Chapter 16

Mordred delighted in these sparring matches of theirs. He could easily overpower Gwendolyn if he wished—he was three times her size and had centuries of practice. But it was more fun to let her gain a few inches of ground only to take it away. Especially because he knew he was not alone in his love of the game.

Gwendolyn put on a good show of being frustrated with him as she wrestled out of his grasp. But the flush to her cheeks and the desire in her eyes told him another story. That, and she never once said stop or no. She knew she could end their dance in the blink of an eye if she wished it.

But she wanted the struggle, the same as he did. When he captured her throat in his grasp and pulled her against him, her back flush to his chest, she went slack for a moment, her breath leaving her in a wavering rush.

When he dug his claws into her skin, just hard enough for her to feel it without breaking the surface, she shivered in his grasp. Vanishing the armor from his other hand, he slid it between her legs beneath the water, wasting no time in teasing her with his touch.

"Thorn will be dead within the week," he murmured into her ear, deeply enjoying the juxtaposition of their situation. "I will find her camp and lay waste to her and her insipid minions. She has made too many attempts on both our lives."

"And—and then what?" Her voice was husky as she writhed, her back arching as he continued his ministrations. "What about—" Her words broke off as he sank a finger into her.

Chuckling at her reaction, he kissed her cheek. "The Gossamer Lady? Well…you told me of her designs upon the throne, and worse still her attempt to kill you. She is an enemy and must be treated as such."

"But—" She didn't get out her words again. He was being cruel, sinking a finger into her each time she went to argue with him. She moaned, her body clenching down around the invading digits as pleasure lanced through her. "—Galahad."

"He will make his own choices." Mordred was not thrilled at the idea of putting the Knight in Gold to the blade. His oldest companion was the only elemental he would let live, should he give his word never to interfere. But the noblest of all of Arthur's knights would not stand idly by. Not after Mordred ended his lover.

Gwendolyn went to protest again. He released her, if only briefly, to turn her around to face him. He yanked her up onto his lap, so she was straddling his thighs. When she went to strike him, he caught her wrists in his hands and pulled her arms behind her back.

The glare she was giving him was doing anything but dissuading him.

"You're an asshole."

"And you love it." He kissed her, searing and rough. He wanted her to feel him. Feel everything that he was. Feel the creature she had given her heart to, and whose heart she had stolen. Summoning a chain around her wrists, he cradled the back of her head in his clawed gauntlet, deepening the embrace.

She moaned against his lips. Taking that as encouragement, he grasped her by the hip, perhaps a little tighter than he had intended, and ground her body against his own desire that was trapped between them.

When he broke the kiss, her eyes were shut. "The chain is cheating." Her protest was half-hearted as he won her over.

"You can remove it. You know how. It is by that same means you intend to stop me, after all." He pulled her against him again, giving them both a hint of the wonderful friction they would soon share.

Her eyes fluttered open as she watched him, startled. "I?—"

"Do not deny it. You will use your power over iron to hurt me, should I go too far in your eyes. But I ask you…are you capable of killing me, my firefly? Will you end my life to save those who despise you?" He kept up the tortuous dance. The mix of warring emotions on her features was breathtaking.

"I—" Her eyes searched his, flicking back and forth, as she sought to try to find an answer. "I don't know—" she finally admitted in an exhale.

"Honesty at last." He shifted both his hands to her hips, scooping her up. He was done with their teasing game. "How refreshing."

Gwendolyn opened her mouth, likely to levy more insults at him. But the words never escaped, as he pulled her back down to him in the water, burying his length into her to the hilt in one brutal stroke. It was enough to bring her to a peak of ecstasy, her body spasming around him, threatening to end him too soon.

Growling in his throat, he struggled to maintain control. She was so perfect, the way she fit him. Her plaintive, quiet wail of pleasure was just as damning as the sensation of her. But he would not end their dance so soon. He refused.

When she came down from her high, he began the dance, lifting her in the water and pulling her back to him. The movements were painfully slow and as forceful as he could make them without causing her real harm. The noise she made each time he impacted her was like music to his ears.

All words had left her. That was for the best. He was done arguing. The elementals would die—the choice was hers as to which side to take. His, or theirs.

Could his firefly take his life?

He knew he would not stop her if she did.

His life was hers—and in service to hers—even if she did not wish to see it that way. The King in Iron would reign to keep his Queen of Flames alight. And if she deemed him worthy of death, he would accept his fate.

Life without her would be far worse.

She sought his lips, kissing him even as she desperately tried to catch her breath between impacts. He greedily accepted the embrace. But it was not long before he could tell she was at the limit of how much abuse she could take. How many times her pleasure crashed over her and receded like the tide, he did not know. He had lost count.

When she breathed his name, begging, pleading, he took pity on her. On them both. He pulled her close, and drove into her one last time, burying his cry of release into the crook of her shoulder.

By the Ancients, he loved her.

He loved her and he would kill the world for her.

