Chapter Thirteen
Merci looked at her watch for what felt like the thousandth time and cursed under her breath. Sitting at the coffee shop, she squirmed, wanting to pace, fight, do fucking anything, but sit like a log gathering moss.
Drake covered her hand with his, and the nerves settled. She gave him a grateful glance, and her heart stopped. Gods, he could turn her insides to butter with just a glance. And the heated gaze through heavy lidded eyes said he wanted to get her alone and naked. A shiver of expectation worked its way down her spine, and her nipples hardened at the thought. His hand slipped from hers, traveling down from her arm to the slight bulge of her belly where the life they brought into this world grew.
“Seems we’ve gone full circle.” He smiled and, dear goddess above, he looked so devastatingly handsome she could only stare in awe for a moment. So much happened over the past…could it have been just weeks, a month? And here, at this particular place, Camelot on the Las Vegas strip is where they met, fought Nimue.
Where she almost died so she really understood the full-circle thing.
Only this time the fight would be greater, more at risk. This time they would either save the world or plunge it into a bigger mess than anyone could ever imagine.
“This time we have help.” She nodded, looking at the group around the table. All of them loyal, ready to stand with Arthur for the final confrontation.
Neil Calder with his military buzz cut and piercing navy blue eyes sat with arms on the table, his muscular biceps bulged tight against the dark blue tee shirt. The guy was big all over, attesting to the many hours he worked at the installments forge making everything from bullets to knives for Arthur’s men. A heavy chain hung from the thick column of his throat with a simple band of gold looped through the chain. Testament to the deceit he suffered by the hand of the first woman he loved as Sir Bors.
Andrea Calder his wife snuggled up to his side, her dark hair in a stylish bob and sharp slate grey eyes missed very little. Their computer and all things tech guru, the two made an odd pair, yet it worked for them.
Merci’s violet eyes rested on Colin and Juliet, and a small smile lifted her lips. Colin, always the most volatile of the group, changed little from his time when he was Sir Kay. His green eyes glittered, ready for the coming battle. The Irish shape changer and his Druidic mate Juliet made one hell of an opposing force and both went through hell as Vance’s prisoners only two weeks ago.
Viviane and Lancelot huddled together, heads close and hands touching. It didn’t take a mind reader to know what those two were talking about in low hushed voices. She smirked at the two lovebirds. She should have seen that one coming. All the signs were there going back to when Merci found herself on the healing end of Viviane’s magic. One couldn’t use the kind of magic it took to pull Merci from the brink of death and not get a link to what went on in the magic user’s head. She knew of Vivian’s deep love for Lancelot and kept it to herself. After all, it was no one’s business.
Then there sat Simon, Darius and their newest and most unexpected addition Rhea and that rounded out the group. She still didn’t have a bead on the woman who just popped in declaring she only wanted to help defeat her sister’s rebirth.
Merci frowned, not quite trusting her, but then she tended toward being the bitch who made life hell until you proved yourself.
Yeah, she could live with that.
What she couldn’t live with though was this gods dammed waiting!
Sensing her increasing frustration, Drake leaned into her, his warm breath fanning over her ear. “Let’s give Arthur ten more minutes. If he isn’t here by then as planned, we go up and embarrass his ass.”
“He’s had two hours. I think that would be enough time to hammer things out between them, don’t you think?”
“Uh, not if they end up having make up sex.” He flashed a slow grin, mischief lighting his blue-green eyes. “After all, they have several centuries to make up for.” Colin’s chuckle ended in an ooff as Juliet elbowed him in the ribs.
“You are so not right. You know that, don’t you?” Juliet glared, but amusement shimmered in the blue depths of her gaze.
“Colin has never been alright. We think his mom must have dropped him on his head a few times,” Simon chimed in.
“Yeah, either that or the gods forgot to give him a filter before he was born. Everything goes from his brain to his mouth without thinking of what he is saying,” Darius added with a wink at Rhea, who grinned.
