the back of the drawer and nearly closing it on his hand. “Sorry, stud. I think granny panties are way more appropriate. I don’t want to be sneaking around, pulling undies out of my ass when I’m supposed to be like… doing anything but.”
“Och, I suppose you’re right,” Trystan reluctantly agreed, with a downcast frown. “When we get back, though?” He asked pleadingly.
I arched a brow gently. “Maybe.” Trystan laughed lightly when I handed him a pair of black leggings. I assumed that anything black would be the best bet, so I was finding anything I could that would fit the bill. I had plenty of black pants, but hardly any black shirts. I usually opted for colorful things, like purple. I was regretting that now. Trystan shoved the leggings in a heap—no folding which would make Xander go absolutely bananas when he noticed—in a black backpack. It was a little small and I debated how they were going to make everything fit.
“Lassie, I’m not sure you’ll need all that,” Trystan insisted, but I scowled skeptically.
“I’m a woman. We always prepare for the worst,” I retorted, and Trystan just answered with a snort. “Though maybe I should downsize…”
“Anything you need there’s no room for, we give to Mathias. Remember? Super strength?”
“Oh yeah. I keep forgetting that,” I replied, turning so he couldn’t see my naughty grin when I kept thinking about Mathias’ rock-hard, stacked body and how everything would flex and strain under his shirts w
hen he was lifting something heavy. Trystan was on to me anyway, and laughed playfully. I moved to the armoire, opening the heavy doors and sighed; nothing but a long-sleeved, deep purple tee—which was progress—and an oversized black hoodie I’d worn of Xander’s when we invaded the museum in Alexandria. I pulled them both out and jumbled them up into a heap, saving Trystan the trouble of doing so, and passed them over.
Before I moved to the bathroom to seek out toiletries, which I probably didn’t need but felt compelled to look at anyway, my phone buzzed from on the bed where I left it last.
I’d tried to get in touch with Summer earlier… you know, to tell her good-bye, just in case I’d never see her again. She didn’t answer, probably all consumed in domestic bliss herself with Naomi. The idea brought a tear to my eye, as I sought out my phone. It wasn’t her, though, but an unknown number.
“Avie, luv. What’s wrong?” Trystan sat at the edge of the bed, and gently grasped my arm. His green eyes were fraught with worry and concern, and his mouth frowned gently as he pulled me into his lap.
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I just… I’m terrified.”
“I know you are, luv. I know.” Trystan wrapped his arms around me, snaking one of his hands around my neck and he urged me to snuggle into him. I sighed with contentment, feeling safe and wrapped up in his hard, warm body. No lust this time, just straight up love and satisfaction. “We are going to be fine.”
“Fine?” I snorted, sitting up and looking him over with a crooked brow. He wasn’t as flirty or joking, and his impish smile was still apparent, but he didn’t appear outwardly afraid. “Why aren’t you more freaked out? Is war just that like, so normal for you that you don’t even think about it?”