King of Avalon: a Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance (Rise of the Elder Gods Book 2)

by Vivienne Savage

  “And we want to make sure you have that time. It isn’t too late,” Arthur replied.

  It was a massive weight off his shoulders, knowing they now had two Titans on their side. Every bit of help mattered, and he still had more allies to call upon. One group in particular.

  It was time to muster the wizards, whether they wanted to be conscripted or not.

  Twelve

  “I don’t understand why we waste precious time with the wizards when they gave their answer to Merlin,” Nimue complained when they emerged from the mystical portal onto a vast and green tidily manicured lawn studded with pink crepe myrtle trees and majestic magnolias stretching their flower-laden branches toward the blue sky.

  Of all the places to be at the height of summer, Nimue could think of no place she wanted to be less than Texas, where the unyielding sun blasted the land with 103 degrees of scorching heat. Her skin tightened within seconds.

  “I’m going to try to get through to Warren. If we had at least one more trained wizard, Merlin wouldn’t be taxed so greatly in battle.”

  “I should have made you fly it.”

  “It would have wasted precious time.”

  “I am melting, Arthur!” She was a child of winter and not made to withstand such temperatures.

  “You’ll survive.”

  “Perhaps I won’t!” She would, and her fae tongue wouldn’t allow her to utter a lie claiming otherwise. Sometimes, she loathed the magic binding her people to utter only the truth to mortals while in their realm. To another fae, she could speak whatever lies she wanted.

  “You’ll be fine,” Arthur insisted, this time laughing as he slipped his large arm around her and dragged her close. He smelled so good she couldn’t help but lean against him despite the dry Texas day baking them.

  Once they crossed the yard to the blessed shade of the magnolia trees, the heat was off her neck.

  “I always wondered how the Winter Court produced a ginger,” Arthur teased. “Now that I know your parentage, it all makes sense.”

  “Ha ha,” she replied, dry. “Father’s red hair is legendary. I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out on your own earlier.”

  As they approached the stoop, subtle magic pulses spread from the Ley lines beneath the Westbrook residence. Atticus had chosen well when he and the other wizard founders established the town and built their homes. All of Decima had been constructed on the epicenter of what must have been Texas’s largest Ley.

  Something about it put a sour taste in her mouth. She did not like the Decima Ley line, and they lacked the time for her to investigate and discover the oozing, sinister feeling that lurked beneath the surface.

  “Can you feel that?” she whispered, wondering if his dragon blood lent him greater perception.

  “The humming beneath our feet?” Arthur asked, stepping onto the expansive brick stoop framed by white pillars. The door exuded energy of its own that pulsed and swelled when Arthur pressed the bell.

  Delighted, Nimue smiled. “Yes.” So he did have heightened magical senses after all. She waited a moment, then lowered her voice to whisper, “What will you say to them?”

  “I don’t know. But it can do no more harm than good at this point.”

  A walking font of power approached them from opposite the door. When it opened to frame the man on the other side, Nimue surmised they faced the youngest Westbrook, fresh and baby-faced.

  He’s barely old enough to shave, and Arthur wants to send him into a war.

  “You Arthur?”

  “I am.”

  The boy’s attention wandered to Nimue and lingered without lust or interest, startling her when she saw the wisdom in his eyes and wondered if he was older than she’d initially thought. Wizards were strange, long-lived folk who could live centuries. They were also equally rare and tended to hide away from even the rest of the magical community.

  Too many people wanted things from them—as Arthur and Nimue planned to demonstrate.

  “Yeah. Warren said you’d be by. Come on in. I’m Caleb.”

  Nimue and Arthur exchanged wary glances. Neither had expected it would be so easy.

  “Yeah, I guess your arrival was written in the stars or something. Not my talent, so I haven’t kept an eye on the celestial bodies, you know?” His steps slowed as he lowered his voice, “Look, we want to help you, but our hands are kind of tied. Pops is technically still in charge and hasn’t passed the torch to Warren one-hundred percent.”

