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There’s no smoke, no mirrors. But something here isn’t…normal.
Something magical?
That’s bizarre, but I can’t think of another explanation. No other scenario fits.
Now would be a good time to learn how not to hyperventilate.
Cursing, Marrok scoops up a towel and wipes away the lingering blood, bitter defeat darkening his face. “Thank you.”
“What… You…” I raise frantic, confused eyes to him. “Your wound… It’s gone.”
He grinds his teeth and hurls the towel across the room. “As always, I heal in moments. Morgana still prevails.”
I gape. “I don’t understand. You’re really…immortal?”
Marrok tosses his dagger on the dresser with a sigh. “I was born in the sixth century. Even with the longer life spans people enjoy today, I am unusual.”
And then some.
Yet we’re somehow connected. Even through my dizziness, when my pain was at its worst, my entire being cried out for him. That link urged me to give myself to him. Even now, I ache to reach for him.
Have you ever thought there’s a reason you dreamed of the man before you met him?
I sink to the bed and drape the blanket over my body. “Why did Morgana curse you?”
He drops his head with a sigh. “I served under King Arthur as his most decorated warrior. We fended off the Anglo-Saxons at the Battle of Mons Badonicus, killing nearly a thousand invaders. We felt invincible.”
A thousand? That turns my stomach. But knights of the Dark Ages lived vastly different lives from today’s men. Killing one’s enemy hadn’t been sport, but survival.
“What does that have to do with Morgana?”
“Well-known warriors had devotees, the equivalent of groupies today.”
“You had them?”
“My fair share…and the share that should have belonged to half of Arthur’s army.”
“Of course you did.”
He’s gorgeous. His magazine-ready face and manly, inked torso that eclipses the room make that obvious. What woman wouldn’t want him?
The question is, why would Marrok ever want to sleep with me? Does that connection between us affect him, too?
He shrugs. “I was young and randy. Women were disposable, to be used for pleasure, then sent on their way. But all that changed after Mons Badonicus.”
“When you met Morgana?”
He shakes his head. “I had known her for some while. Days before the battle, I made the mistake of taking the witch to my bed. I whispered sweet words and told her pretty lies. Afterward, I left and never looked back. When the battle ended victoriously, we returned to Camelot and celebrated. I fucked others, and I did naught to hide it. Truly, I did not think she cared. But I underestimated her pride and vanity. And so, she punished me.”
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
“Indeed. She told Arthur I raped, beat, and left her to die. I doubt he believed her, but she bribed and manipulated ‘witnesses’ and made our encounter sound most damning. Arthur cast me out of the kingdom, took all I had fought for my entire life, and forbade me to return.”
“You’re kidding? Just like that? He didn’t defend you at all? He didn’t fight for you?”
“Arthur knew his half sister to be capable of all manner of retribution if he did not assuage her. He chose peace over right.” Marrok grunts bitterly.
“That’s horrible. And cowardly.”
