by Sandy James
“Seriously?” Megan asked.
“Most of the baddies give us wide berth. Until now.” Sparks took a long drag on her cigarette before exhaling with a small cough. “Maria is dead. Someone got to her. I can’t find Trishna or Helen. I know they’re alive, but I can’t protect them if I can’t locate them. Damn right, they’re coming after us. We’ll have to be on constant guard.”
“And you’ll be ready,” Artair added.
Since Artair had led her away from her wedding, Rebecca had been repeatedly wrestled to the ground, bashed with a sword, thrown down a wall, almost strangled by a zombie, and shot.
How much worse could it get?
Chapter Eight
Rebecca threw herself belly-down on the bunk. She didn’t care if Artair shouted at her about lying down while the sun was still up. Every muscle in her body ached.
Damn, has it really been three weeks? Twenty days. She’d been so busy, she might have lost track somewhere. Maybe she needed to start tallying hash marks on one of the cabin walls like some prisoner locked up for a long stint at Alcatraz. At least Sparks wasn’t shooting at her anymore.
Thanks to Beagan and Dolan, Rebecca didn’t want for anything. Fresh workout clothes always appeared at the foot of her bed each evening. A bottle of liniment showed up after particularly horrid workout sessions. A handful of Hershey’s Kisses waited on her pillow right before she went to sleep. The changelings also made sure her hurricane lamp was lit every night because Artair wouldn’t allow them to use electricity, claiming it would make the Amazons soft.
She’d quickly fallen in love with the two changelings. They never failed to leave behind things she might not have needed but truly desired. Her favorite lilac soap. Well-broken-in flannel sheets. Slippers shaped like Tweety Bird. Cherry Coke.
Wanting to thank them, she would pick wildflowers, make small bouquets or weave them into crowns, and leave them on her pillow. She wasn’t sure how they felt about the gifts, but her offerings were always gone whenever she returned, usually replaced with more Kisses. Yet, their faces remained a mystery. She did, however, see two brown rabbits hopping around the Avalon compound quite often.
A few days into their training, Megan had asked why in the hell they lived in rustic cabins with no amenities when they were supposed to be superheroes who were being taken care of by powerful goddesses. Artair hadn’t even blinked before he backed Megan up against a tree and proceeded to bellow at her until it made both Sparks and Rebecca cringe. After that, Megan had enjoyed hours of moving heavy rocks from one end of the compound to another.
That night, Sparks had sat the new Amazons down for a long talk. She’d told them how Artair had trained soldiers just about forever. Good men. Fantastic warriors. Yet his Amazons were beyond compare. To him, discipline was every bit as important as skill. Yes, the goddesses provided for their basic needs, but their Sentinel wouldn’t allow the deities to pamper any Amazon. Coddling would get them killed. He was trying to make them formidable fighters, and to do so, the goddesses gave him a free hand.
Sparks also told them he was so much more than any other Sentinel who came before. The Sentinel was the one to “clean up” after any supernatural happenings—like a revenant fight. Past Sentinels would come in after the battle and do their voodoo to cleanse the witnesses of memories they wouldn’t want anyway.
Not Artair. Where the Amazons went, he led the way. He never hesitated to put himself between a charge and a foe. Appreciating his dedication, neither Rebecca nor Megan questioned his methods again.
With a groan, Rebecca rolled to her back. Sitting up she yanked off her shoes and socks before flopping back on the bed. Was there a single muscle in her body that didn’t ache or a single inch of skin that wasn’t bruised? No wonder. After breakfast came a long run, several miles at least. The run was followed by weapons training or hand-to-hand combat with Artair, Sparks or Megan throwing her on the grass or in the sand with pathetic frequency. She just couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. Her feet were too slow, her instincts poor. Megan, much to Rebecca’s shame, threw Sparks on her ass after the first week. The new Fire hadn’t taken down Artair yet, but she drew closer every day.
