Lucan

by Susan Kearney

  She slowed down, giving him just a little breathing room, and then once again she amped up the urgency, loving the way he responded. His fingers in her hair massaged her scalp and she prickled all the way to her toes.

  “Damn, you feel good.” He wound his fingers into her hair. “Too good.”

  He tugged her up and into his arms. In moments they lay naked on the blanket. He swooped down on her, covering her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, and finally her lips with swift, sensual kisses.

  Sliding her arms around his back, she attempted to draw him closer. She might as well have tried to move a mountain. Rock-hard, he didn’t budge. Instead, he continued to brush his lips over her flesh, tickling her earlobe, nuzzling her neck.

  “Is that all you can do?” She wriggled her hips.

  His eyes burned with a golden flame in a sea of blue. “I’m just warming up.”

  She pursed her lips into a pout. “But I’m already… hot.”

  “To me”—his lips brushed her along the tender spot behind her ear—“you’re always hot.”

  With his words came a fiery burn, a sizzling heat that blazed to her core.

  Arching her back, she slid her breasts teasingly against his chest, eager to feel more of him. She twined her fingers into his thick hair, clasped his head, and nipped his shoulder—not enough to draw blood, just enough to sting.

  “No, darling. I’m not permitting those kinds of distractions.” With a grin, he rolled her to her belly with gentle but firm hands.

  He’d called her darling. Heat filled her belly, and moisture seeped between her soft, private folds.

  When she tried to roll back, he swatted her bottom. The sting raised the heat. Her blood caught fire, kindling a blaze between her thighs.

  Squirming, she tried to press her legs together to create the friction she craved, but his hands thwarted her. Ever inventive, he was sensuously drawing tiny circles up the insides of her thighs along her scales. “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  He chuckled. “What I do best.” One hand slipped under her belly. He’d placed a rolled blanket under her hips, almost bringing her to her hands and knees. “Relax.”

  Relax? Every cell screamed for his touch. Her scales writhed. She tried to squirm but with a firm palm on the small of her back, he pinned her in place.

  Then he slipped his hands around her and found her breasts. At the same time, his hips pinned hers to the blanket. His fingers plucked at her nipples, and his breath fanned her ear. “You like this, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  “Yes.” She quivered with the need to have him. Her tone was an open invitation to hurry, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was too centered on slowly caressing her breasts, slowly tugging and teasing her nipples.

  She tried to arch into his hands, but since he’d pinned her with his weight, he held her exactly where he wanted. And his tender, leisurely teasing was sweet torture. She needed more of him. Ached for him inside her, under her, over her. Why wasn’t he filling her?

  “I want this to be good for you,” he murmured.

  She groaned. “It’s already good. It would be better if you’d—”

  “Touch you here.” Gently he lowered his hand to her hip, traced a path around to her belly, then dipped into her curls.

  She quivered in anticipation. “Yes. There.”

  Ever so slowly, he parted her folds. She wanted to scream at him to get on with it. To touch her where she wanted. To give her what she needed.

  She tried to lift her bottom, to guide his fingers where she needed them most. But he kept her still, his fingertips teasing the insides of her thighs, the outer edges of her moist folds. And yet he, too, trembled with fierce need. His holding back was foolish. She wanted him without the chivalry. She wanted him raw. She ached for primitive and primal.

  She bit back a moan, her cells screaming for release. Every atom of her being demanded he set them free.

  She couldn’t bear another second of his light, gentle touch, not with the rushing sensations almost overwhelming her. “Please, Lucan.”

  His fingers stroked their own rhythm on her clit, slowly wrapping her in a sensual haze. His ragged breath fanned her ear. His hard sex nestled against her bottom. His clever fingers never ceased taunting and stroking. Occasionally he slipped inside her wet heat, the motion a hint of what he would eventually give her.

  “Does it feel good, sweetheart?” he murmured.

  “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  “We’re… going… to… go… slow and easy. Right until the end.”

  “By the Goddess, why?”

