by Kim Loraine
A laugh escapes from him, but I see unease in his eyes. “We’re well past the time of great kings.”
I wonder. The sky above us has changed from blue to a deeper violet as the sun sets and with each step the feeling of being watched grows stronger. Glancing over my shoulder, I catch sight of a shadow darting into the bushes. A chill rushes over me and I close the distance between Brooks and I, needing his touch. “How long have we been walking?” It only feels like a few minutes.
“Not sure.” He shrugs and I want to curse the strange, disorienting land.
I suppose we’ll have to accept that and try to get used to the ever-changing setting. We reach the edge of the forest and are greeted with a cliff at least fifty feet high. Below us is glittering ocean and rough waves crashing on rocks.
“Well, bugger,” Brooks grumbles.
I lean over to inspect the line of shore to our west. Excitement builds in my chest at the sight. There’s a village, tucked into the side of the cliff and extending onto the beach. I pat him on the chest to get his attention. “Look! There’s a settlement. They can tell us how to reach the Lady.”
“And you want to get down there, how?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re an angel, can’t you fly us down?”
“If I want to announce to all of Avalon who I am.”
Damn, he’s right. “There has to be a way.”
We walk along the cliff’s edge, looking for some path down, but nothing appears. No trail, no stairs cut into the stone. Then I feel it. Magic. “Stop. Here.” I hold my hand out and let the protection spell wash over me. “Something has been hidden right here.”
He links hands with me and I feel his grace run through me, giving me added strength. Closing my eyes, I visualize the magic surrounding this area. It’s glittering and golden—fairy magic. A word flashes before my eyes and I whisper it both in my head and aloud while grasping the spell and twisting.
“Resigno,” I say again, this time confidently as the magic parts like a curtain.
“Well done, witch,” an unfamiliar voice catches me off guard and I open my eyes. Standing at the top of a set of stairs once hidden by the fairy veil I see a lovely woman with hair the color of moonbeams.
Brooks steps in front of me, his posture stiff and protective. “Who are you?”
I peer around him at the woman and cock my head, trying to get a read on her.
“I am Lisola. I assure you, Nephilim, I mean you no harm and as long as your intentions are peaceful, you are welcome in our village.”
I take a moment to sense her aura. Nothing but calm and kind energy exudes from her. “It’s fine, Brooks. She’s telling the truth.”
“How did she know what I am?”
Lisola smiles. “Your witch isn’t as strong as she could be. Her magic was easily lifted.”
“So much for staying undercover,” he says.
That makes me pause. I should be at full power. The moonstone is broken. Our magic is free.
Brooks wraps his arm around my waist and holds me close. He feels it too, tension in the air, unsettling and foreboding and growing with every second that passes. “We need to speak to the Lady. Can you show us the way to the lake?”
She looks up at the sky and unease colors her expression. “The sun has set. Moonrise will be here before we know it. In the morning, once it is safe again, I will take you to the Lady.”
Stars begin to wink into existence, glittering and brighter than I’ve ever seen. “Why isn’t it safe?”
“Beasts.” Then she gestures for us to come through the opening and down the stairs. “Hurry. I need to lower the veil.”
A chill runs down my spine and I look behind me, suddenly terrified of what I’ll see in the woods. Another shadow catches in the corner of my eye and adrenaline floods my veins. We need to get to safety.
“Come on,” Brooks says, taking my hand and tugging me through the open veil.
Lisola makes quick work of closing the veil, then turns to face us. Her gown is all beads and gossamer, flowing around her in an ethereal cloud of soft lilac. But she’s also wearing a corset with intricate silver embroidery throughout. The tight bodice pushes her breast up like an offering to Brooks, and I don’t like the way she’s looking at him. “Are the two of you--” she begins, but I interrupt.
“Married.”
Brooks coughs in surprise, then rubs his thumb over my bare ring finger. “Engaged to be married.”
Something flashes in her eyes but she grins. “Well, congratulations are in order then. A witch and a Nephilim. What an…interesting combination.”