  “That changes in the future.”

  “I reckon it would.” He paused, hand one inch from the knob of a door framed with a white marble relief of magnolia flowers. “Hey… I probably shouldn’t ask, but am I—” The young wizard paused.

  “Dead?”

  “Yeah.”

  Arthur nodded.

  “Figures,” Caleb replied with a tight smile. “Good luck, man.” He opened the door to reveal the expanse of a two-level study, the spacious room part office and part entertainment quarters. Lush, fragrant rosewood bookshelves spanned floor to ceiling along most walls, and trophies of rare animals posed amidst magical relics greeted them.

  The family patriarch awaited them in a high-backed leather chair within the main chamber. Power vibrated beneath her feet, and she glanced over the mezzanine rail to the space down below. Marble floors painted splashes of color displayed numerous magical glyphs. Each portion seemed to have been drawn by a different wizard.

  Atticus Westbrook sighed and gestured to two of the chairs. “I gave an answer.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t accept it,” Arthur replied.

  The old mage appeared more ancient than Nimue expected for a fellow not yet in his third century. Their kind usually aged gracefully, but Atticus wore the exhaustion in his features, in his balding, gray head, and the deep-set wrinkles around tired eyes. Inside him, the light had gone dim, and what magical power he had seemed weaker than a spark from a failing lighter.

  The wizard before them should have been in his prime, youthful in frame yet powerful in magic. Atticus appeared to be little more than a shell. She wondered if he knew he had only months left to live.

  “I knew he’d send you both.”

  After Nimue took one seat, Arthur settled in the other. “We thought if I told you a little about the future I’ve witnessed, maybe you would be swayed.”

  “I won’t be.”

  “I have to try anyway, Atticus.”

  "We lack the manpower to undertake such a task. We don't have enough sorcerers trained in combat."

  "The best fighters are forged in battle," Warren said from the doorway.

  "And so too are corpses made. You have more than enough dragons and beastmen at your disposal, Arthur. Leave our families out of it.”

  “You don’t understand. In the world that I know, almost all of your kind are dead. Your son is the sole heir of your bloodline, outnumbered and overwhelmed by the legacy you left for him, Atticus. If you have a shred of decency or courage in you, fight with us.”

  “No.” Atticus rose with a jerk to his feet, assisted by a staff disguised as a cane. “And that is my final decision.”

  Sadness filled Warren’s eyes as his father left the room. At that moment, Nimue realized he was aware of his father’s impending death and far from prepared to take over as the family leader. Her tiny, frozen heart felt sorrow for him.

  She blamed Arthur for that. He’d made her too human.

  “We’ll come,” Warren said quietly. “My brother and I have already discussed it following Merlin’s previous visit. We all agree that this isn’t a fight we can ignore. We sent out a call abroad to our cousins in England. A few should be here by tomorrow.”

  “Excellent. I knew I could count on you. But what about your father?”

  “He may disagree with our choices, but he’ll forgive us in the end for defying him. After Merlin parted from our company, I took the liberty of speaking to the other households in Decima. Father was correct when he suggested we are a
majority of non-combatants—”

  “Fuck,” escaped Arthur in a harsh breath.

  Warren held up a hand. “I am not, which you surely know by now. And once Ben and his cousin Etienne arrive, we’ll have two more living torches.”

  “All right.”

  “As for the other families, there are other ways to provide magical assistance.”

  “Which are?”

  “A weapon.”

  The devious smile on Warren’s lips should have worried Arthur. Familiarity with the spellcaster set his heart at ease. “What do you need from me?”

  “Excalibur. I need her for only four days.”

  Arthur loathed the separation from his sword, but he trusted Warren to treat Excalibur right. She’d been the first gift he ever received from Nimue, crafted by her magic for a king.

  “Wizard magic varies from fae magic,” Nimue explained as they emerged from the portal in California.

  “I don’t understand how they can do anything more for Excalibur that you couldn’t do.”

  “Think of it this way. Do you like toast with jam?”