  “Because I’m a man.” His fingers moved in a slow, sensual circle. “Because I’m not… a beast.”

  She could barely think, but this was important. She fought to suppress her lust so she could speak. “Fighting our natures is wrong. Giving in is expected. It’s right. It’s what’s supposed to be.”

  “Not for me.”

  She felt his determination thunder through her. She didn’t know how he could hold back. Frantic to move, to wrap her arms around him, to pump her hips, she burned for him, and his tender, slow friction brought her ever higher. Then a warm explosion blessed her with sweet, merciful release. As she spiraled into her pleasure, he finally, finally entered her, finally filled her.

  He gave her no time to recuperate, no time to catch her breath. At first he thrust slowly, his pace gentle. His hands slipped over her breasts and his fingertips teased her nipples.

  Then he was like a dam finally breaking after too much rain. And the moment he lost control of his emotions, she felt his desire, showering her, drenching her. There was no more denying their true needs. He clamped his hands on her waist. His hips moved as if with a will of their own. Moved with power. He began to pound into her, his hands demanding, his lips greedy on her neck, her ear, her shoulder.

  He spilled into her with a heady groan, his hearts thundering, his breathing ragged. And still he held her tight, his fingertips caressing her hips, his warm breath on her neck.

  Thank the Goddess. He’d stopped fighting himself and given her what she most wanted—his real self. His essence. The man she loved.

  Yes. She loved him. With her spirit, with her heart and with her soul.

  Pleasure washed over her once more, this time his feelings flooded her, too. Defiance, protectiveness, lust, and something else… something indefinable that she was afraid to name, something that made this bonding of body and spirit extraordinary and special.

  As she recovered in his arms, she was certain he’d felt it, too. A moment when they weren’t High Priestess and linguist, not man and woman, but together as one.

  Resting in his arms, at peace, she started to doze and noted in a haze of bliss that he hadn’t vibrated this time. That earlier peculiarity must have been a result of his ongoing transformation. She started to mention it but heard footsteps outside the cave.

  “Did you hear that?” She sat up and grabbed her clothes.

  A man shouted, “Are you here, son of Adam?”

  He who sheds blood for me shall I call brother.

  —ARTHUR PENDRAGON

  19

  Lucan recognized Rion’s voice immediately. When Avalon’s astrophysicist called out “son of Adam,” using words from Layamon’s poem, which Lucan had read on the cave wall, his every sense sharpened. “What the hell’s Rion doing here?”

  Beside him, Cael quickly dressed. “By the Goddess. Maybe Nisco’s with him.”

  Lucan hoped he would have an opportunity to talk to Rion alone and find out what the man knew about the “son of Adam” reference. Doing so in front of Cael would be too dangerous. Perhaps Cael and her sister would want some private time, too.

  But when they met Rion at the entrance, Nisco was nowhere in sight. Cael went forward and greeted Rion.

  Uncertain whether he could trust Rion, Lucan edged protectively closer to Cael. Rion’s gray eyes were clear and he wore a welcoming smile, but the dark circles under his eyes and the shadow of
his beard hinted at hard times, as did his torn and filthy clothes. He looked rough, tough, and dangerous.

  Lucan was thankful for his dragon blood, which made him stronger than normal in human form. Without it, he might not have been able to take Rion down in a fight. Rion was bigger, broader, his muscles honed. It was good to know he could do whatever was necessary to protect Cael.

  “Have you seen Nisco?” Cael asked.

  Rion nodded. “After I intercepted General Brennon’s orders to attack your home, I got there as soon as I could.” Rion hung his head. “They’d already beaten your brother-in-law. She fought me at first, but I was able to convince your sister to let me take her out of harm’s way.”

  “Thank the Goddess.” Cael looked stricken by the thought of what might have happened if Rion hadn’t arrived. “So where did you take my sister?”

  “She wanted to go to the medical center, but it was too dangerous. I talked her into hiding at a hotel in Feridon. From the hotel, we sent a messenger to the medical center with the note asking you to meet us here instead.”

  “So where is she?”

