Page 12 of Captivated
All the endless heartache and sorrows of a thousand years. Countless deaths at Arthur’s hands. Yet he came to me with the hope that this time…
Maybe he would reach me, and hold me, just for a moment before he died. That would be enough.
Arthur smiled with an awful, wicked glee. He raised his hands, vicious black claws lengthening on each finger.
I gripped the crescent moon and sliced my palm open. I needed more blood, but I knew from experience that even slitting my own throat wouldn’t provide enough power to force him off Lancelot.
Shara surged inside me, pushing so much power into me that I started to sag beneath the weight of it. Someone grabbed me, an arm around my waist, helping me stand, as our queen poured through me. I surrendered to her, letting her work through my body as much as she could. Her power exploded in a geyser and wrapped around Arthur’s throat like a mighty fist.
“You cannot kill me, Isis,” he growled, tearing at the magic trying to strangle him. “This is not your battle.”
Shara’s voice came out of my mouth. “Gwenhwyvar Findabair carries my blood, and so she carries Isis’s blood as well. If you interfere with her, then itismy battle.”
He jerked his left hand up in front of his face, and the dragon ring spewed some kind of noxious taint into the air. It dissolved Shara’s magical hold on him and he sneered at me, his perfect white teeth sharpening into dragon fangs. Shara’s flood of power slowed to a trickle, allowing me to straighten slightly, though now I was worried about her. What the fuck was that black stuff? Had it hurt her in some way?
A crowd of New Yorkers had gathered with their phones out. They would capture him shifting into a dragon in live videos, or worse, murdering my Blood on the sidewalk steps from reaching me. I could hear Lance’s pounding footsteps. He was close.
Arthur was too strong. If even Shara couldn’t stop him…
A gun went off beside me. My ears roared with the retort.
Arthur flinched and turned with a snarl, focusing on…
I turned my head slowly, stunned to see Kevin standing beside me with a handgun held steadily, ready to fire again. He was the one who’d come to my side and supported me. I was grateful, definitely, but what the fuck did he think he was doing?
A gun wouldn’t stop the Once and Future King. Certainly not a single shot.
I heard the unmistakable sound of swords being drawn even over the ringing in my ears. Lance raised a heavy broadsword in both hands over his shoulder as he ran to me. His mouth opened on a wordless shout. He charged into battle as he always did, without thought or concern for himself.
Only me. Protect me. At all cost.
Kevin shot again, striking Arthur in the other shoulder. He jerked to the side with the impact, a grimace on his face. He started to laugh, shaking his head with amusement. But his laughter cut off on a curse.
He rubbed at the spreading blood and hissed. Smoke started to rise up from beneath his suit jacket.
“Silver bullets,” Kevin said. “It won’t kill him, but it’ll hurt like a bitch until he can dig them out.”
Arthur glared at us, cast a look around at the throng of onlookers, and whirled on his heel to stride away in the opposite direction.
I sagged with relief against Kevin. “We did it. Goddess above, I didn’t think it was possible to hold him off.”
My knights slowed as they approached the circle. I read the hesitation in Lance’s eyes. He wanted to come to me first, but the warrior in him insisted he go after Arthur while he was wounded and take any advantage we had to try and kill him.
But we’d lived this battle over and over and over. If he went after Arthur now…
He’d die. And then I’d die without him. Like countless times before.
“Lance.” I started toward him, my steps unsteady. Kevin kept an arm around my waist, moving with me. I quickened my pace, desperate to reach my knight. To bring him inside the circle. To touch him. Kiss him. Taste him. Running the last few steps, I threw myself into his arms. He clutched me against him and lifted me off my feet.
My body knew him, every fiber and texture of his muscles. His height. His smell. Leather and sandalwood. His tawny hair wasn’t as long as Guinevere insisted it should be, but I knew he’d have a gorgeous lion mane when he shifted.
He squeezed me so hard I couldn’t breathe. Blindly, I turned my face toward his, unable to see for the tears. I didn’t need to see him to find his mouth.
I inhaled his lips, drinking down his groan. His cheeks were rough with stubble. He’d been traveling for days, racing across the globe to find me. Against all odds, he was here. Alive. And I couldn’t get enough of him. I stroked the bare skin of his throat and hunger blazed in me.
His blood would undo me.
I’d never wanted anything more in my life.
