finally closed and no longer looked as red and angry, but still throbbed when he flexed his hand.
He vanished his sword despite the wraith’s protest. His dark side lingered much too close to the surface.
“Not another word, wench!” The Korrigan puffed up his chest, glaring at Nessa.
The huntress lunged for the dark fairy, looking like she wanted to tear him in half.
“Oh my, has the competition started without us?”
Like everyone else, Lucan turned at the sound of the new voice behind them, careful to keep both the Fae and Kel, the two genuine threats to Briana—he hadn’t made up his mind about the wolf—in his peripheral vision.
He wasn’t sure how many more unexpected guests they could handle before somebody did more than lunge. The tension in the courtyard was thick enough to choke on.
Briana angled her body toward him. The relieved expression on her face when she met his gaze faded much too quickly. If the others were tense, the weight of the world seemed to sit squarely on Briana’s shoulders, and he knew he was to blame for that.
Resisting the urge to fill the space she put between them, he glanced at the couple dressed like medieval royalty. It took half a second to realize they had just become the biggest obstacle to getting Briana home. He’d promised Tristan that he’d keep her safe and here she was surrounded by those capable of enslaving her or burning her to a crisp.
And then there was the wraith.
The darkest part of him grew increasingly curious about her. With immortals all but going for each other’s throat, the wraith should have lost interest in Briana, not stuck close to her.
Shaded by the largest blossom-covered tree, the couple’s faces were shadowed, yet the tease of power they exuded rode on the air like a mist, thickening and weaving around Lucan.
Had the Fae been right? Were the gods responsible for their abduction? If a Campaign was brewing, then sleeping gods would awake—and look for recruits.
“My apologies for bringing you here without your consent. My brother can be rather impulsive at times.” Beautiful to the point her face looked like chiseled porcelain, the red-haired female stepped away from the tree.
Even Kel, who lounged in the sun, unaffected by the Fae’s earlier remarks, stood, his gaze following the goddess’s casual stroll around the perimeter of the courtyard while her brother remained beneath the protective shelter of the tree.
Lucan edged a little closer to Briana, not fooled by the goddess’s interest in the courtyard’s lush greenery. Whoever they were, Lucan had to appreciate any circumstance that brought Kel to him, even if it had been arranged by a god.
The last time he’d seen Kel, the dragon had broken ranks during the battle of Camlann, fleeing with a handful of his men and leaving Arthur open to attack, which Mordred had taken full advantage of.
A respected leader in the Guard, Kel had also been a close friend to Lucan and Arthur, making his betrayal slice even deeper. Their days spent training as brothers in arms and nights drinking and competing as friends had meant nothing to the dragon. When the stakes had been the highest, Kel had turned his back on them, leaving them all for dead.
Not even Nessa’s hunger for justice could compete with Lucan’s gnawing need for revenge. If Kel hadn’t deserted, Arthur might not have fallen in battle and Rhiannon might not have lashed out, making everyone suffer for her loss.
Distracted by the slow burn of betrayal and the wraith’s subtle push to take action now, it took him a few moments to remember his priority stood two feet away. As grateful as he was that Kel had been delivered to him, he also wanted to curse those responsible for reminding him of what Briana looked like in the sun.
As much as the shadows and moonlight suited the woman who hadn’t flinched from the wraith, the sight of her in the sun—the lighter threads of her dark hair the color of fire, her eyes more stunning—took his breath away.
Most remarkable of all was the way she ignored the sun completely. Even the wolf, who’d agreed the sun was likely an illusion, continued to turn his face up to the brilliant light. The dragon had made no effort to hide his indulgence, and yet Briana remained unaffected.
“I am Maeve,” the female announced.
Nessa straightened. “The goddess of war.”
The wraith stirred, intrigued, but Lucan didn’t let the leash slip. Getting Briana back to her brothers came first, and then he could deal with Kel, even if it meant using the huntress to make it happen.
Maeve smiled, though her eyes narrowed at Nessa’s interruption. “I am known for many interests.” She waved in the direction of the tree. “My brother, Aren. We thank you for accepting our invitation.”
Elena snorted. “You might try going with a simple Evite next time.”
The goddess gave her a blank look.
It wasn’t hard to see why Elena had gained such a notorious reputation among immortals. It was rumored her house’s allegiance to Rhiannon was the only reason she hadn’t been confronted by a huntress or marked for assassination by a wraith.
“You have all been selected to participate in our games,” Maeve continued.
Elena frowned. “Games? Are we celebrating something?”
“Our awakening, of course.” Maeve’s brother finally stepped from beneath the tree. His hair was the same fiery red and nearly as long as his sister’s, though he wore his tied back. One half of his face was as flawless as his sister’s while the other looked as though someone had taken a blow torch to it and the pink, blistered wounds never healed.
“Why us?” Briana asked, challenging the goddess a little more diplomatically than Elena.
“You all met our criteria.”
The Korrigan threw his hands out. “How could a lusty wench—” he pointed at the enchantress who apparently did know when to keep quiet and stay under the radar after all, “—ever be competition for the largest tradesman in Avalon?”
Nessa snorted. “Don’t you mean slave-dealer? And by largest, I know you’re not referring to your size.”
Briana reached for Vaughn, turning him around.
Lucan’s instinct to put himself between the two of them rattled him. He flexed his fist at his side, certain the enchantress’s spell was still affecting him. Standing motionless, he watched Briana point to the cross-like glyph on the back of the wolf’s shoulder. Lucan might have noticed it sooner if he hadn’t been preoccupied with figuring out why the wraith had taken control twice now.
“And was the Fae warrior part of your selection criteria?”
Maeve tilted her head, her gaze fixing too intently on Briana. “For some of you.”
“And by games,” Briana continued, her chin rising a notch. “You’re referring to the Gauntlet.”
Lucan’s head buzzed. The odds of getting Briana home unscathed had just been stacked against them.
He scanned the faces of those around him, their expressions a similar mix of confusion, and for those not quick enough to mask it, worry.
So it was true then. Another Campaign was definitely brewing, another explosion of ego-fueled shows of power that had the potential to wipe out at least half the immortal population.
Worse than that, though, was the likelihood the battles would spill into the earth realm. Lifetimes ago such a war wouldn’t have touched humanity or exposed Avalon. There would be no avoiding it this time. Even Rhiannon’s drive to keep their world hidden from the human race would cease to matter in the face of war with others like her.
No one made a sound for a long moment.
The goddess ran her hand across a flower with thorns that looked sharp enough to sever a finger. “I knew there was a reason we chose to include you instead of another from your gargoyle clan.” Her gaze landed on Briana, and a chill ripped up Lucan’s spine.
“The Gauntlet is a myth,” Vaughn said, talking to no one in particular. “Isn’t it?”
Briana tensed beside Lucan. “The mark on your shoulder blade is the symbol of the games.”
Vaughn reached back. “What mark?”