This afternoon, for the first time, Rebecca had actually mastered a hip throw that dropped Sparks. Sparks had congratulated her as Rebecca helped her back to her feet. High fives were exchanged by all the Amazons, but their celebrating only sent Artair into a drill sergeant rage. After roaring at her for being the slowest progressing Amazon he’d ever taught, he’d challenged her to a match. Twenty seconds later, he had her on her back, straddling her waist as he pinned her arms over her head.
While under him was a place she desperately wanted to be, she couldn’t enjoy it with all the company surrounding them. As he knelt over her where he’d dropped her to the grass, growling at what he probably thought was her continuing ineptitude, all she could think about was how handsome he was.
“You’re an idiot,” she grumbled to herself. The more time she spent around the Sentinel, the worse her fascination became. Images constantly bombarded her. Artair wielding his sword as a warrior of old. Artair pressing his body intimately against her back as he tried to show her the way to balance a heavy weapon or shoot a bow. Artair standing with his hands settled on her hips, helping her learn a proper martial arts stance. Who would have thought learning to kill zombies could be so damned erotic?
His masculine scent. That perfect body looking as good in workout clothes as it did in his kilt. And that kiss. That all-consuming, toe-curling kiss.
Closing her eyes, Rebecca tried unsuccessfully to drown out her troubling thoughts. No matter how much she felt for him, no matter how much deeper she knew those feelings could go, Artair wasn’t a possibility. She counted the reasons she should stop wanting him.
One. He was the Amazon Sentinel and had been forbidden to become involved with a charge.
Two. The goddess Rhiannon had more than a casual interest in him and would punish them both should Rebecca act on her attraction.
“Three, he’s way too good-looking for me,” she whispered.
“Who’s too good-looking for you?”
Rebecca sat up with a start, finding Megan standing right inside the door and smiling as though she’d shot a score of arrows through a bull’s eye.
“Never mind.” She hauled her weary body off the bunk.
“I’d get up too, if I were you, Rebs. You don’t want Artie finding you lying around when it’s still light out. He’ll chew your ass. And tell me, who’s too good-looking? We’re sisters now. We’re supposed to share everything.” Her blue eyes grew wide. “You mean Artie, don’t you?” She slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Of course. Who else could you be talking about?”
Waving her hand in dismissal, Rebecca set about tidying her bed. She wanted to tidy herself as well, but there wasn’t a mirror in the whole damned compound. After nightly showers, she simply brushed the unruly blond hair then plaited it into a braid. The only time her hair was unbound was during a shower. She hadn’t bothered to wish for make-up and had stopped thinking about mirrors when her first few wishes to have one had gone unfulfilled. It seemed that seeing for herself how ragged she must look was one request Beagan and Dolan could not grant.
Megan plopped down on the bunk. “Artie was pissed you didn’t even nudge him an inch during hand-to-hand. Sparks thinks he’ll probably add some miles to our run.”
“I’m sorry, Megan. I tried. I really tried. I might as well be trying to move this cabin for all the good I’m doing.” After pulling her grass-stained shirt over her head, she folded it and laid it on the bed before grabbing the clean one the changelings had left for her. She put two of the toffees they’d left behind on the dirty shirt, hoping they knew she didn’t have time to do anything else today.
“I see how hard you’re trying, so no need to apologize. Sparks says you’re getting better. Artie’s yet to dish out anything we can’t take. I’m not positive, but I thin
k we did five miles yesterday, and we weren’t even that winded. Shit, before you know it, we’ll be triathletes.” She fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “When do you think we’ll fight revenants again? Sparks thinks it’ll be soon. I’m itching to have a go at them. Especially now that I’m stronger. That bar fight was a blast.”
“I’m not ready to see them again,” Rebecca replied. “The smell alone is enough to make me sick.”
Megan’s laugh filled the cabin. “They do smell pretty rotten, don’t they? Sparks thinks we should round up some threes if we can find any and practice on them. You know, behead them. Run a sword through them. Learn to knock out enough brains with a bow and arrow to drop them. We need to get our hands dirty. Sparks says that if they’re threes, they don’t fight back too hard, and they don’t scream much.”
Rebecca couldn’t stop the shudder at the idea of running a sword through anyone, even if the person was already dead. And what if they did scream? Shit, she couldn’t even boil live lobsters without crying. “I hope Sparks is wrong.”
