The bitterness in his voice was gone as quickly as it had come. “Don’t be sorry, just don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?” She arched a brow and pushed down her feelings. She wasn’t sure if it was empathy or pity and she knew he wouldn’t want either one.
“Don’t fall in love.”
“I won’t. Aphrodite won’t let me.” She was secure in that. Aphrodite would never let her love someone who didn’t love her back. “And we’ll get her to lift Vivienne’s curse, too. I promise.”
“Why would you promise such a thing? What do you want in return?” He was wary, suddenly studying her as perhaps he would an angry skunk.
“I thought we’d established that already. I want you to punch my V-Card. I mean, since we’re being honest and all that.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “Yes, I have to say I like approaching this honestly much better.”
“I don’t. It was more fun when we were playing cat and mouse.” His bottom lip plumped with what Artemis might call a pout.
It was adorable.
She suddenly had visions of him as a solemn-faced child with round cheeks and that shock of black hair. Of course he’d been spoiled absolutely rotten. Artemis couldn’t imagine telling him no about anything. Morgan must have had a spine of steel to raise him to be even a poorly functioning adult.
“No one said we couldn’t play games. At the risk of repeating myself, I am the Goddess of the Hunt, after all. I love games. I love the chase. But I’d rather be honest about my intentions.”
He perked. “I like this development. I’ve always said the sharpest, most brutal weapon is the truth.”
“Excellent. Can we get to the seducing now?” Her words were much bolder than how she actually felt. She did indeed want to get on with it, but there was a flutter of fear in her belly when she thought about what exactly getting on with it involved.
“It doesn’t quite work like that.”
“Why not?”
He cocked his head to the side as he considered. “Okay.”
Mordred pounced on her like a hawk would a mouse and Artemis found herself pressed down in the bed, his heavy weight pinning her. She almost panicked, she’d been in this situation before when some of her petitioners had become too ardent and she’d been afraid, but the look on his face was playful and even though he behaved like some lithe predator, Artemis just knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
Maybe because he was cursed to be in love with her, but her gut swore she could trust him.
“Relax your legs. Let me into your temple, Artemis.”
If anyone else said it, she might have laughed, but there was just something about Mordred Le Fey that made everything the man said sound like sex on a stick. Let me into your temple? That was almost as bad as—
Every thought fell out of her head because as she opened for him, he was positioned so intimately against her she could feel the hard ridge of his cock rubbing against the thin silk of her panties.
Desire stabbed through her hot and sharp and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, she could only feel. She was equal parts aroused and afraid.
“In for a penny, right love?” He crushed his mouth to hers and it was no tentative caress, no worshipful veneration. It was primal and earthy, dark and delicious, just like he was.
He tasted of dark, sweet things like red wine and ripe blackberries. She was surprised how hot his hands were, his skin was like marble and she expected his touch to be like cool stone, but he was all fire.
Artemis decided she could gladly burn in him.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking him against her with only the barest hint of silk keeping him from piercing her virginity.
She thought there would be more, exploring each other, tasting each other, but this was fairly straightforward and it took away a bit of the mystique. Artemis didn’t think Mordred would have achieved his legendary lover status if this was all there was to it. There had to be more.
Not that what was happening wasn’t nice, it was. Fireworks and all that, but there was supposed to be more than fireworks, like the births of universes and lots of that cosmic stuff. Or so she’d always heard.
“Artemis,” he whispered against her ear. “Stop analyzing it and enjoy it.”
“I just want to make sure I’m getting it right.”
“It’s about the moment, love. Surrender to it.”
“I can’t.”
“Ah, I see. This is where the games come in. I do believe you just challenged me.” His breath was warm against her ear, his lips brushed her skin.
“I believe I did.” She shivered in anticipation.
He hooked his fingers around the edges of her panties and slid them down her legs, discarded them like a candy bar wrapper and dipped his head.
She grabbed him by the hair. “Uh, what are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m rising to the challenge.” He mouth looked more wicked somehow so close to her bits.
“You can’t mean to—“
“I most certainly do.” He attempted to dip his head again, but she maintained her grip on his hair.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?” He studied her.
“You just can’t. I mean… you can’t.”
“You are best friends with the Goddess of Love and you haven’t heard about the delights of cunning linguists?”
“What does being multi-lingual have to do with it?” Artemis was confused.
“Everything, sweetheart. It’s about how fast I can move my tongue.” Instead of trying to get her to release his hair, he raised her hips and brought his meal to his mouth.
The first flick of his tongue and Artemis suddenly understood about galaxies and universes and supernovas, they were all born on the tip of Mordred Le Fey’s tongue.
17
GWEN
She didn’t want to answer the knock on the door. Gwen knew it was Arthur. She couldn’t face him. If she could go the rest of eternity and never—no, that was a lie. Just the thought of never seeing him again was poison. She was hungry for the sight of him, the sound of his voice, and the warmth of his presence. There had always been something about him that filled up a room.
