Insatiable (The Curse of Avalon Book 3)

by Sariah Skye

  “Only a demon can kill another demon,” the figure spoke in a menacing, deep tone. It immediately made Percival shiver to the depths of his very soul. Arthur is consorting with demons… the very notion was horrifying to Percival, and not just any demons. Dark demons. No matter what Lancelot may have done, he didn’t deserve to die like this.

  But just exactly who is this? And why did she sound familiar?

  “What’s going on in the horrible, evil human world today, my dear?” Percival fought a gag when Arthur reached out his hand and traced a finger along where would be the shadow silhouette’s face. He looked upon the form with something that made Percival’s stomach roil and his insides quake: desire.

  The shadow snapped what appeared to be fingers, and the air in front of her twisted into something that could have only been called a dark mirror. You could see into it, but only silhouettes; living shadow. “Just more of the same, my dearest Arthur. War in the middle east, sexual debauchery, corruption in the highest governments.” She laughed derisively, and Percival watched the various scenes play out, barely distinguishable because of the various layers of dark. Scenes though that clearly looked like war—soldiers fighting, debauchery of what might be determined as twisted sexual encounters, and hordes of suffering humans…suffering by starvation, by homelessness… it certainly didn’t seem like the most venerable of worlds.

  So, why was Lancelot fighting so stalwartly for it? Did he know something Percival didn’t, or…?

  “What say you, Bedivere? Does this appear like a world worth saving? Or one worth conquering?” Arthur inquired curiously, gesturing for the shadow to disperse the imagery. She did, with a wave of her hand. Arthur crossed the cold, stone room to his inferior, sneering gently at the side of his thin mouth. He carefully eyed the dark-skinned, dark eyed knight inquisitively, as if almost daring Bedivere to defy him.

  “It is in dire need of its King, milord.” Bedivere answered obediently.

  “Hmm... that it is, that it is.” Arthur tapped one finger against his chin, turning to Percival. Slighter than any of his friends, with hair so light it was nearly white, and pale blue colored eyes, he was often intimidated by Arthur. But upon gazing at the blackness of his “friend’s” and king’s eyes… he felt no intimidation. No, he just felt…

  …repulsion.

  “What say you, dear Percival? What of the blonde trollop—Lancelot’s daughter—that was just here? I know you set eyes upon her? Anything about her seem… trustworthy?” Arthur’s eyes narrowed in a challenge.

  Percival unquestioningly lowered his gaze. “About as trustworthy as Lancelot, milord.”

  Satisfied with Percival’s answer, Arthur nodded. He reached out and clasped Percival’s armored shoulder. A sense of foreboding and resolute coldness permeated Percival’s bones and flesh at Arthur’s touch, and that’s when Percival knew for sure… his king, his friend, was no more.

  “It is no matter. Soon, Camelot will be amongst the earth once more, and we shall rid the land of the human contagion,” Arthur said.

  The shadow silhouette twisted, and after a brief moment turned into something a bit more human, but still entirely dark. What was she? Percival wondered.

  A large wooden door opened with a loud creak. “Father, I wondered if I could speak with Sir Percival, please? It’s a matter of the army.”

  “Certainly, my child.” Arthur dismissed Percival with a snap of his hand. Without hesitation, Percival bowed gently, and quickly followed Arthur’s son. The door slammed loud behind him before either of them dared speak.

  “Do you see now of what I speak?”

  Percival frowned. “I do. But… how do I know this isn’t a trick?”

  “I will show you.” Arthur’s son waved a hand over him, and the ground underneath encompassed them in a similar darkness that the shadow silhouetted had used, but still…not quite. It wasn’t as cold or disconcerting. Before he could realize what even happened, Percival found himself standing in the middle of a village—a secret village he’d never before seen.

  “Percival. Oh thank the heavens you are okay!” Guinevere pulled apart from the crowd that seemed to be waiting Percival’s arrival, and he flinched in surprise when the beautiful woman embraced him. “Lancelot? Is he okay? Have you seen him?”

  “I have not.” Percival shifted his gaze uncomfortably. “I am sorry. Sir, where are we?”

