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“I’ll do better than that. I’ll explain you,” he said, pointing an accusing finger in her direction.
A cold knot of fear settled deep in her stomach, her limbs leaden and unresponsive. She showed Cam none of those things. Instead, she lifted her chin, offered a look that said, Give it your best.
“You, Miss Bligh, are a tease and a voracious man-eater.”
His best turned out to be pretty damn good. Morgan winced under the insult.
“But as it turns out, I’m all right with that. After all, the sex is amazing.” Hard to make someone as impossibly gorgeous as him ugly, but he managed it with the smarmiest of greasy smiles. “And it’s not like we were ever going to marry for real, now, was it? I mean, look at you. Not exactly the kind you take home to meet the family.”
She glanced down at her simple white shift, the only thing virginal about her. Not that she’d ever cared for such social niceties before. But now seeing herself as Cam must see her, she withered, a hot, angry flush stealing over her face. “Why are you saying these things?” she whispered through lips gone dry, but he didn’t hear. He just kept on with a litany of her failings as if now that he’d started, he couldn’t wait to lay it on as thick as possible.
“You’re easy on the eyes, for certain, and if I’m ever in need of a she-male to watch my back, I’ll call on you, but I need someone who’ll be an asset to my position, not simply…an…ass.”
He trailed off, apparently out of nasty things to say for the moment. And Morgan chose that moment to attack.
“Get out.” She slammed to her feet. Grabbed him, easy to do in his inebriated state, and quick-marched him to the door. “Get the hell out of my room, you damned bastard. Quick enough to enjoy the tease, weren’t you? No questions about my assets then.”
She pushed him into the corridor. Stood, rigid with fury as he weaved in front of her, glazed eyes raking her breasts as if he hadn’t just insulted her.
Before good sense took over, she balled her fist, her heart racing. Reared back and gave him the hardest, jaw-breaking crack across the face she could…
…and came awake still feeling the tingle all the way to her elbow.
She lay back, her heart still racing, her palm damp with memory. She rubbed it down her shift, willing her breathing to come slower. Focusing on the rain pattering against the window, plinking through the gutter. Listening to the wind as it shook the casement, causing the curtains to billow with every damp draft.
Burrowing deeper under the quilts, she tried to clear her mind of the disturbing images and twisted dream dredged up by too much claret and a less-than-savory meal. No doubt one too many pieces of cake at dinner tonight.
The wind picked up outside, slamming twigs and leaves against the glass. Bringing with it the tang of metal, a scent of death and evil. At the same instant the familiar red and purple double rope of mage energy burst into her brain like a red-hot dagger thrust straight to the base of her skull.
S
he screamed, or thought she had. But the voice wasn’t hers. Despite the excruciating press of power, she’d managed to bite off her shout. The scream came again. From down the hall.
Oh gods! Cam.
Kicking out of her covers, ignoring the fact she wore next to nothing, Morgan raced for the door. Pounded down the dark corridor toward Cam’s closed bedchamber. After the initial explosive screams, all had gone quiet. More frightening than any sounds of struggle would have been. At least that would have told her Cam still fought. Still lived.
Sliding to a stop in front of his door, she breathed deeply. Prepared herself for the fight ahead. The eerie silence on the other side preyed on her already frayed nerves. She clenched her jaw. Donned the focus of the warrior. And turned the knob.
Nothing.
The door wouldn’t open. Something or someone heavy lay in front of it. As she shoved hard with one shoulder, the heap moved. Allowed her to thread her way through the narrow gap. The room felt as charged as if lightning had struck, the air alive, the mage energy almost visible, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.
The heap turned out to be only the carpet, askew and blocking the door. She stood, scanning the room. The bed lay unoccupied, the window stood open, rain pouring in to drench the floor.
“Cam.” Her voice sounded overloud in the seemingly empty room. But she knew he was there. As was Doran. Her wards had failed. The battle upon her.
“Your persistence is unexpected. Even admirable. But you knew it had to end this way.” Doran stepped from the doorway leading to Cam’s dressing room, his dead eyes glowing with a darkling Fey light, though in no other way did he seem changed from the arrogant Amhas-draoi she remembered. Still as conceited as ever.
Any effect of the Morkoth blade lay beneath the surface. In the otherworldly strength that staggered her. The buzz in her ears, the sticky dryness of her mouth, the sweat slithering down her back just from being in the same room with him.
“Where’s Cam?” She wished for the comforting grip of her sword hilt. Hell, even clothes would make her feel less vulnerable. Instead, she wiped her hands down her sides. Met his gaze, refusing to look away, though the pain of it was enough to bring tears to her eyes.
He stepped back into the darkness of the sitting room. Reappeared, supporting a body that he tossed toward her. Rolling him over with one booted foot. “Here’s your colonel.”
Cam lay trussed and insensible, the slight rise and fall of his bare chest enough to give her hope.
“Despite your troublesome nature, I’m offering you the ultimate reward. Immortality. Invincibility. Or rather, I’m offering it to the colonel.”