“Written in the stars,” Brooks says. “We came to ask the Lady to bless us in marriage.”
She nods and smiles. “Certainly. And what a boon that you arrived only two nights before Beltane. The Lady will most certainly bless your fertility during our festival, and perhaps you’ll share your wedding ceremony with us all? We do love a good party. What a lovely payment that will be for our hospitality.”
Shock rolls through me. A wedding? “We need to see her before the festival.”
“Of course. Come along, I’m certain we can find the two of you a hot meal and a bed for the night.” She glances at my clothes with a bewildered expression. “And perhaps some clothing more fitting for your celebration?” She runs a finger over her bodice and I don’t miss the way Brooks’ gaze lingers just a touch too long. Damn fairies and their powers of seduction.
We reach the bottom of the stairs and I take my hand from his. Then with a whispered incantation, I change my clothes from the sweater and distressed denim I’d been wearing into a gown of white gossamer with crystals sewn into the corset. My hair tumbles down my back in dark curls and now, instead of a plastic clip holding half of the tresses away from my face, a band of crystals keeps my waves in place.
“Guinevere,” Brooks breathes. “You’re…”
“A vision,” Lisola finishes. Now her gaze is on me, and I wonder if the bed she’s going to find for us will be hers.
“Perhaps my power isn’t strong enough to hide us, but I can conjure clothes like nobody’s business.” I toss my hair and wave my hand at Brooks murmuring the same words I used to change my clothing. His jeans and button-down shirt change to leather breeches and boots, with a blue tunic and deep brown suede vest. I grin as I take in the fit of his pants. He looks so much more like Arthur dressed like this. But now, instead of feeling a strong bond of friendship, my belly flips with attraction.
“What?” he asks, grinning as though he knows exactly what I was thinking.
“I always liked you in leather.”
The fairy sucks in a sharp breath and instinctively I glance behind me, worried one of the beasts she spoke of managed to find its way through the veil. “What’s the matter?”
But her gaze isn’t trained behind me. It’s focused on the gleaming sword at Brooks’ hip. The sword my glamor had hidden until I changed his clothing.
“Where did you get that sword?”
Chapter Four
Gwen
“The sword?” I ask, trying to keep things light.
“Yes, the sword. It’s been lost for centuries. Where did you find it?”
I don’t know how to answer this. Glancing at Brooks, I will him to come up with the right answer. He stands tall, shoulders square, and takes a deep breath.
“I pulled it free of the roots of a hawthorn tree.”
She frowns, her brows pulling together in confusion. “You…pulled it free?”
He nods. “I did.” A faraway look fills his eyes and I grip his hand, trying to keep him from the deluge of memories. Instead, I’m filled with exactly what he sees. The stone he freed Excalibur from in his first life, the heavy crown placed on his head, the weight of responsibility he carried. It all races through me like an electric shock.
He jolts away from my grasp with a sharp inhalation and I know he felt me in his memories. Lisola doesn’t seem to notice our exchange though, her focus still on t
he sword.
“Come along. You must be hungry and tired. We’ll get you fed and then we can begin the festivities.”
Lisola leads us to a pub, filled with music and revelers already enjoying their pre-Beltane celebrations. The drink is flowing, a golden-colored liquid in each glass we pass as we follow the fae woman to the bar where a portly man waits, a smile on his face.
“Lisola, come to celebrate with us?” he asks, his booming voice carrying over the merrymakers in the room.
“I have. In fact, Rhys, I’ve brought us something even better than usual to kick off Beltane.”
My stomach flutters. “What is she doing?” I whisper to Brooks. His hand presses against my lower back, the warmth of his palm easing my nerves, but only slightly.
“What’s that?” Rhys asks.
“A witch and a Nephilim wedding.”
His eyes widen. “No. You’re having me on.”
She shakes her head, and a giggle leaves her lips. “Isn’t it wonderful? The Lady said this Beltane would be special.” Her gaze falls on the sword at Brooks’ side. “And look, he wields Excalibur.”