  Arthur’s son smiled widely and motioned with a wide gesture. “Welcome to the rebellion, Percival.”

  “Are you with us, Percival?” Guinevere asked hopefully, pressing her hands together over her chest.

  A slow grin spread across Percival’s lips. “Yes, I am. What must I do?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I don’t know what time it was when I finally awakened out of my listless slumber. I must have needed it pretty badly, because two ravenous incubi just completely wore me the hell out last night.

  In attempting to lift my head, I found I was pinned to the mattress by a two-hundred-something pound storm-wielding incubus who took it upon himself to drape himself over me in his sleep. “Shit… Xan, get up.” I smacked him in the bare ass and he let out a surprised, strangled noise.

  “What?” He asked, confused, slowly peeling himself off of me. He glanced around; the curtains to Bash’s bed canopy were shut and he wasn’t in bed. We heard the nearby sounds of keys clacking, and Bash muttering under his breath. He was obviously lost in his computer world again. “Uggghh…” Xander sat up slowly, scrubbing a hand over his sleepy, handsome face. I giggled at him lightly; he appeared slightly drunk, his hair sloppy and a red imprint mark from when he’d been laying on me was smashed into his left cheek. He was positively adorable. I reached out and ruffled his hair, helping it back into place as he glanced down at himself. “Oh shit,” he grinned sheepishly, realizing he was still naked. “Yeah…I am going to put something on finally and do the walk of shame out of here before it gets even weirder.”

  Rolling my eyes, I snorted. “What’s weird?”

  “Laying naked in my best friend’s bed? That is a little weird,” Xander said, with a laugh. Fumbling around the blankets, lifting and tossing pillows aside, he finally found his shorts and boxers.

  “Aww,” I protested, when he slid them over his feet, lifting himself into a kneeling position to pull them up to his waist. He smirked sideways, falling onto all fours, and crawled up to me on the bed. I bit my lip at his sultry expression when he placed a good-morning kiss on my lips. My eyes fluttered shut but even though he probed with his tongue, I refused to let him in. He broke the kiss, giving me a puckered expression. I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to swallow the dry, cotton feeling in my throat. “Morning breath.”

  Xander sat back and brought a palm to his own mouth and huffed into it, cringing after a moment. “Ew, good call. I’m off to gargle a gallon of Listerine and take a really long shower.” He lifted a brow, his lips turning into a frisky sneer. “Care to join me?” he asked in his low, beckoning voice.

  Oh god… I clenched my thighs together, trying to resist picturing him with water trickling down those sculpted muscles, leading down to…

  I coughed, trying to interrupt the irreverent place my mind was going. “I better not. But… tomorrow maybe? It is Sunday, right?”

  He grinned widely. “Yes. Tomorrow then.” He pecked me gently on the temple and stealthily snuck out of Bash’s bedroom; I was left all alone in Bash’s exceedingly comfortable—and probably messy—bed. I was momentarily surprised Xander didn’t flip out and try to compulsively wash these sheets too, but I figured the ire of Sebastian in the morning once again was too much for even him.

  I rolled over on my side and swatted at one of the canopy curtains, pushing it aside to see Bash eagerly at work at his computer. “Bash?” I called; he had some sort of earbuds in, so I doubt he heard me. “Sebastian!” I called a little louder.

  Scowling, I rooted for the edge of a blue blanket and pulled it around myself, clutching it shut at
the chest. Not that I cared if Bash saw me naked—in fact I rather liked that idea—but it was a bit cold in the room. “What’cha doin’?” I asked, folding myself into the chair next to him.

  He glanced away from his screen reluctantly, pulling out his earbuds and his eyes slowly widened, pupils dilating slightly. “Shit…” he barely managed to say hoarsely.

  “Huh?” I asked, oblivious.

  Bash pursed his lips together, still upturned on the corners. “Remember how I said that guys loved it when their girlfriends wore their clothes? At least, I do.” I nodded expectantly.

  “It’s even hotter when they wear his bedsheets,” he said huskily. My cheeks flushed, and I turned away shyly under the weight of his heavy gaze. With an impish grin, I languidly pretended to part the sheet I was holding. “I could take it off?” I suggested.

