He laughed mirthlessly. “I am certain he will tell you the tale tomorrow. I suppose it would be time for you to fully grasp the truth of who I am.” He turned to her, and before she could retreat, he closed the distance between them. Hooking his claw through the front of her metal necklace, he yanked her roughly away from the wall, sending her staggering into him. She had to grab him to keep from planting straight into his chest.
Smirking down at her, he tightened his grasp. “You should fear me.”
Searching his rust-colored eyes, she knew he was probably right. Sure, he was scary as hell, but she didn’t think that was really the core of the problem. “Why do you want me to hate you?”
He flinched. But he didn’t retreat. “Because it is inevitable.”
“Maybe that’s true.” She met his molten gaze. “But I get to make my own choices. I’ll decide whether or not I hate or fear you.”
He wrapped an arm around her lower back and pulled her flush against him. He was wearing his armor that was part of him, but it felt no less firm than it should have. It was cold against her skin. “Who is the one who holds your leash, firefly? Who is the one who has sent you here? Give me his name.”
She had promised not to lie to him. “I don’t know. He won’t tell me.”
He hummed. “Then he is no fool.” The claw that was hooked into her necklace released her to trace the sharp point up along her cheek. She shuddered, her arms breaking out in goosebumps at the sensation.
He rested his thumb against the hollow of her chin, the point of the talon pricking her lower lip. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. He smelled sharp and metallic, but also had the hint of sandalwood and spices about him.
Her head was spinning. “I…”
Just as quickly as he was there, he was gone. He took a step away from her and gestured for the exit. “Go on, firefly. Before you faint again.”
Her heart was pounding in her ears. She didn’t argue. Heading for the hallway as fast as she could, she made it a hundred feet before she fell against the wall, struggling to fill her lungs. Damn it. Damn it all.
But it hadn’t just been fear that had been to blame for her racing heart or her hasty retreat.
It was the fact that he had looked like he was going to kiss her.
And she had wanted him to.
I am so screwed.
FOURTEEN
Gwen spent the next hour pacing the keep. Sure, she was exploring. But mostly she was just wandering. She didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted to storm up to Mordred and slap him for being such a shithead. Part of her wanted to kiss him. Or more accurately, havehimkissher.
The other part wanted to see if she could make a break for it and run for her life.
What she needed to be doing was earning the prince’s trust so she could convince him to take the damn necklace off permanently. But could she win his confidence just to turn around and break it? Did she honestly have a choice?
If she didn’t…he’d cram her in the Crystal with everyone else. Wouldn’t he? He was just waiting to learn the secret of the jackass cat.
Her feet were starting to get sore when she gave up her incessant wandering and decided to flop down in a fluffy chair in a library. She wrapped a fur blanket around herself and glared at the cold, unlit fireplace.
Stupid Avalon being cold all the time. She shivered.
“Can you not light it?”
Jolting in surprise, she looked up. It was Lancelot. The silver knight smiled lopsidedly down at her. He, like all of Mordred’s knights and the prince himself, was attractive. She wondered if all of Arthur’s knights had been lookers. But Lancelot had thatdashing,knight-in-shining-armor thing down to a T. She supposed he should, he likely invented the vibe.
“No.” She tapped the necklace. “And even if I could try, I’d probably just succeed in burning the whole dumb building down instead.”
Lancelot laughed. “I meant with a striker, you silly thing.” He walked over to the fire and knelt.
“Oh.” Now she really did feel like an idiot. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve tried that first.”
He shook his head, still chuckling, as he lit the fire and puffed on it to get the cinders going. “Cold tends to cling to this place. And you will be more sensitive to it than most, given your nature.”
“Yay, me.”