Page 35 of Queen Takes Camelot: Gwen
That alone steeled my determination. I needed Merlin’s bond. I needed him whole and powerful in my Blood. And yeah, maybe I wanted to prove myself just as capable—if not more so—than his beloved queen whom I resembled so very little.
I closed my fingers around his nape, slipping a little in the black oil that coated his skin. Before I could think about it too much, I leaned down and sank my fangs into his throat. For a moment, I was afraid my fangs would just glance off his body. He might look sharp and hard, but his flesh gave way just like Lance’s or Bors’.
However, his blood didn’t taste like blood at all. Searingly hot, his blood was thick like honey and slightly bitter. Dark chocolate without any sugar. Tea or coffee that had brewed too long and almost burned dry. A bit charred, like ash.
But there was also a wildness that intoxicated me. Sultry heat and darkest temptation. Black velvet and satin, sweat and pain and blood.
Forbidden pleasure. The kind of pain that was oh-so good, almost too much, dancing along that line of agony and bliss.
:Gwen,:Shara’s voice whispered inside me so faintly that I almost couldn’t hear her at all.:Mordred’s in trouble.:
I jerked my head up, shaking off the lingering sensation of velvet crawling through my veins. I tried to find Mordred’s bond, but it was so faint. So thin. I’d assumed that was because of the veil, but what if he was hurt? Badly? “We need to get back. Now. Mordred’s in danger.”
Which meant that Arthur had returned, despite our belief he’d be with Tiamat long enough for me to slip past Elaine to free Merlin.
Merlin caught my hand and slipped a thin ring onto the ring finger on my right hand. “The weapon that will defeat Arthur, my queen. Forged in fae magic, the same as Excalibur.”
The ring looked impossibly old, the design faded as if someone had worn it for hundreds of years. I could barely make out two clasped hands.
“It’s a fede ring, a symbol of eternal friendship or love. If you can get close to Arthur, touch this ring to his.”
“That’s it?” Bors said doubtfully. “You don’t want us to cut off his entire hand or something?”
Merlin gnashed his teeth in a ghastly sound that sent chills down my spine. “You’re welcome to try, Sir Bors, but methinks it’ll be difficult to cut off anything when you’re half a dozen pieces in his gullet. The only one we know for sure he won’t eat at first glance is our queen.”
“That’s far from reassuring,” Lance grumbled. “Goddess only knows what he’ll do to her before she can touch the rings.”
Panic trembled the foundations of my mind. If Mordred was dead… If my Blood were already being picked off one by one…
No.I stiffened my spine and pushed my fear and doubt away. Shara had managed to warn me, so I could return in time to save him. Arthur wouldn’t want him dead right away. He’d use him somehow.
Bait.
And the only place he’d want me to go…
I turned to Lance and cupped his cheek. “Can I convince you to stay here until this is finished?”
His eyes flared with shock that I would even think to ask such a thing. “You know I cannot. I will not. Use me, my queen. If the opportunity arises, let me be a decoy so you can get closer to Arthur. Once he’s dealt with, I know you can undo whatevershehas done.”
Could I, though? You couldn’t undo mental and emotional trauma. I might be able to heal his body, but his mind was already damaged from abuse she’d dealt him in previous lifetimes.
“I can handle the Lady of Shadows,” Merlin said with a particularly nasty grin.
“Right,” Bors drawled, deliberately shuddering. “So we exit from the Chalice Well. Arthur will be waiting with her. Mordred’s probably injured pretty badly, though he managed to get word to the Isador queen. Merlin’s going to entertainher. What do you want Lance and I to do in order to get you close enough to Arthur?”
“We annoy the fuck out of him,” Lance said. “He can’t abide the mere sight of me.”
My mind raced a moment. Something tickled the back of my mind. A memory. Or maybe something Lance had said to me once. I watched as one of the white butterflies hovered in front of me, trying to still my mind so I could think.
Its wings were as large as my palm and paper thin. I thought it was mostly white, but as I looked closer, I noticed spots of red scattered among the delicate wings and fuzz of its body. Like drops of blood splattered on snow. The butterfly flickered, going almost completely transparent, wings drooping and fluttering weakly.
As if it needed to feed.
I lifted my hand, letting it rest on my palm. Bending my thumb closer to it, I silently offered it the same wound I’d offered Merlin. I didn’t bleed much now, but there was still a drop of blood welling on the pad of my thumb.
Its little legs gripped my thumb, surprisingly firm and scratchy. It jerked closer and I yelped and jumped.
The little fucker bit me. Hard. As if it had tarantula fangs.
