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Insatiable (The Curse of Avalon Book 3)

Page 18

by Sariah Skye


  “Holy shit…” was all he said after a moment, daring to glance up at me with a cautious gaze.

  I glanced back at Bash, who still wore the same stupid, euphoric look on his face; completely sated and spent. Xander’s perfect olive complected cheeks were flushed with heat, basically looking the same way. And in true Ava fashion—I began to laugh wildly.

  “What the…” Bash began as I turned to him, and he burst into laughter too. It wasn’t long before Xander started in, the laughter in his chest vibrating against me.

  “I don’t know why I’m laughing!” I gasped in between laughs; I felt like a crazy person. Here I just had some of the hottest sex ever with two insanely gorgeous men… and I was laughing. I snorted and pointed between the two of them. “Now, you two!”

  Xander tipped his head back and laughed boisterously. “Sorry, honey; been there, tried that. Didn’t do it for me.”

  “Ditto, asshole,” Bash echoed, lazily raising a hand to flick him off. It only made me laugh even more. I was really enjoying getting to see this part of them; the brotherly, familial part of their relationship. Mathias and Trystan had a sort of unspoken, alpha-guy bond of respect, but Bash and Xander were something else entirely; they had a closeness and a sort of ease with each other I’d never witnessed with any men before. They were comfortable with each other, and comfortable enough with who they were that they weren’t threatened by each other’s prowess or attractiveness. Sure, they could get a little territorial but when the chips were down, happiness won out. And, you know… since it was hard spending time equally with four guys, it was nice thinking that sometimes, I could share privacy with both of them, and they were equally as happy with being with each other—as friends of course—as being with me. That was frankly damn amazing, I thought.

  Shaking his head, Bash removed himself from behind me slowly, giving me time to lay carefully on the pillows so I didn’t bump my head. “I bet you’re a mess, Avie.”

  I wrinkled my nose at the thought. Xander still hadn’t moved from his resting place on my stomach, and he breathed evenly; I was pretty sure he was passed out.

  Bash rolled out of the bed and headed for his bathroom, retrieving a couple of blue towels from the linen closet. He slapped Xander in the ass with one, and he jumped. “The fuck?” He groused groggily.

  “Get up.” Bash demanded, throwing him the towel he just hit him with. More of that brotherly bond I just loved to watch and felt lucky to be a part of.

  Xander slowly peeled himself off my sweaty skin and grabbed the towel. He kindly swiped it between my legs and sopped me as dry as he could before tossing it into the hamper across the room. Well, wasn’t that considerate?

  “I can’t move anymore,” he said, slumping lazily on one side of me, as Bash pulled on his boxers and slipped into the bed on the other side.

  “So, did you just come in here to watch, or… was there a purpose?” Bash asked finally, after we’d all caught our breaths. He pulled the comforter over my body, tucking it under my arms and curled up against my side, resting his cheek just above my bare chest.

  Xander’s head snapped up. He quickly scrambled into a sitting position, taking care to make sure “things” were properly covered. Bash rolled his eyes and tossed him his shorts from the floor on the side of the bed and he covered his lap with those, grinning sheepishly. “Yes. Sorry! Ava, I was in your room putting your sheets back on, and the table shimmered.”

  My eyes widened hopefully. “Lachlan?” He nodded quickly.

  My eyes instantly burned with tears, both of fear and relief; if he was there, he was okay. For now.

  “He’s okay. He and Guinevere are staying with some rebels. They’re keeping him safe,” Xander explained. His face twisted into an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry, I should have just said that outright, but…”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I get it. Fifteen minutes ago, or now; the information is still the same.” My heart soared; my dad was still alive!

  “How was he able to use the table-portal?” Bash inquired, while he rose his hands over his head, and yawned.

  “He broke into the castle.” I gasped, but Xander put a hand on my shoulder. “He’s fine, I swear. Remember? Invisible?”

  Of course. “Right. So did he have anything to say?”

  “Excalibur, we need to use it. Somehow…” Xander said, shaking his head and turning quiet. “Arthur is getting ready; it won’t be long before he makes his move.”

