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Chapter One
Present Day
Outskirts of London
October 24
Marrok
My nightmare has returned.
Beside a picturesque pond, a woman with hair like a raven’s wing beckons me with a graceful sweep of her fingers and a come-hither smile. My breath catches. Never have I encountered this beauty. Never have I seen her face.
But for half an eternity, her violet eyes have haunted me.
One glance, and I burn.
London rises behind her, now towering with glass-and-chrome blights on the skyline that loom above its classic architecture. But the city holds not my attention. She does, all naked and gleaming, mist caressing her like the mystical fog of legend.
Her glossy hair cascades over her shoulders, contrasting with her winter-pale skin. Her inky curls shroud all but fleeting glimpses of her tempting rosy nipples. My rapt gaze follows the curve of her waist to her hourglass hips before fixating on the tender cunt glistening between her thighs.
She is alluring, a seductress.
She taunts me with the satisfaction she has denied me for centuries. She makes me crave what I dare not want.
Her stunning eyes and the telltale birthmark between her lush breasts make hiding from me impossible. I know her. Intimately. It matters not that she no longer possesses the platinum tresses into which I shoved my hands as I thrust into her body an eon ago. Or that her delicate face now entices me with high cheekbones, a pert nose, and pillowy pink lips. She cannot fool me.
After searching for over a millennium for the Le Fey bitch who destroyed my life to satisfy her whim and soothe her ego, I have found her.
“Morgana…”
My hatred does naught to cool my lust. ’Tis a bitter pill. A glimpse of her, and my blood catches fire. My cock stiffens. My heart roars.
If I am fool enough to touch her, she will be my demise.
Why has she suddenly appeared, seeking to pass herself off as another? No doubt her reasons suit Morgana alone. Whatever she seeks, I cannot be weak. I will not capitulate. I refuse to follow the she-devil to sin.
Once was one time too many.
But when I summon the fortitude to look away, her pull is stronger than my will. She’s never been more captivating. ’Tis not merely her spellbinding face or her seductive body, but something more compelling. Something Morgana has never shown.
Vulnerability.
Her uncertain expression, her timid smile, her trembling pose… All call to the knight in me, just as the despair in her eyes rouses the protector.
I must resist.
At my rebuff, her fragility evaporates, replaced by a smirk that slithers across her face. Morgana is aware of my many struggles, and they delight her.
I fume with unchecked rage when she crooks her finger, luring me closer. The curl of her lips challenges me to walk away.
I can do neither.
Morgana bewitches me far more than she did during our wind-drenched night of passion. For the mistake of succumbing to temptation and swiving her senseless, I have paid dearly.
With the last fifteen centuries.
Today, society possesses clinical terms for my obsession. I care not. Getting the treacherous witch to release me from this endless hell… Naught else matters.