  “Yes, who doesn’t? I’m not a heathen.”

  “Do you like peanut butter?”

  “Yes.” His vacant stare told her he wasn’t catching on yet.

  “They’re quite different, but when you put them together, you have a distinct improvement. They accent one another.”

  “Why hasn’t Merlin improved the bloody sword then?”

  “He’s only one wizard, Arthur. This will be the combined effort of an entire Circle. Men who work together are capable of amazing things. There is no stronger magic than that among humanity.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “You know that I am.”

  As she raised her chin, head tilted to kiss him, Arthur leaned down to meet her. They joined hands halfway and laced their fingers, and the sweet memories flooded him at once.

  Nearly a thousand years and he’d yet to tell the woman how she made him feel.

  The Arthur of the past was a fool of the highest magnitude, and he hated how long he’d wasted time without showing his appreciation for her loyalty and support.

  “Nim, I need to say something. Now, before we join the others.” Because if he didn’t say it now, he’d lose his nerve.

  “Yes?” She gazed up at him through the cinnamon-hued lashes veiling her bright eyes.

  “Being here with you now has made me realize how many things I’ve neglected to tell you.” He could have spent the evening kissing her, curled beside her in bed, or in their favorite glade. He wondered if the forest where they once met existed anymore or if it had been flattened by spreading civilization. “Nimue, you’re—”

  “Shh!” escaped Nimue in a sharp and sudden whisper. Her body tensed, reminiscent of an alarmed cat. “Something is wrong.”

  Danger rippled across his senses and buzzed over his skin, raising every hair on his bare arms. “I feel it too.”

  A sensation, both familiar and sinister, crawled over the back of his scalp and pierced his brain.

  What he felt was the familiar presence of two former knights of the round table, Sir Bedivere and Sir Pelleas, only their once-friendly auras had been smothered by the filth of the Titans. The former had a bow and arrow trained on Arthur, and the second had a long rifle in his hands.

  Both men had seen better days. The evil of their divine benefactors had stained their souls, but it manifested outwardly as well. It showed in the sallowness of their skin, the cold emptiness in their eyes, and the blackening of their armor.

  “It’s Bedivere and Pelleas!” he cried a split-second before the arrow should have punctured his chest. He dove to the side and took Nimue with him behind the tree for cover as a hail of gunfire pelted the trunk and obliterated dry bark.

  “They use guns now?”

  “Aren’t you familiar with them from the future?”

  “Fuck no. They were dead in my timeline.”

  “Then, let’s make them dead in this one.”

  I knew there was a reason I love her.

  Yet, as the thought raced through his mind, Arthur knew he loved her for a dozen more reasons. She melted from his protective embrace and vanished from sight in the way of the elusive fae, stepping back into the shadow they cast in the waning evening sun.

  Seconds later, the first snowflake fell. Before he could take another breath, millions more accompanied it in the start of a white-out blizzard. He didn’t see where she’d gone, but he knew she had to be near with a bird’s eye vantage point to cast her winter storm.

  “Thanks, Nim.”

  He thought he heard her whisper, “Don’t mention it,” in the storm’s wind.

  When it came to fighting alongside Nimue, Arthur knew he didn’t need to defend her from har, but his protective nature forced him to seek her out just the same and keep tabs on her whereabouts. He’d need to now that Excalibur wasn’t in his possession. He could summon it in a blink, but it occurred to him that if the wizards were in the midst of some delicate magical ritual, he could cause them, or even himself, irreversible harm.

  I gotta do this the old-fashioned way, he thought before shedding the human form for his draconic body. Denim burst and cotton shredded as he expanded and his popping joints adjusted. Bone snapped and realigned.

  Arthur always hated that initial flash of painless discomfort that occurred, a disorienting feeling whenever he shifted and grew in stature far above his human height. At least his current body evened the score. Moments ago, had his assailants’ aim been accurate, his human corpse would be sprawled across the ground.

  They were once brothers.

  Arthur tried pushing it out of his head.