“Hey, what is this, pick on Colin day?”
“Yes,” the whole table said in unison.
The sound of laughter covered Merci in a warm cocoon of contentment. She loved every one of these men and their women, would die to protect them as they would for her. Love deep and lasting filled every empty crevice inside her for this right here at this moment brought home how much they all mattered to her. They were family.
Drake’s hand on her shoulder yanked her from her musings. “Time to check on Arthur, you all wait here, we will be right back.”
“You sure you don’t need back up? Vance is a squirrely bastard.” Neill leveled them one of his famous glowers.
That would have made anyone a bit uneasy, except for Drake, who only grinned. “Thanks, buddy, didn’t know you cared.”
“Just can it, both of you. The quicker they get to Arthur the easier it will be on all of us. I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m not a very patient person,” Andrea cut in.
As Merci cut through the crowded coffee shop and walked out into an equally packed casino floor, she made her way to the west tower with Drake following behind. His magic hummed pleasantly on the back of her neck, and she relaxed a fraction. Focusing a locating spell, they grabbed the elevators, taking it to the sixth floor.
Drake cursed under his breath as Merci stopped abruptly in the hall, her eyes narrowed as dread pulsed just underneath her skin and, by Drake’s growl, she knew he picked up on the wrongness surrounding them. The air felt oily and thick with perverted magic. Merci gave an involuntary shudder as it crawled over her skin. The retched odor of decay burned her nose and clogged her throat. A quick glance at Drake told her he felt it. The fact it grew heavier the closer they got to Gwen’s room didn’t fill her with hope.
Drake stepped protectively in front of her and swiped his hand over the door lock. A mechanical snick of the lock filled the heavy silence of the hallway as the door swung open.
Merci fought the bile rising in her throat as her stomach gave a sudden lurch from so much perverse power. Taking shallow breaths, her dread became a living thing as she saw the black burn marks on the floor and the rumpled bed, worse the room was empty.
“That son of a bitch!” Drake roared, white-hot sparks of magic flared off him in waves as he checked every door in the room and came back with a big fat nothing. “They’re gone, not even a trace to follow.”
As Merci pulled her cell phone out of her pocket with a shaky hand, she faced the reality that Vance could very well win the war.
* * * *
Blinding pain seared through Darius’s corneas with such force he knew his head would explode. Dimly, through a thick fog, he heard the shrill ring of a cell phone. Voices filled with so much anger and one voice rose above all others. Simon. His lifeline to hold the vision at bay just a while longer, enough time to get his ass to a bed before he succumbed to his gods damned cursed gift.
He felt someone grab him under an arm and lift him to his feet.
Bad fucking idea.
Bursts of lights flared behind his eyes in a swirling kaleidoscope made by an insane artist, as the colors blurred to white and took him down the rabbit hole once again.
He stood in a nearly deserted arena the dirt at his feet softened his footsteps as he approached the center and the horror unfolding before him. As always, he couldn’t effect any change of the vision, forced to watch it play out.
Worse, the more he fought to change it, the sicker he would be when he cam
e out of it, so he stood and watched, a ghost bearing silent witness to the grisly scene unfolding before him.
He moved closer, propelled by the drama playing out. Gwen struggled against the heavy chains securing her firmly to a wooden pole. Arthur lay on his side, away from her, his arms and feet tied and unmoving. Nimue, also bound, huddled off to the side balled up into a fetal position. Darius couldn’t help but feel a wave of pity for the woman who once was a powerful enemy of Drake’s.
Vance appeared from a set of arched doors, a large brass urn lovingly cradled in his arms. “So good of you to come celebrate Morgan le Fey’s re-birth.” He laughed with an edge of madness as he gently sat the urn down near Gwen’s bound feet.
His gaze was filled with hatred as he looked upon Arthur and, with a vicious snarl, kicked him.
Darius screamed at Vance to stop, knowing it would be futile, yet the anger seething up from somewhere deep inside would not be overruled. He launched himself at Vance…and went through him.