  “What move?” I asked, dreading the reaction.

  “War.” Both he and Bash spoke in unison. I glanced at Bash and rose a brow.

  “Your grandmother said the same thing,” he explained.

  “Wow… you really were on Avalon,” I said, amazed. He nodded.

  “So how are we supposed to use Excalibur?” I questioned. Xander bit his lip nervously.

  “We aren’t. You are,” he said flatly.

  Grumbling, I scowled. “Of course…”

  “There has to be someone out there that knows how to access the power,” Bash mused aloud.

  “Merlin; we need to trust him. Even your dad said so. He’s the key to figuring this lā shǐ out.” Xander’s expression was sour.

  “This what?”

  “Shit.”

  “Of course it is,” I said with a defeated sigh.

  “Tomorrow,” Bash insisted. “Well, okay probably later today. I’m fucking exhausted.”

  “Yup.” Xander agreed. He began to climb out of bed, but Bash grunted.

  “You can stay, you asshole.”

  Xander settled back in, eyeing Bash strangely for a few silent moments, a look of bewilderment on his face. “Thanks, fucker.” I smiled affectionately at their brotherly banter, but still, Xander eyed Bash curiously.

  Out of nowhere, Xander climbed over me, slid his hand under Bash’s chin, tipped his face upward…

  …and proceeded to crash his mouth into Bash’s, tongue and all.

  I don’t think my mouth could have dropped any lower. Bash was confused for a moment, but didn’t struggle, his eyes actually slid shut and he seemed to kiss him back. What!?

  Xander released him after a moment and looked thoughtful.

  “What the fuck was that?” I squeaked in utter amazement. Bash touched his cheek, mouth and eyes agape, too stunned to move.

  Xander just shrugged a shoulder. “Just what I thought. Still a lousy damn kisser.” He slumped back down into the bed and rolled over, though I could hear him stifling a very, very quiet snicker.

  Bash’s eyes darkened; he looked positively murderous. He started to dive over me, but I pushed him down by the shoulders. He pouted for a moment, before he slowly burst into laughter. “You are such a dick, seriously.”

  Xander shrugged, while still laying down. He flicked a gaze over my shoulder, winking impishly. “I do what I want.”

  “Go the hell to sleep,” Bash ordered, but he grinned at me as he tossed his leg over mine, and curled up beside me, head buried in my neck.

  Xander rolled back over, moving his hand down my outstretched arm in between us and threaded his fingers through mine. He grazed his lips over my bare shoulder before nuzzling his head in the crook of my shoulder. I felt sated, safe…

  …and still really fucking turned on.

  “Would you—” I blurted into the silence.

  “Nope,” Xander replied.

  “Not going to happen.” Bash agreed.

  I was still chuckling to myself as I finally slipped into a dreamless oblivion, nestled between the two of them. And yes, I was still thinking about it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lachlan

  The heavy, iron bars shut with a loud clang, echoing through the cold, damp dungeon. I thought I’d been sneaky enough, but Arthur had his ways of trickery. He was ready for me. I knew it was a possibility, but it was a necessity; I had to get to Ava.

  “Come on, Bedivere!” I protested, scrambling up off of the dirt floor I was just tossed upon, clutching
the iron bars as I pleaded to my once friend. “You know I’m not lying! He’s lost his mind! Off his damn rocker!”

  Bedivere looked at me flatly through his dark eyes. “You’re being arrested for treason, Lancelot. Crimes against the crown. You cannot plead to me; I serve my king and king alone.” He eyed me with disgust twisting over his deeply colored face and snarled. “What has happened to you?” He turned on his heels, and began to walk away with precision, like a dutiful soldier in a line.

  “Bedivere—wait! He tried to kill my daughter! Would I make something like that up, huh? You know me!” I insisted quickly, hoping to plead to the side of him that was once loyal; that would have once followed me to the ends of the earth.

  Bedivere tossed a look over his armored shoulder. “You do not have a daughter.”

  “I do,” I said, more calmly. “Her name is Ava. Please… I needed to make sure she’s okay.”

