Page 42 of Lifeblood

“Fine,” Mordred said. “Most of the forces are concentrated on the front gates. They came to take the palace, not sneak in.” He waved us on to follow him and shadows warped around us in a protective cocoon.

“So there’s no way out,” Gareth said.

My brow furrowed. “No way out? You guys don’t have a second exit?”

“No,” they said in unison.

“Excuse me?” I asked. What the hell sort of shit plan was that?

“It’ssupposedto be protected,” Mordred said as he began charging forward. Gareth and I had to run to keep up and stay within the bubble of Mordred’s darkness.

“I’ve heard that before,” I muttered under my breath.

Gareth shot me a look, to which I shoved a metaphorical foot in my mouth. We’d just absolutelyworked outthat issue. No need to bring it back up.

We ran through the corridors, taking down the attacking mages and wraiths as we went. A few fae appeared out of thin air, their invisibility illusions aiding their sneakiness, but Gareth’s fire curled around them. Once revealed, Mordred and I took turns blinding and destroying them, Mordred with rather violent tendrils of shadow that seemed to have enough weight to them to attack.

Every staff member we passed by thanked us profusely before running to hide. I even stopped to heal a few who’d been caught in the crossfire. The demons thanked me and then got on their way to safety.

We made it all the way past the great hall and to the front gates outside the palace before running into our first big issue: literal waves of supernaturals banging on the door. Fighting Tristan and Lance and a few demon guards. The two kings were doing their best—and it was more than I’d seen them do in the great hall during the first attack.

Tristan’s very touch seemed to turn skin to stone, leaving some attackers as statues, and Lance worked magic and plants alike to ensnare and then magical, rainbow-colored energy to destroy his assailants. But sweat beaded along their brows, and the supernaturals just kept coming. From where? I couldn’t see over the protective wall around the castle. The only place theycouldhave come from was the shore.

Gareth, Mordred, and I jumped into the action, a move that positioned me fighting equidistant between the four demon kings. Just, I thought, the way they’d like it.

“You guys really pissed off Morgan le Fay, huh?” I shouted over the chaos, mostly to drive home the factshewas attacking in case there was a need to contradict me and explain I’d gotten it wrong.

“Funny,” Lance remarked dryly as a plant wrapped around a witch’s ankle and pulled. Her eyes went wide as she slammed against the stone ground, then she clutched her face.

“No, no,” she cried. “I want to seeher. The lifeblood.”

Lance held out a hand to the crying witch—but not to help her. Instead, he started drawing his nails down her cheeks. “Be careful what you wish to see, witch. Especially in my presence.”

The darkness in his voice. The tightness and stress in his eyes. I’d not yet seen this side of Lance. And when our eyes met, when the look in his eyes sent a cold shiver down my spine, I knew I never wanted to again.

“She’s here,” Mordred declared. “Somewhere distant. I can feel her.”

“Yeah,” Tristan agreed. He stopped to look around, missing a wraith attack by inches. I leaped toward him and dispersed the wraith with light. He turned to me and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Fuckinghell,” Gareth exclaimed. I was ready for it to be a jealously thing again, but when Tristan and I turned to him, I realized what had him so shocked.

Through the fighting, I could just see the entrance to the tunnel that went under the water and appeared again on the shore. Out of it walked a figure clad in medieval armor unlike anything I’d ever seen in person—except for his head, where a lack of helmet revealed his identity to at least Gareth. Then the others paused too and cursed.

“What?” I asked, trying to place the man’s face in my memory. Blond hair. It was impossible to tell eye color from here. “Who is it?” Orwhat.

Tristan walked toward the tunnel ahead of the others, his mouth open in shock. “I don’t…”

“Tristan,” Lance warned as he grabbed Tristan’s arm.

“It’s not possible,” Tristan argued. “I would know. It’s not—”

The man in armor let out a war cry and started running, sword brandished in hand before him. A longsword glittering in jewels.

Mordred appeared and pushed me behind him. “Stay away. This is a trick to distract us.” But his hands trembled, revealing nearly zero actual surety in his body compared to his words.

“It’s clearly working.”

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