  Bash swallowed thickly, and I watched his eyes rim with crimson. Blowing out through his mouth he adjusted his shorts and coughed. I laughed evilly at his discomfort—I fully enjoyed taunting him, and even more I loved the effect I had on him.

  “Well?” I asked, reaching out to graze one of my fingers down his bare bicep so lightly, it was barely a whisper.

  Bash shivered and let out a pained groan and proceeded to smack his forehead lightly on his computer desk repeatedly. “Stop it! We actually need to do things today!”

  “Doing ‘things’ is exactly what I had in mind.”

  Bash just grumbled a whine. Reluctantly, I halted my seductive assault. “Oh, fine then,” I replied, pouting as I hiked the sheet further up to my neck.

  “You know,” he said, glancing up and grimacing as he rubbed his forehead. Guess he banged it a little too hard. “I think our original assessment of you was correct.”

  “And, what assessment was that?” I asked, intrigued.

  “You’re a damned enchantress, that’s what.” He flashed me a huge sultry grin. And, the tingles through my body started again, just like that. His blue eyes hooded and met mine, holding my gaze for longer than should be comfortable, and I about jumped him right there until he shook himself out of a trance. “Dammit, you did it again,” he muttered, forcing himself to turn away; winning the battle, but not the war.

  Clearing my throat and trying to de-cloud my foggy mind, I pointed at his computer screen. There were pages and pages of long blocks of text; nothing really made any sense. Either that or my lust-induced haze was just really messing with me. “What are you looking for?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  Bash frowned. “Lots of things. Stuff about a spell, stuff about Excalibur… anything. Besides the damned stories and legends with little truth to them, as we know now, I’m just not finding anything much. Whoever on the void web who knows much about it isn’t talking.”

  “Well, who would, seriously?” I asked, leaning over the desk to get a closer look. “Besides Rhys, who is here, my father, and Morgaine—who is really left to say anything?”

  Bash drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the plastic surface of his mouse. “I considered that. But you think… urban legends, something would exist.”

  “They do; they’ve just all been turned into movies,” I said flatly.

  “Well, that’s probably true. I’ve even read and re-read all the damn prose by Geoffrey of Monmouth and des Troyes and all that, hoping maybe there is some sort of connection or hint of a spell— somewhere. But nothing stands out.” Bash sighed outwardly, propping his elbows on the desktop and cradling his head in his palms. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for, really.”

  “A spell?” I asked thoughtfully. “What about a spell?”

  Bash sat up straight again. “Your grandmother—Igraine. She said there was a spell to help—that specifically I would be part of it. To help summon Avalon. And that it was, somehow, close.” He snorted. “Cryptic as hell much?”

  “Agreed. But, Avalon? But it’s right here—I’m it. Aren’t I?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I think she means the entire isle.”

  I sneered at the idea. “Well… if it’s close, maybe Rhys knows something about it? Maybe that’s what she meant?” I suggested with a shrug.

  “Then why wouldn’t she just say that?” Bash gritted his teeth in frustration, smacking the buttons on his mouse and all the pages on the screen disappeared.

  “Witch’s prerogative?” I offered innocently, fluttering my eyelashes.

  Bash threw me a flat look. “Funny. Hey, I wonder… if I have this latent ability now, am I technically not a witch?” He scratched his chin thoughtfully; his nails against his sandy stubble made a rough noise.

  “I thought you had to have more than one power to be considered a sorcerer or whatever?” I threw up my hands in exasperation; all this supernatural stuff was getting to me. When I did, though, I forgot I was holding the sheet over my naked body. It fell to my waist and I flashed him a pretty good view of my friggin’ boobs.

  Bash bit his lip, hard, so hard it turned bright red. “The gods help me…” he muttered, as I scrambled to cover myself up. I didn’t want to really, but…

  “Sorry,” I said sheepishly.

  “I really need to take a shower or something,” he mumbled through clenched teeth.

  “I could come with you; I need to as well.” There was a definite suggestive lilt to my tone.

  “As much as I want to say yes, I’ve monopolized enough of your time. My phone has blown up all morning from Mathias and Trystan; they’ve been worried sick about you. I sort of have to let you go,” he said reluctantly, throwing me another wistful glance.