I don’t like how focused they are on the sword. I could kick myself for being so stupid. Rhys seems to have completely forgotten about the rest of the customers as he stares with saucer-sized eyes at the glittering sword. The ruby encrusted hilt catching the light with each small movement Brooks makes.
“We need a room,” I say, trying to change the subject. “Especially if tonight is our wedding night.”
Brooks’ hand tenses against my back. “Are you sure…tonight?”
He can’t possibly understand why I’d move forward so readily with this plan, and my own heart aches at the notion of marrying so soon after Lancelot’s death, but the truth is, this is how it has to be. This one choice will take us closer to stopping the end of the world. I saw my future, my sisters futures. They were happy, and more importantly—alive. Brooks and I are a foregone conclusion.
“I’m sure. Are you?” I lock gazes with him and see a war behind his eyes. He wants me to love him first, but just as it did with Arthur, that love will grow over time.
“Yes.”
Lisola claps her hands and lets out a high-pitched cheer. “Oh, lovely. Rhys, some food for the couple, please? I’ll make the announcement and ready the altar for the handfasting ceremony.” She flounces away, and I wonder at how binding this ceremony will truly be. Magic is heavy in the air of Avalon, and what might seem like a few simple words in the human world means much more here.
My stomach tightens as a flash of my wedding day to Arthur all those years ago comes to the forefront of my mind. His gentle smile, my hope to have a kind husband who would care for me, a man who would love me above all others. I got one of those things in him, he was kind, but his love for Lancelot eclipsed everything else.
Brooks’ fingers twine with mine. “It will be fine. We’ve done this once before.” How does he do that? It’s as though he can read my thoughts.
“Do you have some telepathic power I don’t know about?”
He grins. “No. But you’re an open book, Guinevere. I’ve always been able to read you.”
We take two seats at a small table and two glasses filled with shimmering gold liquid appear before us. Then Rhys slides two plates filled with steaming food in front of us. My stomach growls and reminds me that I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. The events of the last few days have occupied every ounce of my focus. In fact, it’s possible the last time I had a proper meal was the picnic Lance prepared for us.
A pang of loss runs me through as surely as if I’ve been struck with a sword. What would Lance say if he knew I was marrying another man so soon? I stare down at my plate, appetite suddenly gone.
“It’s going to be all right, Gwen. I promise.” Brooks takes my hand from across the table and runs his thumb over my knuckles. “Lance would want you to have this if it makes you happy.” He bites his lower lip and then those beautiful eyes of his lock on mine. “He would want us to have each other.”
Would he? I’m not so sure. Lancelot was many things, but a man willing to share was not one of them. He told me repeatedly that knowing I was with another would tear him to shreds. “I feel like I’m betraying him.”
“Do you honestly think Lancelot would prefer you remain without love for the rest of your life?”
Closing my eyes, I picture my handsome knight, his rich, dark hair, the slightly crooked smile, strong jaw, and rough voice. No. Lancelot wouldn’t want me to rush to the cloisters and hide my heart away. He would want me safe, doing good things, doing what I need to in order to stop the end of everything.
“No. That’s the last thing he would want.”
“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. There are other ways we can see the Lady.”
I shake my head. This has to happen and now is the time. “This is the right moment. I can feel it.”
Brooks kisses between my knuckles and uses his free hand to grab his glass. “Cheers, then.”
I raise my glass and clink the rim with his. “Cheers,” I say, tipping the liquid to my mouth. It’s rich and cold and tastes like sweet nectar.
A warm sensation settles over me, setting my nerves humming. Brooks’ tense shoulders relax as he drinks, and soon, the both of us release the grief we’ve been carrying. “Gwen, I know you don’t love me, but I can love you enough for both of us.”
For the first time, I wonder if he’s right.
Brooks
Gwen is at her most beautiful when the firelight dances in her eyes. I’m not sure what happened between the two of us agreeing to move forward with a handfasting over our drinks and now, but all I can focus on is the ethereal creature walking toward me.