Vance never paused in his attack. Arthur’s groans of pain urged him on as he continued to rein blows on his body. Gwen screamed, hurtling curses as she struggled against the chains. With the grace of a dancer, he whirled toward her, backhanding her with so much force her head snapped back with a resounding thud as she made contact with the pole. Blood dripped from her split lip, and her eyes glazed with pain.
“Someone gag the bitch,” he snapped. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he gave it a vicious tug, nearly breaking her neck in the process. “Those were the last words you will ever utter.”
While one of his men gagged Gwen, Vance turned his attention back to Arthur, gripping the rope’s binding his hands, he hauled him up to his feet.
Darius flinched at the realization he could only stand by and watch, a powerless witness to the sadistic cruelty Vance meted out. He may not be able to stop him, but he damn well could memorize his surroundings and figure out where the hell they were.
They still had time.
Darius came to on a scream, flailing against the hands holding him down. Panic seized him as he bucked against the restraining pressure. His mind was a seething mass of panic, anger, and the impulse to get free…to get to Arthur before… His vision cleared enough for him to make out two familiar faces above him. Rhea, her eyes filled with a concern and mirrored by those of another, icy blue gaze.
“Simon,” he rasped out, feeling as if he gargled with razor blades. “I’m fine, you can get off of me now. How long have I been out?”
“Just about an hour,” Rhea supplied.
Simon eased off him with a deep shuddering breath and lay on his back beside him. “By the nine hells, you scared us. You never before suffered two visions in one day. If Rhea hadn’t been here I don’t think we could have pulled you back.”
“He would have still come out of it. I just nudged it along,” Rhea cut in sitting cross-legged on bed on the other side of Darius. “You really need to stop fighting these visions, the more you fight it the more dangerous they become to you.”
Darius snorted, his tone dry as dust. “Yeah, right like they are so much fun to begin with, I just love seeing all the death and destruction.”
“Either way, Rhea has a point.”
Darius shot him a look of surprise. “How can you say that? You hate them as much as I do.”
Pushing up to his elbows, Simon pinned him with an unblinking stare. “I was wrong. They are a part of you, and you need to come to grips with this or it will kill you.”
Rhea placed her hand on Darius’s chest in a soothing gesture. “Just think of it as an early warning system, it’s not happened. Time is mutable and can be prevented. And speaking of which, what did you see?”
“Arthur and Gwen are very much in danger, and I have no way of knowing how soon it will happen, but if we don’t find them right now, they both will be dead. And Morgan le Fey will be reborn from their deaths.”
Simon moved to his feet with a predatory grace. From the look in Rhea’s eyes, he knew he wasn’t the only one to appreciate the beauty of the man. “I’ll get the others.”
“Good, I don’t think we have much time,” Darius warned.
“Fan-fucking-tastic, so we are once again up against the clock and have no clue where we need to be,” Simon growled.
Darius gave him a slow smile, remembering the surrounding in his dream. “I know exactly where we need to be.”
Chapter Fourteen
Pain. A stabbing fiery pain unlike anything Arthur felt before radiated throughout his body, keeping time with his sluggish pulse. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw…dirt. Gritting his teeth, he tensed to move his protesting muscles and found he couldn’t. Realization hit a harsh note when he discovered his hands were tightly behind his back, his ankles fared no better.
Not the best predicament he ever found himself in.
Lifting his head, his vision wavered as his temples pounded a fast tempo echoing through his head. Nausea threatened as his stomach clenched up tight. Breathing slowly, he fought it off and squinted up at his surroundings.
As Darius predicted, he found he was indeed in some kind of arena. A massive sign above an arched wooden doorway proclaimed The Kings Tourney. The irony was not lost on him. The sound of a soft rustling came to him and he tilted his head to see Gwen.
Panic nearly overwhelmed him as he took in the sight of her bound in chains to a thick post. A purple bruise marred one cheek. A killing rage engulfed him. He would take Vance apart slowly and painfully for touching his woman.