  He lifted a thick, black brow; it disappeared under the rim of his silver helm. “With whom? Guinevere? That would be news to me.”

  “Ah, no…” I tried not to grimace. “Morgaine, actually.”

  Bedivere burst out into a round of raucous laughter. “Morgaine? You have to be utterly daft to think I would believe that! You’d never bed that trollop.” His eyes raked over me, chuckling dryly. “Unless you are actually the one that was the madman.”

  Groaning, I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “It was a glamour; I just thought she was another woman and she was a conquest. I didn’t know until two years later that she got pregnant. She probably used the magic contained in the vessel of Avalon to increase her fertility. Please Bedivere… she’s all I have.” After messing up my relationship royally with Nadina, those words were truer than ever now.

  His eyes narrowed severely. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be all you had, had you not been such a traveling man-whore and tried to bed every woman on Earth and missed—”

  I raised my hand. “I know. I failed Elaine. I failed Galahad. It was the curse, Bedivere. Morgaine’s curse. I couldn’t control my impulses. I’m a fucking incubus, Bedivere! A demon! Nothing else could have separated me from them—nothing!”

  “You never deserved someone as good as Elaine. You tossed her aside like the contents of a chamber pot, all for that whore, Guinevere!” Bedivere practically snarled.

  He wasn’t wrong. In the earliest years of my incubus curse, I bedded just about every woman in Camelot; something I was not proud of. Lady Elaine was of Guinevere’s court and also her trusted friend. She and I had a tumultuous relationship. Before Guinevere and I admitted our feelings, and got the blessing from Arthur, Elaine and I were an item. But, since I was in love with Guinevere, it never worked totally, but she was still a great friend even after she gave birth to our son. There was no resentment, no ill-feeling. Except from Bedivere; he had been in love with her for years. Unrequited love; it made him bitter. And stupid, apparently.

  Elaine was cut down by a dark, evil fae. I didn’t know what she was; a fairy from the pits of hell.

  Struck with grief, Galahad, our son, bolted from Camelot to fight for Cornwall; Camelot’s rival. He blamed Arthur for the arrival of the dark fae. I didn’t blame him. But he was struck down during a battle by one of Arthur’s own soldiers before I could retrieve him. This was also on the same day the witches of Avalon—and that damn Merlin—spelled the kingdom and spirited it away to another realm. I missed it and had been stuck on Earth, trying to get my son, wishing he had gotten some sort of supernatural skills to sustain him until I did. But he was the copy of his mother: beautifully and entirely human.

  I did glower at Bedivere now though. “Guinevere was—is—anything but a whore, and you know it.”

  Bedivere chuckled derisively. “Anything you say, Lancelot. Face it, you’ve lost your mind, you bloody sot—and you’re just upset you got caught. Like making up a fake child to play with my emotions.” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Pathetic.”

  “She is not fake!” I screamed angrily, the rage plain and burning on my face. “She is an amazing woman and she’s going to save us all—you, I, and everyone in this sodding kingdom! Even though it’s clear you do not deserve it! You’ll see! And then you’ll feel like the ass you truly are if you’re going to side with Arthur!” I slammed my fists against the bars, the noise echoing with finality through the stone corridors. “Damn you…” I muttered, slumping to the damp ground. Bedivere had already walked away. Grabbing a loose stone, I tossed it in frustration along the ground; it skidded and crashed into the wall.

  “The gods help us all when Ava is through with him…” I glowered after him, even though he had long disappeared by the sound of a loud, slamming dungeon door. “The gods help us all when I am through with them…”

  Pressing my fingers into my eyes to ease the stress, I screamed loudly in frustration. I didn’t care what fate said. I didn’t care about the prophesies, the spells—none of it. If it meant taking my last breath, I was going to make sure Arthur paid… with his life.

  “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  My gaze snapped up. The voice was familiar but deep and sort of raspy. My head tilted to the side, trying to make out the shape of the shadow that was now standing a few paces before me, bars separating us.

  “Hello, Lancelot.” The shadow stepped into view, a brief flash of moonlight streaming in from a barred grate overhead. I gasped, and nearly fell over.

