“If it makes you feel any better, it’s not really Sylvester’s fault that Tweety is so clever.”
“Tweety can fly. I’d say that gives him a certain advantage.”
She mulled that over before coming back with, “Dragons can fly too. Does that mean you’ve never bested one?”
“Too many to count.” The response was pure, arrogant male.
“So what—Sylvester isn’t predatory enough, is that it?” She shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. You are a hunter. Elmer Fudd is a much better fit.”
“Fudd? He couldn’t catch a rabbit if someone duct-taped one to his ass.”
Emma hid her smile. “Leah’s loft is just around the corner.”
She heard him mutter something under his breath about Fudd being an embarrassment to all hunters everywhere. She dug her key out of her bag, acutely aware of Cian giving her only enough room to breathe as she unlocked the door.
Inside the door, he came to a standstill next to her, and she followed his gaze to the floor-to-ceiling mural on the opposite wall.
“The battle of Camlann,” he whispered. Eyes locked on the mural, he walked down the few stairs into the sunken main floor.
He reached a hand out, running his fingers across the likeness of King Arthur in the middle of the battle, the red dragon insignia on his shield making him impossible to miss. Around him, knights and gargoyles protected his back, fighting Mordred’s army though they were outnumbered ten to one.
Despite the brutal violence of the piece, the agony on the faces of the wounded, their injuries splashed across the battlefield in bold strokes of red and black, there was something so hauntingly beautiful about it that captured Emma’s attention every time she walked past.
Above the battle, the goddess Rhiannon looked down from the sky, forbidden to interfere and change the events that had been set in motion thousands of years before. Camelot rose in the far distance, its ivory stone walls gleaming in the setting sun, a beacon of peace amidst such savagery.
“Who painted this?”
“Leah. The woman with me at the casino.”
He glanced back at her. “The human? How could a mortal have painted this, as if she’d been there?”
“My sister and I told her about it.”
He traced the outline of Excalibur, then his arm dropped back to his side. He fell silent after that, never taking his eyes off the mural.
“How did you survive?” She knew so few did. The vicious battle raged long after both Arthur and Mordred had fallen. And of those who’d lived, so few made it out of Camelot when Morgana had laid siege to the kingdom.
“I would have died on the battlefield that day if not for Constantine. When Arthur…when we lost our king, some of us became ruled by our animal halves. Near the end I had been almost cleaved in half by a Fae, and although I could barely move, I felt no pain. I had no chance of besting him. I knew it, but I was prepared to die if it meant I might at least take the Fae with me.”
Emma’s pulse picked up speed even though he obviously hadn’t lost the fight or he wouldn’t be standing in the room with her now.
“Constantine had other ideas,” Cian continued. “He finished the Fae off and dragged me off the battlefield. When I had healed, along with a few other of the Guard and a handful of Arthur’s Knights, we tracked the gargoyles who’d betrayed us. They’d left an opening in the ranks that Mordred’s men had slipped through to reach Arthur that day. We left none alive.”
He turned away from the mural finally, and although the battle had taken place centuries ago, the instinct to comfort him, to soothe away the pain still imprinted on his face, had her closing the distance between them.
“I’m sorry.”
“It happened a long time ago.”
“For an immortal that can still feel like yesterday.”
He glanced at the mural again. Not wanting the images to make him relive any more of the death and bloodshed from such a dark time, she laced her fingers though his and tugged him in the opposite direction.
“This way. You’re still bleeding.” It was a lame excuse for holding his hand, and if the gargoyle saw right through it, it didn’t stop him from tightening his fingers around hers.
He trailed her into the small bathroom, waiting while she dug through cupboards for a bandage.
“I don’t think this is going to cut it.” The bandage in her hand wouldn’t cover much more than a paper cut.
“It’s fine.”
“We should at least wash away the blood.” She rinsed off a cloth and, pushing aside his shirt, gently dabbed at the dried blood.
Cian sucked in a breath.
“Sorry. It’s still bleeding quite a bit. Leah must have something in the master bathroom upstairs.”
His hand closed over hers. “I’ll live.”
She stared at his hand, so much larger and stronger than hers. She’d never had a choice but to acknowledge she wasn’t as powerful as most of her race, but something about the way she felt when Cian was this close made her feel strong, important.
“Will it take long to heal?”
“Not long at all if I went to stone.”
“So why don’t you?”
The look he gave her spoke volumes. What gargoyle would ever willingly turn in the company of the one they’d believed kept them trapped that way?
“Guess I can’t blame you there. I…” Nothing she could say would ever make up for it, would it?
Cian stared at her, waiting.
“I’m going to check the master bathroom.”
He followed her, pausing at the bottom of the stairs, his hands locked around the railing.
If Elena didn’t get here soon she might end up doing something stupid, like telling the gargoyle the truth. She might have already if she wasn’t worried that the spell that left him enchanted by her wouldn’t offer Elena the same protection.
She couldn’t imagine him physically hurting her twin, but if he got aggressive, there was no way to guarantee Elena wouldn’t retaliate. Staring at her reflection in the upstairs bathroom, she shook her head. “Just who are you trying to protect here?”