Her wide eyes were filled with terror. Her voice wavered with emotion. “Oh, dear Hecate, I thought you were dead.”
“I’m afraid Vance may have much worse plans for me than a quick death, love.” He grimaced as a fresh wave of pain swept over him, dimming his vision. His skin turned clammy, and his stomach lurched again. Closing his eyes, he waited for the world to right itself before he opened them to see the worry etched lines on her ashen face.
“You need a doctor now. I can manage to loosen your ropes, but that is all I can do. I think these chains are spelled.”
“Do it,” he ground out, letting his head fall back to the dirt floor. His labored breathing and Gwen’s low melodic voice filled the air, giving an eerie echo as the sound circled around them. He felt a slight pressure, a brush of cool air on his hands and the rope loosened. He moved his feet and found them loose as well.
Hell yeah, now he had something to work with and got busy freeing the bonds holding him.
The sound of a door opening and the muffled tread of several footsteps warned him of Vance’s arrival. He stilled and closed his eyes, pretending to be still out, hoping to buy a bit more time as his fingers slowly worked at the ties binding his hands.
“So good of you to come celebrate Morgan le Fey’s re-birth.”
The maniacal laughter held the edge of madness and the urge to spring to his feet and end Vance right then became close to impossible to resist. Arthur gritted his teeth against it, needing to find the perfect opportunity to strike. He heard Vance snarl very close by and tensed. The air left Arthur’s lungs as Vance gave a vicious kick to his gut. He heard Gwen’s gasp of horror, then his world narrowed to only the pain spreading through his body as the blows rained down on him. Dimly, he heard Gwen’s screams—or so he thought—hard to tell from the many blows he took to his head to be certain. As quickly as the attack came on it stopped, leaving him gasping for breath, wondering if one or two of his ribs were broken. Blood dripped in his eyes and down his face. One eye wouldn’t focus, and he knew soon it would be swelled shut.
“Someone gag the bitch! Those were the last words you will ever utter.” Vance’s dark threat cut through the pain-induced fog, and fury rolled through him.
He fed it, pushing the pain back and clearing his mind of all but one thought, to kill Vance.
As if summoned, he felt Vance’s fingers clamp down hard on his hands and yanked him to his feet. The room spun, and he shut his eyes against the
weakness in his legs. With a shallow breath, he locked his knees in place and opened his eyes to glare at Vance.
“It’s now time for you to watch your whore die.”
“You touch her and you die,” Arthur made the words a vow.
“Oh, really? And how are you to accomplish that feat while trussed up like a hog on a spit?” Vance scoffed, turning his back on him.
A mistake he wouldn’t live to regret Arthur promised as he set to work on freeing his hands. A quick scan of his surrounding showed him three bodyguards all watching Vance intently as he threatened Gwen with a long blade he materialized in his hand.
Almost there…he acted as if he were about to stumble as the ropes fell away from his hands. Only one guard gave him a cursory glance before returning his attention back to Vance.
Arthur locked onto Gwen’s terrified gaze, a filthy rag tied tightly over her mouth. It’s alright, love. I’ll get you safely away. He thought it with every fiber of his being, praying she would see the promise in his eyes.
“It would take such a small amount of pressure, and your life is done. Ended by my hand and another far greater life will begin,” Vance crooned in Gwen’s ear like a demented lover, his hand holding the blade at her throat.
Arthur pulled his foot free of the rope as all hell broke loose around him. He heard the pounding of feet, a shout followed by the familiar prickling of magic as it filled the air around him.
Relief almost weakened him to see his men and women come into view in the peripheral of his good eye.
Vance spun away from Gwen, rage twisting his face into a mask of pure evil. Arthur lunged, grappling for the knife. Bending Vance’s wrist back, he smiled grimly at Vance’s howl of pain as the weapon fell to the floor with a dull thud.
TheKingsLady Page 12