The rain didn’t ease until she was a few blocks away from Pendragon’s. She could have used her phone to call for a ride, but that would mean facing questions she couldn’t answer. Preferring to be alone, she stuck with trudging through the rain, fighting the cat’s instinct to return to Lucan’s side.
Gargoyles became one of the Forgotten, those forever locked in their animal form, for less than being shunned by a mate. Would that happen to her? Would her animal side eventually become so unstable that she’d ignore her humanity altogether? Would the cat gradually coax her into hiding away from the rest of the world, until she forgot everything but sheer animal instinct? Or worse, pose such a risk to others that she’d need to be put down?
A flicker of movement ahead snagged her attention, and she ground to a halt on the sidewalk. A dot of green blinked like a drunken firefly, weaving through the dark toward her.
The cat growled, having had its fill of magic for one night. A dozen feet away the dot stopped, hovering mid-air. Maybe it was harmless—
“Briana!”
Lucan? She didn’t turn at the sound of his voice. Like a missile locked on target, the dot shot toward her. The burst of green slammed into her chest, knocking her off her feet.
She braced herself, anticipating a collision with the unforgiving sidewalk—and bounced on a soft mattress instead.
Heart pounding, she rolled off the bed and dropped into a crouch, her claws raking the stone floor beneath her.
Gone was the dark rainy neighborhood she knew as well as any program code she built from the ground up. No closed store fronts, parked cars or dim street lights barely holding the night at bay.
She didn’t recognize the sparsely furnished room she crouched in, her gaze skimming over the stone walls, aged wardrobe and marble vanity tucked in one corner.
If this was in any way her brothers’ idea of a joke, one of them—possibly all three—was going to lose a few entrails. It would be poor timing on their part, and she couldn’t imagine that after hearing Lucan was her mate that they’d be up for playing games.
Wary, she stood—and immediately winced. She carefully tugged at her damp cargo pants until she exposed the brand on her hip.
The symbol inked into her skin in black and red mirrored the cross-like Fae glyph she’d been unable to identify. Except now she knew it wasn’t Fae in origin at all.
It was the symbol of the Gauntlet.
She shook her head, struggling to recall what bits and pieces she knew of the millennia-old competition. One hadn’t even taken place in her lifetime. She studied the glyph closely.
Emma could be wrong. The sorceress had been drinking after all. The symbol might not have anything at all to do with the Gauntlet, immortal games that always signaled the start of the next Campaign.
It made sense though. With some talking about Avalon being on the cusp of another Campaign, the next Gauntlet couldn’t be far away. The deadly competition always marked the start of a war that left only casualties and no clear victor. Campaigns simply ended when the warring gods grew bored of fighting.
Her stomach churned at the possibility, but she didn’t let herself jump to conclusions. Maybe she’d drawn the glyph wrong or maybe Emma was way off base. Whoever had brought her here—the same Fae warrior who attacked them in the underground lot?—could have simply liked the look of the glyph.
Lucan.
He’d called her name, hadn’t he? On the street before she’d wound up here. Or had she imagined that?
How could she have been so wrong about him? And so supremely stupid to let herself believe maybe he felt the same way.
How many times would she open up to him only to have him throw her feelings back at her like they didn’t matter? She should have learned the first time instead of foolishly convincing herself things had changed because he was her mate.
She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
She took a deep breath, then another. If she wanted to figure out where she was and why she’d been brought here, she needed a clear head. She couldn’t afford to think about what happened or where that left her.
Instead, Briana focused on her surroundings. Her gaze slid over the furniture once more. The wooden door opposite her was the only way in or out of the room unless she counted the mirror on the vanity.
If it had been enchanted by a Fae she could use it to cross the veil into Avalon. That was assuming she wasn’t already
Across the room, the door creaked open.
Tension snapped down her spine and she instantly sifted through the new scents—dampness, earth, ash. A dragon probably. And…wet dog? Obviously a wolf had been in the area. Were they her captors? Or had others been taken?
Wary, she approached the door. Outside the same dull gray stones lined the hallway, the corridor stretching on in both directions with no visible end.
Following the dragon and wolf scents, she went right. She passed three other empty rooms, then took the stairs she only noticed when she was a moment from toppling down them. She backtracked a few steps, briefly appreciating the illusion that made the staircase appear to be part of the hallway.
The curved staircase made it impossible to see an attack coming more than a few feet in advance. She’d made few enemies compared to her brothers, but her family’s support of Rhiannon by entrusting the goddess with two Arthurian daggers they’d found had pissed off a good number of immortals.
Some immortals simply didn’t believe Rhiannon wanted to see the prophecy of Arthur’s awakening fulfilled, insisting she craved Excalibur’s power for herself. Which didn’t make sense to Briana, seeing as Rhiannon was already a goddess.
Other immortals had decided they were better off giving their loyalty to Morgana. It didn’t seem to matter that the traitorous bitch had pitted her own son, Mordred, against her half-brother. Briana didn’t know if the sorceress had insisted on her son leading their army or if Mordred had advocated for the position, eager to meet his uncle on the battlefield. Arthur and Mordred had only crossed paths once during the endless fight over Camelot, in the final battle that claimed both their lives.
Since Camelot was now a cesspool of the lowest, most disreputable immortals, some thought it was better to align with a power-hungry sorceress who made it no secret she wanted to rule all of Avalon, than an unpredictable goddess who had already meddled in immortal affairs too much.
Keeping close to the wall, Briana continued her downward trek long after she knew the stairs should have ended. She glanced back at the wall sconce she just passed, noting the height and path of the melting wax on the thick candle. Moments later she passed an identical candle. And another one.
“Nice trick,” she murmured to no one in particular. Hoping she wouldn’t spend forever trying to reach the bottom, she kept moving.
Avalon’s catacombs were famous for their ever-changing tunnels that kept immortals from finding their way out. The massive amounts of magic absorbed by the sanctuary the Fae had built to escape the first Campaign left many wondering if the endless caverns were actually alive.
Having never ventured beyond any entrance to the catacombs, she couldn’t be certain she wasn’t trapped in the massive caverns below Avalon’s surface. The castle and staircase didn’t match any description Cian had shared after getting lost in the catacombs with Emma only months ago, though.
Or were they just another illusion?
She got her answer a few moments later when she reached the bottom and the stairs spilled out into a modern foyer of a mansion right out of some Beverly Hills reality show.
Briana spun around. The stone staircase was gone, replaced by a glossy white marble staircase with a polished oak railing that disappeared to a floor above.
She didn’t know whether to be impressed or creeped out, but was definitely leaning toward the latter.
Passing through a large room with a huge flat-screen television, leather furniture and a variety of gaming