Her phone rang, and she drew in a relieved breath when she saw Elena’s name. “Where are you?”
“Get out of there, Emma. Now! There are more than I thought. More on the way. They know about Leah.”
“More on the way?”
“Bounty hunters. Treasure seekers. Anyone looking to build an alliance with Gareth’s house. Meet me—”
A growl erupted through the phone.
“Elena?”
The sound of an explosion. “…bastard…”
“Elena!”
“Get out of there, Em.” Another explosion. Elena screamed, and the phone went dead.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She tried redialing. Busy signal.
Darting out of the bathroom, she collided with Cian in the hall.
“What’s wrong?”
What in Avalon wasn’t wrong? First Cian showing up at the casino, then the pair who followed her and now Elena in trouble. She tried to tell herself to stay calm. Elena was much too powerful to be easily taken by anyone.
Without looking at Cian, she hit redial again. “My sister. I think they have her.” She had to force the words out, torn between fury and fear.
Someone answered. “Elena?”
“This wouldn’t happen to be pretty little Emma, would it?”
Just hearing Urien’s voice was like an oily snake slithering across her skin. Her stomach churned in revulsion at the thought of Gareth’s right-hand guy, a lethal Fae, getting anywhere near Elena.
“If you touch one hair on her head—”
“You’ll what? Give me a first-degree burn? Why don’t you save the threats for people capable of executing them, love.”
The only thing more frustrating than knowing Urien had Elena was knowing the bastard was right. Her casting ability didn’t come close to matching Urien’s strength even on her best day.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, love. And don’t worry—I’ll take real good care of Elena.”
“You son of a bitch.”
He hung up before she finished getting it all out.
“We need to go.”
Urien would take Elena to Gareth’s stronghold. Which meant if Emma had even a prayer of reaching Elena, she needed to catch up with them before they reached his land. How she’d accomplish that when his home bordered on Avalon’s barren region was another colossal obstacle altogether. The terrain was nothing short of treacherous.
“Wait just a minute.”
Ignoring him, she rushed down the stairs. Cian beat her to the bottom by leaping over the rail and landing at her feet. “Wait.”
“There’s no time.”
“Make time. Undo your spell, sorceress.”
She glared at him. “They have my sister.”
“Not my problem.”
She shoved past him, but he caught her arm and jerked her around. “You will not go running off before you fix this.”
“I told you, there’s nothing—”
Glass rained down from the skylight above. There wasn’t time to raise an arm to shield her face before Cian flattened her against the wall, shielding her body with his own.
Across the room, wood splintered as Leah’s front door was smashed in and two men, both dressed in combat camouflage, joined the third who had dropped through the skylight to land on the stairs above them.
Three-to-one odds weren’t so bad.
Two more burst through the oversize window Leah used to access the fire escape.
Cian spun around, keeping her pinned between his back and the wall. He didn’t seemed concerned with the fact she couldn’t breathe, and if she wasn’t just a little bit scared—okay a lot scared that he’d put himself between her and Gareth’s mercenaries—she might have been a little annoyed.
“Do something,” Cian hissed, more cat than man.
“I’m open to suggestions.
“You’re the almighty sorceress. Magic might be a good place to start.”
“About that…” she began.
An arrow sliced across her peripheral vision, but Cian snatched it out of the air before it sank into his arm.
Emma’s mouth fell open. Everyone knew cats had damn good reflexes, but not that good, and from the way Cian was staring at the arrow, he was equally stunned.
Taking a breath, she lifted her hand, focusing her energy on the fire building in her palm. The closest guy lunged at Cian, and the two collided.
When another mercenary moved in on Cian, she released the purple fireball. It nailed the guy in the chest, sending him into the mural across the room. The impact knocked him out cold.
Holy shit. Emma stared at her palm. Purple? She closed and opened her fist. “Did you see that?” She didn’t wait for Cian’s response before she focused on the guy with the crossbow above them.
He leaped over the side like Cian had earlier. Behind Mr. Crossbow another mercenary snarled and dropped to the ground, his clothes shredding as he shifted into a wolf in a shower of color that wasn’t nearly as impressive as Cian’s.
Keeping her gaze trained on Mr. Crossbow, she released another burst of fire. Even before the flame left her hand, she knew it was a dud. A few feet in front of her target, the fireball popped and fizzled out like a faulty firework.
Cian flipped the first guy over his shoulder and stepped back toward her. “Impressive,” he drawled, tracking Mr. Crossbow.
“Last I checked I neutralized one of them.” Who was still out cold on the floor. “How about you?”
“I won’t leave you unprotected.”
Great, so either his misplaced sense of protectiveness was going to get him killed or her unpredictable magic would.
“No one else needs to get hurt.” Though Mr. Crossbow spoke to Emma, he glanced at Cian.
“If I come with you, you’ll leave him here? Unharmed?”
Cian shook his head. “No.” It was more of a feral growl than anything close to English.
“I will not be responsible for anything else happening to you.” His injuries from the Fae were enough to feel guilty about.