  “All right,” I said, not even bothering to hide my disappointment. Then I stood hesitantly. “Umm, I have no clothes.”

  Bash snorted. “Right. Well why don’t you just use my shower, and I’ll set you some things out for when you’re done? Unless you want to ‘walk of shame’ like Xander back up to your room?”

  “Ha! There’s no shame to be had here,” I said, flashing him a wink. “But I think I will just use yours since I’m here.”

  “Fine,” Bash said, rising to retrieve said clothing from his dresser, as I sauntered to the bathroom with a certain sway to my hips. While I crossed the room, I released the sheet, letting it go lower and lower until it grazed my ass. I heard him groan loudly as I tossed a seductive glance over my shoulder. “Fuck it.” He ran across the room, eyes hooded as I dropped the sheet entirely before I entered the bathroom. He spun around, taking my naked body in his arms, and crashed his mouth into mine. “What’s ten more minutes, huh?”

  “Exactly,” I said, coming up for air between his tongue thrusting into my mouth; morning breath long forgotten.

  He quickly stripped off his clothes and urged me into the shower, turning the hot spray on us. I backed against the wall, hooking my leg around his waist, thoroughly tantalized by the way the spray glistened over his skin as I glided my fingers down his muscled upper body. And, even though we were supposed to be getting “clean”, things certainly took a turn for the dirty before we were finished.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Well, well, well,” drawled a Scottish accent as I entered the kitchen, moving to the fridge to hunt for something cold to drink. “Don’t ye just look like the cat that ate the canary?” His smug grin was wide, as he leaned against the wall, casually sipping a can of pop.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied with nonchalance, rummaging through the fridge for my own can. “Has Mathias lost his mind? Pop?” Normally I didn’t like it, but right now? A sugar rush sounded fantastic. I grabbed a can of Mountain Dew from one of the shelves, popped the top, and took a long drink, tipping my head so far back as a drop or two of the liquid trickled down my chin. When I’d downed half the can in one gulp I sighed with satisfaction. “Ahh, that’s better.”

  “Don’t change the subject.” He set his own can down on the counter, folded his arms over his chest, and casually crossed one bare foot over another. I was disappointed as he was actually wearing clothes—a p
air of jogging pants and a tank top—but both did little to hide the smooth peaks and valleys of his chest, or his winged ink over his pecs, and up both forearms. I licked the sugar off my lips—at least that’s what I told myself. Seriously? Over the past twelve or so hours, I had sex four damn times! How am I still so turned on? I could barely concentrate anymore, it was getting so out of hand!

  “What?” I asked quickly, forcing myself to stop admiring his sexy smirk, or the way the ink accentuated his chiseled arms. I forced an innocent smile.

  Trystan just chuckled. “All right, I’ll humor ye just this once, even though I know what happened.” He tipped his head up slightly, breathing quickly. “And I know who with. Remember?” he said, tapping on his nose gently. “Enhanced sense of smell.”

  I glanced away so he didn’t see the blush on my face, but with his fingertips he gently touched my cheek and forced my gaze back to his. “Also remember, I don’t care. What ye do when yer not with me is your business. Just as long as I get an equal opportunity later,” he said, with a wide wink. I smiled though; I still was nervous occasionally about how the guys would feel knowing I was with one or the others. Xander was battling his green-eyed, jealousy monster; it wasn’t unreasonable that the others might too, eventually.

  “Besides,” he continued, casually taking a long drink of his own pop, “I’ve seen some weird shite. Remember me? Six-foot-four, two-hundred-and-seventy-five-pound Scottish man who turns into a roughly forty-pound eagle?” He laughed shortly. “Tell me that isn’t the weirdest shite ye ever did see?”

  Pressing my smirk into a firm line, I acquiesced. “Ah, point and match. Good one,” I said, shaking a finger at him.

  Satisfied and smug, he took the last drink and set the can with a loud clink on the counter. “I’ll just leave that there for Xander,” he said, with an impish glint. “He can’t have all the fun now, can he?”

  I snorted. “You’re awful,” I said, not really meaning it of course.