The villagers cast a circle of flowers around us and set lanterns floating in the sky above us, the glowing orbs suspended by magic. This is different from our first marriage when I was nothing but a king in need of a queen. Now, I’m a man in love, waiting for my soul mate to take me as hers.
When she reaches me, I can see how nervous she is by the trembling of her hands. I thread our fingers together and pull her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Deep breaths, darling Gwen,” I murmur.
Lisola appears before us in a whirl of color and magic. Her face is all beaming smiles and happiness, but my nature isn’t as trusting as some. Fairies always want payment. “Tonight we celebrate the union of two lovers known across the realms. A witch and the child of an angel. A joining such as this has never been witnessed.”
My heart is pounding hard enough I wonder if Gwen can hear its erratic beats. Her hands have stopped shaking, but I can’t let her go.
“Guinevere and Brooks, this cord is a symbol of the connection between your two lives. As your hands are bound together, so too will your souls be in marriage.” Lisola raises a cord of pure white and drapes it over our wrists. Then she binds us together. “These are the hands of your fated. These are the hands of your mate. May your hearts beat for each other. May your bodies crave the touch of your destined love.” The cord pulls tighter, heat building in the fibers and warming my skin. “May your union have strong roots and many branches. May temptation never break your love. May no other fray your binding.”
Gwen begins to tug her hand away as the cord heats and a bright glow emanates from the place our wrists are bound. This is more than a ritual. This is a spell. Panic fills Gwen’s eyes, but it’s too late. My heart aches, and from the expression on her face, she’s feeling the same thing. A glow builds in her chest until I can see the pulse of her heartbeat. It thrums wildly, erratic and panicked, until it changes—her heart’s rhythm matching my own.
Then the burn in my chest and around my wrist vanishes and when I look down, there’s nothing binding us. But my soul is bound to hers. I feel it deep in my bones. Our eyes lock, and I see her truth. She loves me. She may never be able to utter those words, but the emotion is there. It’s undeniable because
I’ve seen that look in her eyes before. I’ve seen her look at Lancelot that way.
The world around us is silent as I gaze at my bride. Mine. She is mine again and this time I’ll love her the way she deserves. Then I pull her to me and claim her mouth with mine, pouring all my desire, my desperate need, my absolute joy into this one kiss.
Drums begin a rhythm, followed by the strains of a fiddle and only then do I release my Gwen from my kiss. She smiles up at me. “They’re dancing,” she whispers.
I grin. “I think that’s our cue to join in.”
Linking our fingers, I pull her out to the crowd and we spin and whirl with the fast-paced music. She’s laughing, her face holding an expression of true, carefree happiness for the first time since I was returned to her life. I am the cause of that joy. It fills me with such pride, I can almost forget about the ghost of Lancelot in both our hearts.
After dancing until our feet ache, Gwen stops me with a gentle hand on my chest. “I’m tired. I think I need to call it a night.”
Anticipation coils in my belly. “Of course. We’ll say goodnight to our hosts and head to bed.”
I lead her carefully through the crowd, catching Lisola’s eye and offering her a tip of my head. All she does is grin and wave before grabbing another fae woman and pulling her into the dance. “I think our presence isn’t required any longer,” I murmur against Gwen’s temple. She smells of lilacs and my cock instantly hardens at the thought of having her tonight.
She nods and shivers under the brush of my lips on her skin. We walk in silence to the pub, the key Rhys had slipped in my vest pocket a welcome weight as we reach the outside stairs. “I don’t know what kind of spell Lisola wove, but where I hurt before, I only feel peace. Do you think she knew we were grieving?” Her voice holds a hint of something, but if she’s experiencing the same thing as me, it’s sorrow that Lance is gone, not guilt for our own happiness.
“It’s possible. Honestly, all I know right now is I’m ready to make you mine in every way, Guinevere. I’ve watched you in that gown all evening. Now I’d like to see it on the floor.”