by Skye, Sariah
The entire room gasped, confused, glancing between Bedivere and Mordred. Bedivere nodded his head at my cousin, and exchanged a wink with me. I didn’t even move to see the guys’ reactions.
“Release me—son! This is madness, this is—” Arthur stammered in a panic.
Mordred’s mouth formed a slow smile, and he pointed the blade directly at his father. “No, Father. What is madness is aligning yourself with an evil demon. What is madness is allowing that demon to overcome you, the most brilliant leader of all time, with her corrupt magic.”
“That—that demon is your mother!” Arthur protested, but Mordred didn’t react, only flicking his wrist and turning the blade over.
“She is no mother of mine. No mother of mine would harm innocents. I refuse to acknowledge her as family. Ava is family—she is my cousin. Your niece. And you… you father…” Mordred took a small step into the room, still pointing his blade at his father, the king, and his gaze never wavering from him as he stepped, backing Arthur further into the room.
“Mordred, please…”
“You are a disappointment.” With Mordred’s dire words, Arthur stumbled weakly, falling to the ground. Mordred’s blade never faltered, a warning to Arthur.
“What the hell just happened here?” Trystan muttered in confused dismay into my ear, his arms crossed over his chest and one of his thick, auburn brows crooked.
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Priestess’ secret?”
Trystan shook his head, releasing a low grumble, but smirked as well.
“By the gods,” I heard Mathias mumble from across the room, as well as a giddy squeal from Rhys who nearly jumped up and down for joy. Mordred shot him a slight wink.
“So… he’s…” Bash spoke quietly.
“Innocent? Yep,” I replied, with a smirk.
“Right.” Sighing, Bash shook his head and chuckled.
“No! You are all misguided! You are under the witch’s spell!” Lamorak drew a sword sheathed at his waist, and with an agile leap before anyone could react, he charged for Mordred.
“Oh hell no!” Rhys shouted angrily, and with a wide swipe of his hand, a burst of energy flew out before he reached Mordred, and Lamorak was tossed across the room, landing on his ass with a thud and smashing feet-first into the wall. Mathias and Xander, the two closest, took no time and rushed over to the fallen knight. Mathias grabbed him tightly by the arms, lifting him to his feet, while Xander removed the blade from his hand, pointing it and his own katana at him instead.
Mordred had barely budged, and Rhys was a furious, spinning torrent of rage. Magic swirled around him of every color, shaking the ground under him as he grew in size.
Trystan nodded at him, and gave me a slight shove. I understood, and dashed over to the wizard, while Lachlan and Bedivere subdued Arthur who still whimpered and writhed on the ground.
“Rhys!” I called, attempting to reach a hand through his wall of magic and pulling away at the power of it the moment I touched.
“Your shield, Ava!” Bash called an instruction, and without acknowledgment, I knew what he meant, and threw up my invisible shield, and was able to penetrate the magic without getting hurt. I moved around Rhys unnoticed until I faced him.
“Rhys—it’s fine! You can stop now, I know—”
“—they tried to frame him! I thought—I thought…” Rhys face fell, and his hands dropped, along with the magic.
I set my hands on his arms, giving him a sympathetic look. “I know, Merlin. I know. I’d react the same if my guys were hurt. But it’s okay, now. We’ve got them. Trust me?”
With a light sniffle, Rhys stared down at his feet and barely nodded in affirmation. Satisfied he wouldn’t blast anyone, I let my shield drop, and moved in to hug him quickly. He allowed it, and from around his arm I motioned to Mordred who watched us with great interest. He appeared to want to say or do something, but he held back.
“Come on…” I mouthed, and hesitantly, he dropped the sword he pointed at his father and moved towards us, placing a hand on Rhys shoulder. I stepped back, allowing them a quiet moment.
I let loose a whistle, pretending to wipe sweat off my brow. “Well… shit. What next?” I glanced at the guys first, the knights appeared confused momentarily before the golden-haired knight spoke up.
He cleared his throat and removed the sword at his waist, setting it on the table before moving to Mordred’s side. He set his fists on his hips and looked down upon the sniveling king.