Some men sucked all of the air out of a space, some had a charisma that was magnetic, but Arthur was different. Instead of drawing everyone and everything to him, he filled up all the moments between breath—delving and twining himself inside until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. It was how he inspired such greatness, such loyalty.
Gwen had resented it.
Now, she was so empty and lost, and he was true north.
Bittersweet didn’t taste like she thought it would. Ashes and dust, maybe, with a pain that was like picking at a scab. But no, it was more like an overripe apple, sweet and rancid, its juice bleeding with every bite.
“Gwen, I know you’re in there. Are you really going to leave your king standing on your doorstep like a beggar?” He used his “royal” voice, the reverberation thundering through the door.
“I’m not well, Arthur.”
“Bullshit. Open the door.”
“As my lord commands,” she snapped and flung the door open.
She knew she looked like utter crap, eyes red-rimmed and swollen from her crying jag the night previous. She hadn’t brushed her hair and she was wearing the non-Yoga doing Yoga pants and a ratty t-shirt. In short, she was wallowing.
“I brought your shoes.” He handed them to her by the straps.
“Thanks.” She tried to close the door, but he braced his arm against the door and stepped inside.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh my GOD!” she shrieked. “What are you apologizing for?” How dare he apologize. How dare he be so fucking noble. It burned her more than any fire ever could.
“I wanted you to know I didn’t plan on any company but you.”
“Arthur, that’s the least of what I deserve for what I did.”
“I’d
never hurt you, Gwen.” He was so earnest.
She couldn’t stand it, Gwen had no defenses against him. “Well, I beg to differ. There was that whole burning me at the stake thing.” Yeah, she had to hold on to that or she’d break—shatter like a glass ball dropped on pavement.
“I knew Lance would save you.”
“You couldn’t be sure.” No, no… he couldn’t. Could he? Oh God.
Arthur flashed her a pained smile. “Yes, I could. That’s the kind of man he was and the only way he’d leave with you. I just wanted you to be happy.”
Yes, that same smile that shined for her no matter what she’d done. Arthur knew Lance even better than she ever had. Could any creature alive be so selfless? She couldn’t face it—him. Even though Camelot was gone, even though he’d tried to muddy himself with meaningless encounters, he was still every bit the shining beacon of hope and goodness he’d been all those years ago.
“You’re killing me,” she whispered, the shoes falling from her hands and her knees went weak.
He was there, just like always, to catch her. His arms closed around her. “That’s because I’m already dead, Gwen. I died when you left me.”
Gwen hadn’t thought words could cut any deeper, she didn’t think there was any pain left to feel, but there was. It sprang an eternal fountain of sorrow scalding her insides.
“I’m nothing special.” In that moment, she knew it was true. She’d been a queen, but that didn’t matter. She shoveled herself into her too tight yoga pants like every other woman.
“You’re always my Guinevere, my queen, my love. Always.”
It was like some law of inevitability had been enacted in that moment, she could no more stop herself from tilting her face up to his than she could turn the tide or blot out the sun.
He kissed her and his lips were like sugared razor blades—sweet and sharp. All her pain, all of her failure, all her shame welled like blood and spilled over her tongue. But she didn’t stop the kiss, instead she surrendered to it and wherever he wanted to take her.
It was Arthur who broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “Ah, Gwen. There’s nothing in this world or the next I want more than you.” His fingers were gentle on her cheek as he cupped her face. “But only if I’m really what you want. If you just need someone to cling to, someone to hold in the dark, I can’t. I thought I could, but I can’t.”
He released her and for all intents and purposes, fled. He left her standing there in the door, watching him, without ever looking back.
Gwen’s lips were swollen from his kiss, her body alive with the sparks of pleasure he’d wrought with his touch, his words.
But it was wrong.
She knew what she had to do.
Before she could change her mind, she shoved her feet into her tennis shoes and ran all the way to The Witch’s Brew. She didn’t let herself think about what she was doing as she ran, only that it was the right thing to do. She could do this, she could be the one who finally did the right thing.
“Morgan,” she cried out as she barreled through the door, searching for the witch.
The other woman’s eyes widened and she raised her hands ready to curse her.
Lance flung himself in front of her. “No, don’t!”
She placed her hand on his shoulder, and stepped out from behind him. Honestly, it felt strange to touch him. Foreign, after being in Arthur’s arms again. How quickly things changed—at least after they’d been acknowledged. Centuries they’d stayed together when there was nothing to hold them there.
“I did as you suggested, Lance. I asked Arthur for forgiveness. He’s given it to me. Now, I need to give him something in return and I need Morgan to help me.” She turned her attention back to the witch. “If you’d consider it.”
Morgan looked around, peered out the window and then looked back at Gwen. “Well, it sure doesn’t look like the apocalypse is upon us, but I’ve been wrong before.”