“Sparks thinks it’ll help you get, you know, tougher.” Megan sat up and locked gazes with Rebecca. “I know this stuff isn’t easy for you.”
“To say the least.”
“I can help. We could practice in our free time. Sparks said she’d help too.”
Rebecca snorted a laugh then realized how rude she’d sounded. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the idea of free time. We’ve still got our run, and Artair’s probably going to make us move rocks again.”
Flexing her biceps, Megan smiled. “Yeah, but look at these guns.”
It wasn’t just her arms. Rebecca had noticed all of the changes in Megan. Over the weeks they’d been training, the woman had grown as sleek and solid as a panther.
Wondering if she had shed some of the layer of padding she’d always had on her hips and thighs, Rebecca ran her hands over her hips. The sweats she wore did seem a bit roomier. She flexed her biceps, wondering if it was as firm as Megan’s.
“You look great, Rebs. You know, Sparks thinks—”
“Megan?”
“Um?”
“I’m tired of hearing what Sparks thinks. I know you two are tight, but…enough.”
Megan chuckled. “Fire and Fire. But she’s getting on my nerves since Artair told the changelings to stop getting her cigarettes. She’s a bitch when she hasn’t had her nicotine. Hey, wanna go practice hand-to-hand? Maybe I can help you knock Sparks down again.”
“Yeah, we might as well since—”
She turned to see Artair standing in her cabin, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms folded over his broad chest. How in the hell had he come inside without a single sound?
“Megan,” he ordered, “get yer arse off that bunk and leave, or you’ll be moving rocks ’til dawn.”
“Sure thing, Artie.” Megan bounced off the bed, grabbed one of the toffees from the end table and popped it in her mouth.
“Goodbye, Megan,” Artair growled.
She gave Rebecca a goofy wave. “Remember, I’ll work with you anytime you want.”
“Thanks, sis,” Rebecca replied, causing Artair to arch an eyebrow. “Well, we are sisters aren’t we?”
“Aye. ’Tis good to know you think so.”
Megan ducked around Artair and out the door.
Artair didn’t come all the way inside, but stood in the doorway staring at her.
Rebecca felt the heat rising on her cheeks. The man could throw her into a tizzy without uttering a word.
Her nervousness made her ramble. “Well? What do you want? Do you have some more trash cans for me to scrub? Want to throw me on my arse a few more times? Want to tell me how much I suck at being a fighter?”
“Lass, I didn’t—”
“Oh, yes, you did,” she interrupted. “Every damn day. I don’t move fast enough. I can’t learn the takedowns or drop any of you. I can’t hit the broad side of a barn with my bow. My arrows always end up in the grass or hitting a tree. I can’t run as fast as Megan and Sparks. What else? What else can’t I do?” She choked back her anger, not wanting to hear any more about her inadequacies.
“You cannot seem to be quiet when you should.” The teasing smile on his face took the sting out of the words.
“I’m sorry.” She fussed about the room—straightening things that didn’t need straightening. As she reached out to add a couple more toffees to the two she left for Beagan and Dolan, Artair’s hand covered hers. She hadn’t heard him move close and gasped in surprise.
“Are you sorry, Becca?”
“Sorry?”
“Are you sorry you came to Avalon?” There was no compassion in his voice.
“I’m not sorry,” she snapped before softening her tone. “I miss my students, though. And I miss my friends. I wonder what they think happened to me.”
“The goddesses worked a bit of their magic. Those who would miss you are comforted and accept the loss without sadness. Their memories of you will soon fade away to nothing.”
Rebecca nodded, not horribly reassured by the notion that the people she’d left behind went on with their lives and would never truly remember her. Only her Aunt Kay would know Rebecca Massee had ever been a part of the world.
“I’ve come to offer you help.”
“Help?” Her voice quivered. She could smell him, could feel the incredible heat of his big hand as it covered hers. His fingers laced through hers, and he turned her to face him.
“Help. I can train you alone after supper. We can practice Earth’s powers. ’Tis time you learned them.”