“Gawain, who will you side with? Your king, or a traitor?” Arthur demanded through thin lips as he shook on the ground.
“I side with Avalon as I said before. I stand against the true traitor, which is you,” Gawain replied in a quiet but firm tone. He turned to Mordred and bent at the waist. “Prince, is it true you are aligned with Avalon?”
“It is,” Mordred replied, exchanging a hesitant smile with me. “I allowed this deception for Bedivere to keep his cover a bit longer.”
“It doesn’t matter! While you’ve been here, a messenger has already been dispatched, and your rebels have been engaged! Before long they’ll come for you as well!” Arthur yelled with desperation, as he struggled under Bedivere and Lachlan’s grips.
“Is that true, Mordred?” Mathias inquired, and Mordred frowned.
“I am not sure. I just escaped the dungeon and am unaware as to my mother’s whereabouts, or her army,” Mordred answered.
“Shite,” Trystan said, disgruntled. “Ava, can you heal him anymore?”
I shook my head and Rhys followed. “With the amount of dark magic inside him,” Rhys began, “it’ll take bringing him to the isle to cure him. Igraine has better spells for this. We could bring her here but that’s a lot of magic to use when battle is about to ensue.”
“All right then. Get him to the dungeon. Bash, can you make sure he’s secure?” Trystan asked, and Bash scoffed.
“Yeah, pretty sure I got that covered,” he said, with a grin, patting the crystals, vials, or whatever the hell the devious alchemist carried in his pockets.
“All right. I’ll go see about the rebels. I knew this was a trap,” Trystan said with a glower, spitting in Arthur’s direction and snarling. “Wait here.” He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me in for a quick kiss that was a bit too hot and smoldering considering what we’d just gone through, but not unwelcome. Winking at me, he shifted into his eagle and swooped through the war room, and right out an open window on the furthest wall. I watched him with a goofy and proud smile on my face, especially when several of the knights looked completely bewildered. That’s my man… I thought to myself, with a snicker.
“What the hell was that?” Gawain asked, jaw dropping to the floor, incredulous.
“Eagle-shifter,” Xander said quietly, patting the knight on the back. “Try to keep up.”
With Arthur subdued, Bash bound his wrists with a set of spelled handcuffs—didn’t want to know where those came from, but I knew damn straight I was going to grill him about it later. And use them later. Him, Mathias, Lachlan, and Mordred took Arthur to the dungeon and Xander, Rhys, and I were left behind to apprise the knights of everything that had transpired, waiting for Trystan to return.
He wasn’t gone for long when he dove back in through the window, shifting to his human self the moment he passed the castle wall. He was stone faced, an ominous expression on his handsome face.
“Lamorak was right. The rebels have been engaged,” Trystan said, running a hand through his hair and frowning. “It’s… bad. Really bad.”
“Any sign of Nimue?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Shit…”
“Yep. I can’t be sure but I reckon about twenty dead already,” Trystan said. Xander swore angrily, lightning dripping from his clenched fists at his sides.
Rhys sided up to me, seriousness shadowing his face. “We’re on, Ava.” With a sigh, I agreed.
Gawain was the first to step forward. “We will protect you,” he
said, lowering his head.
“Thanks,” I replied with appreciation, “but I think my four are enough for me. Keep yourselves safe, keep casualties to a minimum.”
“But until Nimue is subdued, this will continue,” Bedivere protested, with a frown.
“We need to find her,” Xander agreed. “But how?” He scratched at his chin thoughtfully.
Excalibur hummed at my wrist. You know what to do…
I grinned mischievously. “I have an idea. You are all going to hate it, though…”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Meanwhile, elsewhere in Camelot…
Hiding deep in the shadows, nearly motionless, Nimue watched the large incubus with the dark hair and the massive stature toss Arthur in a heap onto the dungeon floor watched with immense satisfaction. Lachlan shut the heavy, barred iron door behind him with a large bang, the noise of it echoing with finality throughout the cold stone corridors.