"Ow." Gwen hissed through her teeth, wincing in pain. This was her fault. It really was. She was the idiot who had asked someone who could bend steel rebar in his bare hands to give her a neck massage.

First, she had to explain what a massage was. She had given him a neck rub first, trying to show him how it was done.

Then it was his turn. And to say that he was approaching it like he was trying to open walnuts in his hands was putting it mildly.

"Easy on the leverage, crusher." She leaned into his touch, trying to ease off the pressure. "You're trying to rub the tendons, not rip them out."

Mordred wasn't exactly skilled, but he was a fast learner. He eased off, and Gwen could breathe again. After their rather bruising "fight," she demanded he make it up to her. And since she had already brought the wine, this was how she decided he'd pay it back to her.

It was also a great distraction from what he was planning to do. Killing Thorn was one thing. The "prickly" elemental was a problem and was going to continue to be a problem. Gwen could…reluctantly agree that her death was probably inevitable.

The only way Gwen could save her would be to kill Mordred. And there were some trades she wasn't willing to make. The question was—where was the line? How far could he go before she had to stop him?

He'd asked her if she had it in her to kill him. And, confronted with that? She realized she didn't really know. It was like being asked if she'd jump on a grenade to protect others. Nobody really knew how they'd react until the crisis was on them. And she wasn't looking forward to finding out.

Leaning back against Mordred's chest, she reached for the second bottle of wine that they'd fetched and refilled her mug. She wasn't drunk enough yet. She didn't want to get blasted, but she wanted to be just a little fluffier. "Can we come up with some kind of deal?"

"Like what?" He kissed the top of her head before refilling his own clay mug from the bottle. "I would entertain a bargain."

Her heavy sigh made him chuckle.

"When you come up with one, I will listen." He took a sip from his mug. "But that will require you to invent one, first."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." She drank from her mug. "I need time for that. Can we…delay your genocidal murder spree? Just a little?"

Mordred hummed. "Let it never be said that I am unreasonable. Very well. Thorn will die tomorrow. Then I will give you one month until I strike at the others—time enough for you to convince me to spare them."

She turned around to face him. "Really?" A month was more time than she'd been afforded by anybody lately.

"If we are attacked, those who transgressed will be dealt with." His tone left no question about how he planned to do the dealing. "Understood?"

"Yeah." She sighed. "One month. Gives us time to train the villagers—and by us, I mean you." She grinned, teasing him. "And…a month for me to figure out how I'm going to talk you out of this." Or decide to kill you instead.

God, that hurt her. It felt like a punch to the gut every single time she even thought the words. No, she wasn't ready to do that yet. Maybe not ever.

And the future of Avalon hung on her decision.

Galahad followed his wife as she led him deep through the wilds of Avalon. She had opened a portal for them, taking them somewhere he did not recognize. It was not because the area was unusual—it was the opposite. This seemed like any other glade on the isle. A clearing, separated from a field by a sparse set of shrubs.

A large boulder was the only defining element that made this area of the woods remarkable enough that he might recognize it a second time. That being said, it was nothing more than a normal rock. He could not for the life of him say why Zoe had brought them there. But he knew better than to ask. All would become clear in time.

Zoe fluttered her wings. They shimmered in the moonlight, reminding him of the stars themselves, as she settled down to the grass in front of the stone. She smiled at it. "The heart of Avalon's magic."

"It is… a rock."

Zoe glanced at him over her shoulder. "Yes. I am aware." She smiled. "It is not the first time a stone has come into focus in our lore." She placed her hand on the surface of the stone. "It was from this place that I drew Caliburn, so long ago. A piece of Avalon itself—a shard of the bleeding heart of this island. And it was to this place that its magic returned when Mordred sundered the blade." She turned to face him. "And from here I shall call forth that power again."

Galahad felt a coldness settle over him. "You plan to wield the blade?"

"Yes." She lifted her chin. "For I am the rightful Queen of Avalon. The blade and the crown are mine to claim. It is time that this world has the ruler it deserves. I had hoped that Mordred would become that which Arthur wished him to be. But now I see it shall never come to pass."

This was a terrible idea. Even wielding the ancient blade of Avalon, it was dangerous. Zoe was powerful, but she was not invincible. Gwendolyn had proven that well enough. Could his love stand against Mordred and the new witch and their respective armies?

And would he join her at her side?

Or, could he stop her if he wished—could he drive a dagger into her heart?

By all the old ones and all the Ba'na'ir of his people, he knew he could not. To kill her would be to destroy himself. He had sworn himself to her, and he could not fail her now.

A gentle hand rested against his cheek. He opened his eyes and met the magenta-pink orbs of hers, so full of love. So full of compassion. She would rule Avalon with kindness. It meant destroying Mordred and Gwendolyn—and that was a tragedy he would bear until the end of his days.

But his choice had been made.

Now, he must play his part.

He dropped to one knee in front of the Gossamer Lady and bowed his head.

"Mordred must not be given time to rally any forces." Zoe drifted away, back to the stone. "Let us begin now."