Page 24 of Queen Takes Camelot: Gwen
Rolling my head side to side and loosening my shoulders, I stepped into the open space in the center of her bedchamber. Bors paused long enough to shuck his boots and pants. If we couldn’t wear full chainmail and armor as knights of old, we typically fought naked. It certainly made what came after easier if we were already nude, and neither of us cared to pause in the middle of our spar to remove our clothes so we could fuck.
I laid my sword down on the foot of her bed to free my hands. “You don’t want to challenge me into slicing off those jeans inch by inch this time?”
Bors grinned as I unbuttoned my pants and toed off my boots. “Fuck, no. I like these jeans. I would have killed to have a pair as comfortable back in the day. Leather chafes like a mofo.”
I pulled the T-shirt over my head and grunted in agreement. “This modern world does have some conveniences.”
“Did Guinevere ever watch you fight each other like this?” Gwen’s sultry voice drew my attention to her. Mordred sat in the middle of her bed, leaning back against the headboard, with our queen braced between his thighs so she could see the show.
Not that he cared in the slightest about watching us spar, when our queen’s perfect body beckoned. He cupped her breasts in each hand, his fingers lazily rolling her nipples. Nuzzling her throat, licking behind her ear, gently teasing with his fangs. I could feel the buzz of pleasure in her bond. Her rising desire as he diligently stoked the flames in her body.
The scent of her need drove foot-long spikes in my skull. Goddess help me when I smelled her blood.
“Naked as a jaybird?” Bors drawled. “Never. Arthur would have been apoplectic at the thought.”
I bared my teeth at him and let out a rumbling growl. “Don’t say his fucking name.”
Standing loose and casual in the center of the room, Bors almost managed to look bored. “Arthur fucking Pendragon? That name?”
Hairline cracks splintered across my control. I gritted my teeth, fighting to beat down the beast before it could slip free. Even though that was exactly what Bors wanted most of all. “I’ll wipe that fucking name off your mouth with my fist.”
“Be my guest.”
My blood pumped. Mighty wings unfurled. Poisoned tail arched inside me, vicious tip ready to attack. Claws unsheathed.
The manticore bellowed a challenge, eager for battle.
So much of my legendary image was a complete sham. Lancelot, the famed knight, honorable and chivalrous to a fault. The cool, collected warrior who rode the countryside doing good deeds. A shining example of the Round Table.
All lies. All fairy tales as wild and far-fetched as King Arthur being the lauded king who united Briton with goodness and law.
This was me. The real me.
The cracks widened. Teeth bared, I seized my sword and charged my best friend and closest companion as if I was going to behead him.
* * *
GWEN
In the centuries since I’d matured as a queen, though forbidden to call my Blood, I’d fantasized about my knights. I’d imagined them donning armor and swords to fight once again, even if only for my amusement. But in all those delicious daydreams in nearly four hundred years, I’d never been able to conjure anything quite like this.
My two knights. Naked. Aroused. Sweating. Furiously beating each other in a flurry of swords and fists that I could barely follow.
Light and fast on his feet, Lance blurred every time he moved. I couldn’t even keep my eyes on him. It was easier to watch the way Bors reacted. His head snapping back after Lance’s fist collided with his mouth as promised. His sword flashing as he tried to deflect Lance’s blows. I flinched at the clash and screech of metal on metal, braced for blood.
My power rose inside me, stirred both by my arousal—and my fear that I might need to heal one of them before this was over.
But to my shock, no cuts appeared on Bors’ chest, even when I knew that Lance had struck him. I couldn’t follow the sword as it rose and fell, but Bors staggered back and doubled over, his breath wheezing. So the blow had landed.
Mordred’s breath was hot in my ear. “They didn’t dare bleed for fear another Aima would smell them and recognize who they were.”
“They didn’t feed?” My voice trembled, my breath catching on a soft sigh as his fingers glided down my stomach. “At all?”
“They learned to feed in other ways.” He gripped my earlobe in his teeth, letting the tips of his fangs prick my skin without drawing blood. “Sex. Violence. They feed on it as surely as they’ll cease trading blows as soon as they catch the scent of your blood. Shall I prove it for you, my queen?”
I opened my thighs wider, arching up against his hand. “Yes.”
“Watch them,” he whispered, licking my ear. “See how quickly they come to you.”