“You will not succeed, demon! Or you, heathen!” Arthur quickly scrambled to his feet, tossing his red cloak over his shoulders and gripping his hands around the iron bars to glare at them. Nimue laughed quietly to herself. That sniveling, impudent clod. I will be only too thrilled to dispose of him.
Not long now.
“Put me down, cretin!” Arthur’s remaining loyal knight, Lamorak, was dumped unceremoniously in the neighboring cell, and the other blond incubus—the one with the supposed brains—started wandering around, setting useless crystals or only the gods knew what here and there, thinking he was protecting Arthur from being released prematurely. Nimue imperceptibly tapped her fingertip on her chin, eyeing him carefully. Tall, blond… yeah, he’ll do.
She shuddered violently, wincing as she gripped her arm. The blond incubus—she couldn’t be bothered to remember their damn names, they meant nothing anyway in the end anyway—paused in his warding and stood suddenly, eyes narrow as he flicked a glance over his shoulder in Nimue’s direction. Nimue remained as still as she could until he glanced away, finally. If only I could drain you like I drained the others, like those pathetic children I turned into incubi in St. Cloud. Or those witches in Avalon? Ha. His energy would be an asset, and he wasn’t bad to look at, as was the tall, burly gladiator. She’d felt his energy before—quite powerful, but quite untouchable. That damn Avalon connection with Lancelot’s bastard child.
They thought they protected her, but really it was the other way around. If it wasn’t for her magic protecting them, she’d have drained them and rendered them useless for decades and she’d be sustained for just as long.
Oh well, Nimue thought. Just means I have to work a bit harder for it, and take down a few more useless human lives. All of that will mean nothing once Camelot belongs to me, and the portals to Earth are open, and we can move freely about and have an endless supply of energy from those daft humans.
It was a good plan.
If it wasn’t for that damned Ava and her damned incubi getting in the way—oh and that crazed wizard—she’d have succeeded by now.
Damn Morgaine and her selfishness. Almost as if Nimue’s former friend knew what would happen when she created all this madness, years ago. She couldn’t have… could she?
“Doesn’t matter,” Nimue mouthed silently to herself, waiting patiently for her former “boyfriend," and her two nemeses’ to vacate the dungeon, leaving Arthur and Lamorak finally vulnerable.
Arthur’s energy waned after so many years of targeting him. She knew his days were limited. Besides she wanted to see the betrayal in those pale eyes when she drained Lamorak completely dry and went to finish off what she’d started on the surface.
It was a good plan…
“Let’s go,” Lancelot—Lachlan—whoever’s voice said, bringing her out of her devious reverie. She watched the three of them depart through the corridors and when their noisy, booted footsteps grew quiet, and she heard the loud slamming of a heavy, iron door, she knew she was alone.
Well… alone with the two of them.
She grinned to herself, watching Arthur stomp around the cell, swearing and tearing at his hair, brushing off his cloak and clothing repeatedly with his hands, appearing very much unlike the venerable, regal monarch everyone thought him to be. The monarch he really was before she got her evil hands on him years ago. He shouted angrily at Lamorak and she knew it was her time to strike.
“Oh no, your majesty, I am most distressed to see you like this!” Nimue spoke in a mock fretful tone as she slunk out of the shadows and appeared in the corridor, wincing as she took her humanoid form. All the energy she was expending getting her soldiers ready was tiresome, but no matter. It was almost all over. And she would feel much better after this—after she could drain a priestess, her protectors, and anyone else that got in her way.
“My love!” Arthur cried out in relief, watching her approach him. He didn’t balk at her incorporeal lack of appendages—he never did. He didn’t balk at the fact that she could only manage most of her humanoid form right now and her face probably didn’t look all that good. In her human form she was attractive—she was hot, and she knew it. She designed herself that way. But right now she could only manage so much.
It wouldn’t matter soon.
“Aww, you poor dear. What have they done to you?” Nimue crooned, with a pouting frown as she reached out her hand, through the bars, and drew it over the length of his cheek. She practically had to force herself not to gag—humans were disgusting—but their energy was invaluable.
Arthur shivered under her touch. “It was that… that…”
“Lancelot’s daughter did this?” Nimue finished for him, and he nodded. “That is such a shame.”