“I deserve that and a lot more from you. I accept that. But Arthur doesn’t. Please, will you hear what I have to say?”
“By all means. Come back to my office.”
“Morgan, I really don’t think—” Lance began.
“We didn’t ask you.” Gwen said in a soft voice, but there was no rancor.
“I’d like it noted for the record this is a bad idea.”
“So noted,” Morgan and Gwen said simultaneously.
Gwen realized that maybe she and Morgan were more alike than she’d imagined and she’d spent years hating her.
Morgan led her to a door and Gwen followed her inside.
“Well, you’re either very brave or very stupid. Which is it?” Morgan said when they were seated at a small table.
“Probably very stupid.” Gwen admitted.
Morgan narrowed her eyes. “You’re really starting to freak me out. If you came because of Lance—“
“No. I said—oh.” It just occurred to her why Morgan behaved as she had. She wasn’t usually so quick on the draw and Lance was sure Morgan was going to curse her.
And he hadn’t been afraid of Morgan.
He was with her.
Part of her wanted to be angry, but that part was the last remnant of the child she’d been. The child who’d fallen in love with a golden knight who was nothing short of a god. The child who was now relegated to a box of memories and simpler times.
Morgan studied her hard before speaking. “Goddess help me.” She shook her head and sighed. “It’s not serious between Lance and I. You’ll probably work it out—”
“No.” Gwen swallowed hard. Knowing the truth and speaking it were two different things, but not speaking it didn’t change it. So she plunged ahead. “We won’t work it out. It’s been over for a long time. This is the way things were supposed to be, I think. Somewhere along the way, things got twisted up.”
“I twisted them.” Morgan confessed.
“Me too.” Gwen felt another rush of kinship with the other woman and took her hand. “We all fucked up.”
“You say fucked?”
“I say a lot of things.”
“I always thought profanity would curl your hair.” Morgan snorted.
“If it would just brush it, that would make me happy.” She sighed heavily. “I ran all the way here. I wanted to do this before I chickened out.”
“This must be heavy. What is it?”
“I want you to make a charm so Arthur won’t love me anymore.”
The silence was deafening.
“Why the hell would you want that?”
“I don’t. But it’s what’s right.” The words choked her.
“Why?”
“He’s in pain. He still loves me after… everything.”
“Okay, color me stupid, but you love him, too.”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s toxic, it’s poison. He’s still hurting after all of these years and what I did—loving him back won’t heal those wounds. Only digging out the cancer, and that’s me.”
“Hell,” Morgan exclaimed.
“Will you help me?” Gwen hated asking her, but it was finally time to do the right thing.
“I couldn’t if I wanted to. I can do a lot, but my magick can’t affect real love one way or the other. But there may be someone on the island who can help you. Aphrodite is here.”
“Is she on vacation? Oh hell, is she here to see Arthur?” Gwen clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms.
“Actually, she brought her friend here to meet Mordred. But let’s not worry about that right now. I’ll take you to her.”
“Thank you, Morgan.” The cracks in her heart splintered a little more with every word she spoke.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that whatever Aphrodite does can’t be undone. If you want her to pry you out of him, then you’re gone and the way in is lost to you forever.”<
br />
The final piece of her heart shattered, and that was how Gwen knew she was absolutely doing the right thing. “Yes.”
18
MORGAN
Guinevere du Lac was stupid.
It was something Morgan had always suspected—dumber than a box of hair. That was the only explanation for the way that woman’s brain worked.
Morgan knew that she herself was dumber than a box of hair when it came to love, too. After all, she’d fallen in love with a man who could never be hers, and like the dumbass she was, she’d settled for crumbs knowing it was going to break her heart when it was over. But if Lance could have ever loved her, Morgan wouldn’t throw it away.
There was dumb and then there was too stupid to live.
“Aphrodite is down at the resort. I’ll take you.” Morgan didn’t agree with what Guinevere wanted, but it wasn’t her place to say so.
“Morgan?” Gwen said haltingly.
“What?” She studied the other woman as she wrung her hands, the emotions that bloomed on her face and then wilted, only to bloom again.
“Thank you.”
Morgan pursed her lips. They were never going to be besties, and it was hard to change the habits of centuries, but maybe they didn’t have to hate each other anymore.
“You’re welcome.”
“Morgan?” she asked again.
“What now? Can’t we just…you know…move this along?” Morgan cringed.
“You can have Lance.”
She arched a brow in full on Evil Enchantress fashion. Who was she to say—Morgan reigned in her bitchkitty and exhaled heavily.
“What I mean to say is, I can see you already have him.” Gwen bit her lip. “I just want you to know I don’t begrudge either of you. If he can forgive you for what you did with Elaine and the potion, then I can, too. It’s not my place to be angry. And if I’m being honest, I was always jealous of you.”
Each of Gwen’s words tore through her like bullets. “All of this honesty feels like a rash.” Morgan shifted uncomfortably.
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