  “My lady, when Nisco heard your message about Depuck’s injuries, she insisted on going to his side.”

  “But he’s not at the residence, he’s hiding.”

  “She seemed certain he would go to a cousin and planned to meet him there. She said you’d understand.”

  “I do.” If Cael was disappointed, she didn’t let it show.

  Lucan searched for a skimmer and frowned. “How did you get here?”

  “Nisco flew me partway in a skimmer. I walked the rest.”

  “Please, come inside.” Cael gestured to Rion. “We were just about to eat.”

  “No, we weren’t.” Lucan blocked Rion from following Cael into the cave. “Why are you here?”

  “Such suspicion.” Rion looked puzzled and annoyed.

  “You haven’t been accused of murder as we have. And I haven’t forgotten you’re on General Brennon’s payroll.”

  Rion folded his arms over his chest. “And I’ve been working with Quentin at Avalon. So what?”

  “Seems to me you’re very cozy with the people who are hunting us.”

  Rion held his stare. “Working there, brother, is how I’ve kept you informed of their activities.”

  “I’m not your brother.”

  Rion grinned. “So you’re still fighting.”

  Lucan frowned. “I’m not fighting anyone.”

  “Except yourself.”

  Cael stepped back outside the cave. “What do you mean?”

  “Cael, please go inside.” Lucan spoke softly.

  She rolled her eyes in irritation. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “This man may be dangerous.”

  Her voice was calm but threaded with steel. “Rion saved Nisco. How can you doubt—”

  “We don’t know where his allegiance lies,” Lucan countered.

  “Look, let’s just speak the truth.” Rion sat, leaned against a rock, tipped his face to the sun, and for a moment closed his eyes. When he reopened them, his gaze locked with Lucan’s. “I’m a son of Gerwain. You are a son of Adam. And it is written that together we shall uphold the laws of Uther and the laws of Arthur.”

  Cael stepped beside Lucan. “I don’t understand.”

  Lucan did. Since Rion knew about Arthur and Gerwain and Adam, he probably knew about Earth, as well. But how would Rion know Earth’s history unless he was from Earth? And if he was from Earth, why hadn’t he said so sooner?

  Rion bowed his head to Cael. “Lady, fear not. Our hearts are true to this quest to find the Grail before the Tribes can steal it.”

  “The Tribes?” Stomach in knots, Lucan folded his arms across his chest. On Earth, the Tribes had been the enemies of King Arthur. Most historians believed the Tribes were Saxons and Vikings. With the help of the Knights of the Round Table, King Arthur had kept law in his land by keeping the Tribes at bay. But Rion was speaking as if the Tribes sill existed.

  Rion pulled a thermos from his tunic and sipped, appearing as weary as if he’d just completed a long and difficult journey and was stealing himself to gear up for yet another. “For centuries the Tribes have sought the Grail. If they find it, their darkness will snuff out our light.”

  Lucan snorted. “You aren’t speaking like an astrophysicist, but like some religious—”

  “Like someone,” Rion interrupted, “who has read the ancient legends and has seen into the future.”

  Lucan scowled. “What are you saying?”

  “I get flashes.” Rion’s gaze challenged him to listen with care. “They’re a form of clairvoyance. Bits and pieces of history, as well as of the present and future, come to me in waking dreams. It’s a family gift. Or curse,” he said with a shrug, “depending on how you look at it.”

  “He believes what he says.” Cael looked at Rion intently, as if searching for what the man wasn’t saying.

  “I’d like more proof,” Lucan muttered but recalled how Rion had seemed certain the shield was about to come down—right before it had vanished.

  Rion pulled out a note and handed it to Cael. She shook her head in confusion. “This is Nisco’s writing. She says that Rion warned her that Depuck would be injured and she didn’t believe him—but it happened. She also says Rion told her she’d be in danger, and she didn’t believe him, but that came true, also.”

  “I knew I had to save her,” Rion admitted. “I’ve been following your sister ever since I learned Brennon suspected she was involved in the theft of top-secret papers from his briefcase. But I didn’t know exactly when Brennon would make his move on Nisco.” Rion reached into his pocket. “Nisco gave me this, too.”

