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When he finally allowed them both to breathe, her chest was heaving as she tried to fill her lungs with air. “Mordred, I…”
“Do not speak.” He pressed a metal digit to her lips, silencing her. “For when you do, it means the end of it all.”
The end of his plans. The end of his life. Perhaps, even the end of Avalon itself.
She shut her eyes, nodding once to say that she understood. He had planned to die for he had no reason to live. Until now.
But everything had been set in motion to save the world from Grinn. And it was too late to stop. There were no other options before him. No other path that he could walk.
Yet, it could all wait just a few more moments, could it not? He kissed her again, seeking shelter from the coming pain in the pleasure of her embrace. His body tightened in the need for her—the desperate wanting that filled him whenever she was near. He would love her, like the bastard that he was, up against a tree in the forest. And he would cherish it for however long he had left.
For this would be their last dance.
Gwen wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to weep in Mordred’s arms and beg him for forgiveness. But that was going to wait.
Because this was about them. About the strength he possessed. About the way he moved. About the taste of his lips on hers—tinged just slightly with metal. His claws dug into her skin, just enough to sting, as he peeled her dress from her with an almost frantic speed, throwing it aside.
His armor vanished a moment later. She felt his desire pressing against her, and she moaned as his claws scratched her as he hefted her farther up the tree. She didn’t care how the bark rubbed her back. She’d deal with that later.
She needed him just as badly. Needed to feel him—to revel in his skin against hers. And a moment later, they both had what they were so desperate for. He pressed inside her, slowly at first, before sinking himself home to the hilt with one vicious snap of his hips.
She wailed against his lips, clinging to him in desperation.
The tempo he set was furious. Passion, need, perhaps some anger—and love. All expressed in one, wild moment that made her heart soar and her nerves light up with ecstasy. Damn it, he felt so good as he took her like the warlord that he was.
Her body, her soul, her heart—they belonged to him. She could only cling to him as he rutted her, sending her to the heights of bliss and back again. His thrusts became somehow rougher, the tempo becoming erratic as he rammed himself as far as he could go. Burying his head into her hair, he let out a muffled roar as his pleasure crested, the feeling of him surging inside her carrying her right alongside him.
When she could process reality again, they were lying in the grass, half atop her discarded dress. He was kissing her, tenderly now—softly—as if to say sorry for what he had just done. Like she hadn’t enjoyed every goddamn second of it.
She kissed him back, running her fingers along his cheek, stroking the edge of his cheekbone and then his jaw. He was too handsome for words. And she wanted to burn this image of him into her mind.
When they had settled for long enough, she tugged her dress back on and began lacing up the front, still sitting beside him in the grass. He was watching her, his expression turning more and more serious by the moment.
It was fess-up time.
She sighed, her wings slumping a little. They reacted to her mood, which was pretty weird to notice. But now wasn’t the time to be fascinated with her wings. Shutting her eyes, she decided to just let it all out in a rush. “Galahad told the skiff to ‘take me home,’ in those exact words. The skiff went through the mist, and brought me back to the shore, where Doc was waiting for me.”
Mordred let out a huff of a laugh.
“I…knew I couldn’t come back to you—you’d just send me to Earth with more specific instructions that time.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t leave. I just couldn’t abandon you and everybody else. I just couldn’t. So I begged Doc to teach me how to use magic. Something, anything, any way to protect myself and prove to you that I—that I’m not a liability.”
He stayed silent, letting her finish. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“He took me to a place where he said the magic was stronger. Said that it was up to me to figure out how to tap into it. A tornado came out of nowhere—sucked me up into the sky, and everything went dark. I…I saw some weird shit, and then I think I talked to the island. Like, Avalon. It told me that it would give me power to protect myself and others.”
“And in exchange?”
“I can’t ever leave the island. Ever.”
“You struck a deal with an Ancient. How charming.” Mordred let out a heavy sigh. “And so, what have you become?”
“I—well, technically I saw more than one of them, and—” She held up her hand and changed it from flesh to rock. “I think…I’m a witch.”
Mordred stood, his armor reappearing over him like molten metal. He paced away, running a gauntleted hand over his face. “And why did you not tell me you were on Avalon?”
“You’d hunt me down. Send me back to Earth.”
“And after you became this…witch? Why not then?” His voice was flat. Emotionless. And that scared her. That meant he was getting pissed.