“No matter,” Arthur said, attempting to sound more confident than he felt. “Now that you are here, we can put an end to this.”
“Oh… that’s true. And end is coming, but I’m not sure it’s the kind of end you are anticipating, dear, sweet Arthur…” Nimue crooned, leaning in, attempting to tauntingly brush her lips over Arthur’s chattering ones that nearly were turning blue from fear and cold. Desperately, he leaned in himself, needing to feel them on his… but at the last moment he pulled away.
“What… is wrong with you?” He stammered, shying away.
“Wrong? Oh, this is how I really look. Is it a bad look?” Nimue inquired in a sing-song tone, pretending to pout—or at least as close as she could come to one in her half shadow, half humanoid form. Without life energy from the humans or taken from incubi who’d just drained them, her dark, incorporeal self began to take over. Arthur flinched, noticing dark circles where Nimue’s dark eyes would have been, and a gaping maw where her mouth would be. He couldn’t fully fathom what he was looking at, Nimue was sure. And good, she thought with triumph.
“Milord, step back! It is a trick! Surely that of the Avalonian witch!” Lamorak exclaimed suddenly, while Arthur curiously eyed her. The knight stood on his feet, rapping against the bars of the call to get his attention; he seemed to be completely entranced.
Nimue waved out her hand, sending out a blast of dark magic at him, hitting Lamorak directly in the chest and leaving him immobile; the same magic she used on the gladiator that time outside of the place that housed the spell to summon Avalon. Nimue tried not to snarl at the memory.
Arthur flinched, looking in a panic between him and her. “What did… what did you do?”
Enough games… Nimue thought.
“Oh him? Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just going to drain him of all his humanoid energy, just like I’ve been doing to you in small amounts for the last—how old is Mordred now? Twenty-three? Not that it matters, we don’t age past then anyway. While I’m here living with you insipid humans, it is a necessity,” Nimue said, with a glower.
Arthur stepped back, stumbling ungraciously, falling in shock on his backside. “You—no. You mean…?”
Nimue slowly stepped for Lamorak’s cell; his face was stilled in an expression of fear. It was either feelings of fear, lust, or rage that sus
tained her the most. Before she reached out her hand, she tossed an evil grin at Arthur who looked up at her with terror. “You should have listened to your old friend, Lancelot.” She outstretched her hand to Lamorak, ignoring Arthur’s complaints and proceeded to suck him dry. The energy traveled through her fingers—or where her fingers would be—feeling like a drug, or a strong shot of alcohol that went straight to her blood and heated her from the inside. As she drained, Lamorak turned pale and listless and began to fall, even with her magic holding him up. When she was full, and Lamorak was completely empty and limp, Nimue shivered with pleasure and sighed. Sucking a human’s energy? Almost as good as an orgasm in human form. Those lucky bastards… she thought reproachfully. The only thing about them she envied.
“You—you—is he—?” Arthur stammered in horror, and Nimue turned to him, releasing her magical hold on Lamorak. His lifeless body fell to the ground in a heap with a sickening thud.
“Oh don’t worry, he didn’t feel a thing. I am at least merciful. Sometimes,” she added, with a devious laugh.
“What… have I done?” Arthur trembled, both from fear and the realization that he had failed; everything he’d known since this woman came into his kingdom, pleading for solace, having been kicked out of Avalon by his rotten sister before they were split and spirited away; Avalon in the grail, Camelot in the new realm. I have been used… He remembered it well, like it was yesterday. She was young and beautiful, a new “witch” that argued with the head-witches—Igraine’s mother and grandmother—about spiriting Avalon away for safe-keeping, claiming that they felt Arthur was turning corrupt. She was probably altering his mind for years or months prior to that, Arthur realized, remembering that he had suddenly fallen ill months before and hadn’t feel right since.
It was all part of a plan… and I fell for it.
“You did exactly what I wanted you to do, Arthur,” Nimue said, taking a deep breath and willing herself into her human form again, feeling slightly nauseas as she shifted and looked down at herself. “Ugh, disgusting.”