“Maybe that should have occurred to you before you turned me into a two-ton roof ornament.” The accusation in his voice fueled her frustration and she shoved away from him.
“You think I’m using this as an excuse to get out of helping you?”
“It is rather convenient.”
“They have my sister.”
“Maybe.”
Son of a bitch. “And what are they?” She jerked her head at the men staring at them like she and Cian were some kind of reality T.V. train wreck. “Just for show?”
Cian stared at Mr. Crossbow. “She goes, I go.”
Her frustration level shot off the chart. “Unbelievable. I’m trying to help you, you stubborn, overbearing excuse for a gargoyle.”
“You can help me by undoing your spell.”
Did the man have any understanding of time and place? “I either hit you too hard with the toilet tank cover or not hard enough.”
“And you wonder why I’m having trouble trusting you?”
“Enough!” Mr. Crossbow’s voice boomed over theirs, cutting them off. He fired another arrow, which Cian easily intercepted.
“Fuck,” he snapped, and Emma glanced down at his thigh where a second arrow was lodged. He curled his fingers around it, then lost his grip.
“Cian?”
Eyes glazed over, he leaned into her.
“What did you do to him?”
Cian staggered, knocking them both into the wall. Looping her arms around his waist, she struggled in vain to keep him on his feet, ending up half underneath him when his knees buckled and they hit the floor.
Mr. Crossbow notched another arrow, this one aimed at the back of Cian’s skull. “Are you going to cooperate now?”
Chapter Seven
She was gone.
It was the first thought to register as Cian slowly awakened. That, and what the fuck had they hit him with?
Every inch of his skull throbbed like he’d been struck with a blacksmith’s sledgehammer. He cracked open an eye, and even the sliver of light that penetrated made him curse. After a few seconds of wondering if he’d empty his stomach all over himself—since he wasn’t even sure he could roll to his side—he tried again.
The pain wasn’t so bad this time, only seven out of ten instead of eleven. He blinked a few times, bringing the plain white ceiling and overhead lights into focus. Where was he?
Taking stock of any other injuries besides his head, he realized the floor beneath him was hard and cold, but his head was propped up on something much softer, warmer.
Bracing against another wave of nausea, he turned his head. Even before he saw her, he recognized Emma’s jacket. Her eyes were closed, her head tipped to the side, her lips parted by shallow breaths. The steady rise and fall of her chest helped quiet the cat.
They hadn’t hurt her, not enough to stop her from resting his head in her lap anyway.
Yet another contradiction. She’d been so angry with him at her friend’s home, her eyes turning purple like she was contemplating hitting him with one of her fireballs, and here she was next to him.
The female made his head hurt, and that was without whatever toxin they’d used to subdue him. Most immortals metabolized poison too quickly to be more than temporarily weakened by them.
Still feeling the effects, he stayed where he was and looked around the room. The slate gray walls and two metal chairs offered no indication of where they were.
Maybe he should have let Briana come along. There’s no way she would have let him waltz right after Emma without some kind of plan—one that didn’t involve landing smack in the middle of the sorceress’s mess. Did she make it her life’s mission to infuriate other immortals or did it just come naturally?
Emma sighed in her sleep, her brows drawing together.
&n
bsp; “Hey.”
She jolted awake, her palm coming up as if to fire off another burst of magic. He caught her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Easy.”
“You’re okay.”
If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was worried about him. “Cats have nine lives, remember.”
“They wouldn’t tell me what was in the arrow.” Her expression turned critical. “How’s your leg?”
Before he realized her intentions, she gently probed his thigh.
His breath hissed out at the wave of pleasure that raced across his skin.
She pulled her hand back. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. For a moment I forgot how much my head hurt.”
“Is it bad?”
He smiled, uncomfortable with the guilt he swore he heard in her voice. “About a hundred times worse than the concussion you gave me.”
“I’d apologize for that, but you did have it coming.”
“I had it coming?”
“Forget it,” she snapped in that female tone that clearly said she wasn’t about to forget anything.
“Oh, no.” He sat up, regretting the fast movement the moment his stomach plummeted halfway to his knees. He couldn’t have held back his groan if he tried, sucking in a breath so he didn’t embarrass himself any further. It was bad enough he hadn’t been able to prevent their current predicament without adding insult to injury.
“Touch my leg.”
“What?”
“Please.” He didn’t wait, but set her hand on his thigh, hoping the world would stop spinning so fast.
“Better?” she asked a moment later.
It would be if he could find a way to get her hand a few inches higher. That would make it all better. He wisely kept that to himself though. Her soft gray eyes seemed to spark with purple, and if he made her angry, the last place he wanted her hand was anywhere below his waist.
Not that he had to worry about that for long when she tugged her hand free and swept her thumb across his bottom lip.
“Your lip was cut when they dumped you on the floor.”
“Feels fine now.” Very, very fine.
“Good.” The way she was staring at his mouth was going to land both of them in more trouble sooner or later. And damn, he hoped it was sooner.
Primal Pleasure: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 3 Page 9