  Lunging toward them crossed a hundred yards in two bounds of his powerful legs. By then, the men had exchanged long-distance weapons for their swords and shields.

  The powerful articles still pulsed with magic, and unfortunately, those magical weapons had been attuned to defeat dragons. For centuries they had trained and mastered the art of defeating dragons, and now that Arthur was one of them, that skill was to his detriment.

  Arthur had one advantage in his favor, however.

  He had also trained to defeat dragons, and because he’d fought with these men for centuries, he knew them.

  He just couldn’t allow them to touch him with those blades.

  Their battle became a dance of swords and claws. Without a shield or even a weapon to fend them off that wasn’t attached to his own flesh, Arthur ripped a tree out of the ground with his teeth, and it became his only defense.

  Bedivere ducked the first mighty swing, but Pelleas wasn’t as quick. He hit the ground a good ten feet away. It only took him a moment to roll back to his feet. Arthur’s only regret was that his claws hadn’t torn the man open from chin to dick.

  That vision both amused and fueled him. With his tree as a makeshift shield, he charged in again. Bedivere deflected Arthur’s attack with his shield and jabbed with the sword in a move Arthur anticipated. By then, Pelleas was on his feet again, only to face a thousand icicles blowing in.

  “The blasted fucking fae,” the Titan puppet snarled. “I’ll tear her to pieces and feed her to Pazuzu bite by bite.”

  Only if you catch her first. Arthur had faith Nimue would run circles around the enraged knight, so he focused on Bedivere.

  “The great and mighty Arthur, back to save the day,” the knight sneered. “We don’t need a king. We haven’t for a long time. Especially not one who has become a beast himself.”

  It was a baiting tactic, pure and simple. Arthur didn’t give the fallen knight the satisfaction of a reply, refusing to be drawn into such an obvious trick. He deflected another blow with the tree, but the negative energies pervading Bedivere’s sword caused the wood to rot and crumble away.

  “Fight me!” Bedivere roared. He had always been one of the strongest knights, quick and skilled with his blade. The angry, impatient man was nothing like the knight he
once knew. That man was already dead.

  The knowledge freed Arthur to act without guilt or regret. He spat the tree aside, much to his opponent’s visible satisfaction.

  One mighty sweep of his massive wings pushed Arthur temporarily out of harm’s way as he inhaled and filled his lungs with air. The sensation of pressure in his chest built. He drew in more air, more oxygen to power the organ working overtime to produce his dragon’s breath. His chest ached from the massive effort to contain it, but he didn’t let up, even as every instinct screamed to release the flames.

  Bedivere came in close, driven by fury, and raised his sword over his head.

  Sacrifice.

  Arthur could not block the hit if he wanted to deal a solid blow to his opponent. His tail maneuvered around and collided against Bedivere with the force needed to break through his armor and shatter ribs at the exact moment the knight’s blade slipped through his chest. It came perilously close to reaching his heart, and he thought distantly at the back of his mind that a few feet more would be the end of him.

  But it was definitely the end for Bedivere. Got you.

  Flames poured from Arthur’s toothy maw, laced with the occasional bolt of dazzling lightning. One struck Bedivere as if his body were a homing beacon. He jolted in place and twisted in the flames. Once the electricity caught him, his defenses fell, and the rushing jet of flames that followed set him ablaze from head to toe.

  Arthur didn’t let up. Even when his chest hurt from the exhaustion of so much dragon’s breath at once, he refused to stop until the very end when he felt Nimue’s small hand on one of his claws.

  Everything Arthur knew, everything he had seen, it all boiled down to one moment of white-hot frenzy, and all he wanted was to consume what remained of his prey. He wanted to gnash Bedivere’s bones into a red paste, he wanted to—

  Nimue’s touch quelled the rage. One touch from her brought him back to who he was. Shaking his head as if it could cast away the disorienting feeling, Arthur shrank down again, half out of sorts from the expenditure. Nimue caught him against her in a tender embrace.