“I thought Rhiannon and Helen were supposed to teach me those.” The cabin’s temperature was swiftly climbing. He smelled so masculine, so enticing. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, showing those incredible forearms. She wouldn’t look in his eyes, knowing she would be lost if she dared.
“Aye, well, Rhiannon is busy. And Sparks hasn’t been able to find Helen.”
“She’s still missing?”
His fingers squeezed hers. “She isn’t dead, but Sparks cannae longer feel her as she can Trishna. Rhiannon can’t find her, either. ’Tis upsetting. There may be need to fight soon, and you aren’t ready. We need to move you along quicker.”
“I know. I know. I’m bad at all this. At least that’s what you tell me when you’re screaming at me.”
“Ah, lass…” He tugged her closer. She resisted. He pulled harder, until she took the last small step toward him. Her bare toes brushed his deerhide boots. “Do you know why I’m so hard on you?”
“Because I suck.” God, she sounded like a pouty child.
“Because you have much yet to learn.” He put a finger under her chin, trying to lift her head to face him. She wouldn’t budge.
“And because I suck.”
“Because you could be a great Amazon with hard work and dedication.”
“And because I suck.”
“Because, Becca mine,” he said in a voice so soft and alluring it rolled through her in waves of heat and longing, “if you’re not ready, you could be harmed, and I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
Her head popped up, bumping him under the chin. “You—you couldn’t?”
“Nay. Ye have come to mean far too much to me.”
“Oh.”
Staring up into his eyes, she desperately willed him to kiss her. He did. On the forehead. She sighed her disappointment.
* * *
If he stayed a moment longer, Artair would truly kiss her, and then all hell would break loose. He pushed her to arm’s length and stalked out of her cabin without looking back.
Striding across the sandpits, he was having a hard time deciding where he could go to get some relief. Finding himself at the entrance to his own cabin, he threw the door open and stepped inside.
“That couldn’t have been easy for you.”
His right hand pounded his chest strictly out of habit rather than s
alute. The Earth goddess was the last person he wanted or cared to see at that moment, and he resented her being a Peeping Tom. “M’lady. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Rhiannon was reclining on his bed, stretching like a lazy cat in the sunshine. “I came to try and talk some sense into you, and I caught your scene with the girl. Such restraint. Such control. Such sacrifice.” Rhiannon rolled to her side and sat up on an elbow. “I came to see if you’ve changed your mind about leaving me.”
“I’ve nae changed my mind.” Artair unbuckled his scabbard and set it on the small table. “Once your new Sentinel is trained, I take back my mortality.”
“Arthur, you cannot—”
“I’m nae Arthur, and you know it. I can never be your Arthur. He belongs to the ages. I’m Artair MacKay.”
She pouted. “You spoil all my fun. I have much to offer you, more than you could ever dream of having. I made you a Sentinel—an immortal.”
“Nae much longer. You’ve promised me a life for all my service. Are you going back on your word?”
Her eyes flashed red and wind whipped through the windows, slamming the shutters closed. “Remember to whom you speak, Sentinel.”
Artair pounded his chest again, this time in honest salute. “I remember, goddess, and I’m counting on your honor. You have always dealt fairly with those who serve you.”
“Just like my Arthur, you will throw away all I have to offer on a mere woman. Guinevere destroyed him, you know.” She pushed herself off the bed, and the skirts of her purple dress swirled around her feet as she stood. “The woman you desire is my Amazon. You may not have her. Not even when you become mortal again. Do you hear me, MacKay? You may not have her.”
“I hear you, m’lady.”
“Once you leave Avalon, her world will be lost to you. You cannot see her ever again. Should you selfishly take the girl as a lover, you will only be using her to sate your lust, and she will hate you for it. And you will part. Soon.”
He wanted to shout at the goddess, to tell her he felt so much more for Rebecca than mere lust, but it would do no good. Weary of Rhiannon’s casual dismissal of her new Earth, he said, “You endowed her with her powers. Do you think so little of her you won’t even say her name? She’s Earth. She needs your help.”