  “No…” It couldn’t be. No, no no no! “You…can’t be.”

  The shadow silhouette cackled evilly. “You already know who I am… Lachlan. I think you’ve known for some time; you just didn’t want to admit it to yourself.”

  “You…” I stammered, stunned, “…you killed Elaine.”

  The shadow grinned widely; a triumphant sort of slimy grin, riddled with filth and…shadow. No other way to describe it. I shuddered; the effect was disconcerting. “Guilty as charged.”

  “Why?” I demanded, in a small, despaired voice.

  “Why not, is the question? Everything is all part of some master plan, something much bigger than you, than your tramp of a daughter.”

  Fuming, I leapt deftly to my feet, summoning up a blast of magic and hurtled it at her. Her form faded and fizzled out as it neared her, and the blast hit the opposite wall, crumbling the rock and stone behind her. “People need to stop calling my daughter a whore. Or else—”

  “—or else, what?” The shadow demanded.

  “Or else—” I stalked forward angrily to the bars, raising a fist.

  The shadow form swiped out a black, ethereal appendage and grasped my forearm. The touch burned and scalded my skin, like molten hot…ice? It was hot and cold all at once and just… wrong. Before I could even scream in pain, a silver blade coated with blackness slashed at my arm, and my blood gushed out in a torrent. She dropped the blade and produced a glass vial—from nowhere—and swiped it in my blood stream. “One down… two to go.” She smiled that slimy, evil smile and waved her shadow appendage in the air. “Try not to die of infection, dear Lancelot.” And with a menacing cackle, she faded into the blackness.

  I clutched my injured arm tightly, still grimacing through the pain, trying to stop the bleeding… and defeatedly slumped to the ground.

  If Avalon wasn’t summoned soon… knowing what I know now? We were all goners.

  Camelot, Avalon, and probably much of the world’s fate was put into the hands of my daughter. My daughter and four demons. A daughter who didn’t know any of this existed until a couple of months ago. How could she possibly be expected to handle all this?

  “She’s tough; she can do it.” That’s what I told myself over and over and over again. It had to be so… I just needed to have confidence. Where Arthur was hate and distrust, Ava was love and hope. And that had to be enough.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Meanwhile in Camelot…

  Bedivere traipsed into the king’s chambers with determined authority. Realizing he had interrupte
d something, he bowed his head in reverence, and just waited.

  “Is it done, Sir Bedivere?” Arthur inquired without even bothering to turn to see who’d just entered.

  “It is, milord.” Bedivere responded submissively.

  “Good. Spread the word; Lancelot is to be executed for treason in fourteen days’ time.”

  A gasp sounded out behind Arthur. He spun around on his thickly-booted heels to narrow his eyes at the noisemaker, his crimson cloak snapping severely with force at the ends. Cocking a brow high up into his golden crown, he sneered lightly. “Something the matter, my dear Percival? Upset over the demise of your friend?” Arthur cackled an evil snicker at Percival’s discomfort. Of the four friends—Arthur, Lancelot, Bedivere, and Percival— Percival had been the quietest; the most demure. And the most intelligent and loyal. To hear of one of them—any of them, no matter what his crime—being sentenced to death was a shock to his system.

  “Just concern for his majesty.” Percival forced a convincing grin and mentally pushed aside his skepticism. “Lancelot is formidable, as you know. The curse, coupled with his unnatural sword skills… how do you hope to bring him down? He cannot be killed.”

  “Ah, that is where you are wrong, Percival. So wrong.” Arthur’s gray eyes flickered with menace, as he waved his hand in a grand, swooping gesture. A maw of darkness and swirling black appeared in the chambers overhead, and expelled a large, black form. The form landed on two limbs and stood. The effect was positively unsettling, like staring into the darkest forest with no sound and no light for miles. Except two, slightly-lighter orbs in what appeared to be a face. Percival held in his gasp; he had heard of beings as dark and violent as this, but never ever paid any attention. But nonetheless, this was a demon; the evilest of its kind that made the incubi such as Lachlan look like pure, white angels comparatively.

 

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