  Lucan frowned. “That looks like the copy of the specs Nisco left for us at the medical center.”

  Rion nodded. “This is the original from General Brennon’s briefcase.” He turned over the paper to expose writing on the back. The script had similarities to early Viking symbols. “Can you read that?”

  “No. But I recognize it,” Lucan said. He’d seen markings exactly like these on the cave wall across from the Layamon Brut’s inscription.

  Rion nodded. “You must not underestimate Brennon. The Tribes can be ruthless.”

  “The Tribes?” Lucan asked.

  “Are you saying General Brennon is in league with the Tribes?” Cael asked.

  “He may work for them or with them. Or be one of them.” Rion grimaced. “Evil is not always overt. The Tribes are expert at infiltrating a society and permeating the current government. Often those who do the Tribes’ bidding have no idea whom they really work for.”

  “What do the Tribes want?” Lucan asked.

  “They seek world domination, the death of all beings of the light and the law,” Rion said. “By lowering Avalon’s shield, we tempt—”

  “So you don’t want us to enter Avalon because the military might follow us in and steal the Grail?” Lucan asked.

  “I’m merely pointing out possible repercussions of what we’re going to attempt.”

  “We?” Lucan stood and tugged Cael to her feet.

  “You need my help,” Rion insisted. “And we’ve already delayed too long.”

  Cael frowned. “Where do the Tribes come from?”

  “Other worlds.” Rion held Lucan’s gaze.

  Cael’s voice rose an octave. “The Tribes are not of this moon?”

  Talk of other worlds shot Lucan into motion. He placed his arm around Cael and pulled her toward the cave. “Cael, don’t encourage him. If he fears these mythological Tribes, that’s his problem. Jaylon needs you to find the Grail. This conversation is over.”

  He stepped toward the cave, but Cael slipped from under his arm. She brushed dirt from her clothing, in no apparent hurry to leave.

  Rion continued, “Legends say the Tribes spread across the Milky Way Galaxy about fifteen hundred years ago. For a time, the Tribes coveted a world called Earth, a land called Briton.”

/>   As Rion spoke, his gaze pierced Lucan’s. At the mention of his home world, Lucan’s muscles knotted.

  Rion told his tale, his words almost hypnotic. “Gerwain, a great seer and my ancestor, predicted that if Briton and Earth succumbed to the Tribes, the entire galaxy would fall into total darkness. So centuries ago, the best warriors from many worlds, Knights of the Round Table, united with King Arthur Pendragon. Together they pledged to protect the Britons from darkness and took on a secret mission to find the Grail. They believed that possession of the Grail would protect their soldiers in battle. After a long search, the knights presented the Grail to Arthur, who, before he died, supposedly left the Grail in Avalon.”

  “How did King Arthur travel from Earth to Pen-dragon?” Lucan asked.

  “That’s just one of many things that the legends don’t explain,” Rion replied.

  “The Grail isn’t doing any good behind Avalon’s shield,” Cael spoke firmly. “But in any case, why have I never heard these tales that you speak?”

  “The tales are common in the land of my birth. It’s a world called Honor.”

  “You come from another world?” Cael stared at Rion, as if caught between awe and disbelief.

  Damn it. Honor was the planet the computer had told Lucan about, a planet of Dragonshapers who’d fallen into savagery and slavery. But Rion was no dragonshaper. He didn’t have the telltale scales on the insides of his arms.

  Lucan wasn’t an empath or a seer, but his instincts told him danger was brewing. He tried to tug Cael away. “Don’t believe him.”

  “Truth radiates from him like sunlight.” She rooted her feet to the rock. “How did you get to Pendragon?”

  “I stole an ancient spaceship. I barely made it here and then crashed. My ship’s pieces are scattered over the southern mountain range.”

  Cael stared, eyes wide. “How did you survive?”

  “I ejected. My chute left me dangling in a tree with broken bones.”