“I have the same one on my hip.” Briana tugged the waist of her pants down enough to expose the symbol that mirrored Vaughn’s. “I imagine we all have one.”
Lucan knew the brand explained the irritation he felt at his lower back.
The lines around Maeve’s mouth tightened. “The mark is a safety precaution. The Gauntlet is sacred and we couldn’t have any of you
What was there to explain? The little Lucan knew of the Gauntlet came from Rhiannon’s own lips, and even the goddess regarded the event as a waste of time. Gauntlet victors—
“And if we choose to decline your invitation?” Both gods glanced Lucan’s way, and he welcomed their attention.
Neither man nor wraith liked how closely Maeve watched Briana. If she’d been a last-minute selection, he didn’t want them changing their minds and lashing out at her because she’d provoked them.
The gods exchanged long looks and laughed—the sounds high-pitched, unnatural—as if they were the only ones in on the joke.
Aren tossed an apple that appeared from nowhere, into the air. “So eager to return to murdering innocents in service to your goddess?”
Lucan knew when he was being baited and kept his opinion of Rhiannon to himself. He hadn’t been selected to compete because of his loyalty to Rhiannon, but nothing could be gained by admitting just how deep his hatred for her ran.
“Or perhaps you haven’t had your daily fill of slaughtering yet,” Aren taunted. “Have you fed today, wraith? That one has a pretty neck.” He pointed at Briana. “Or would you prefer another?”
With a snap of the god’s fingers, the same redhead from the underground parking lot appeared next to Lucan.
Her eyes widened and she stumbled back a step, her terrified gaze darting around. Her lips parted, but Aren cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“Do not bore me with your questions, mortal.”
Her eyes went wild with the realization she couldn’t speak.
Aren wandered closer, paying no attention to the woman. “Is she not acceptable?” The god shifted his attention to Briana. “Your wraith’s new friend is quite beautiful, is she not?”
Maeve sighed. “Stop toying with them, brother. They’re our guests.” The redhead vanished with a snap of Maeve’s fingers. “No one will be forced to compete, but I will ask that everyone listens to our proposition before making a decision. I promise it will be worth your while to stay.”
“If he stays, then I hope you’ve got an endless supply of redheads for him.” Elena nodded at Lucan. “No offense.”
Maeve ignored the comment and continued her stroll around the courtyard, her long navy gown trailing across the stones behind her. “The Gauntlet is comprised of five rounds. Each one will be worth more than the last, making it possible to fail in the first rounds and still win by succeeding in the final challenge.”
“And how do we know the competitions haven’t been rigged?” Kel interrupted.
The goddess frowned.
“I believe the gargoyle wants to know if we plan on influencing the competition in some fashion.” Aren took a bite of his apple.
Laughing, Maeve approached the dragon. Her lips parted, her cheeks pink with amusement that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I suspect you meant no offense.” She stroked her finger along Kel’s jaw. “However—” the skin along the path of her finger darkened to a chalky concrete, “—I’d advise you to choose your words more carefully, lest you imply something you cannot take back.”
The lower half of the dragon’s face turned to stone, the rock face traveling toward eyes that remained hard and fixed on the goddess. With a knowing grin, she stepped back, releasing him. Within seconds his face returned to normal.
“No offense, but doesn’t allowing a wraith to compete put everyone else at a distinct disadvantage?” Vaughn asked.
Apparently Lucan’s doubts about trusting the wolf hadn’t been off the mark.
“Measures have been taken to ensure both the huntress and the wraith are equals among you.” Maeve gave him a smug look.
They’d restricted Nessa’s ability to flash, a god-like power that nearly always gave a huntress the edge during a confrontation. Lucan knew his ability to slip into shadow remained intact, at least partially.
“The attack in the parking lot,” Briana murmured, her gaze falling to the spot where Lucan had been wounded fighting the Fae warrior. She spun around to face Maeve, her voice dangerously low. “Troll’s blood?”
Their blood was toxic and slowed the healing process. It should have occurred to him before now that the Fae’s sword had been tainted with it.
Maeve shook her head. “The effects are temporary and merely to insure a more fair competition.”
If all his wounds took as long as his hand to heal, he definitely wouldn’t be at full strength during the competitions.
“Where was I?” Maeve’s cheerful grin mirrored a spoiled child’s. She strolled past Nessa and Elena. “You will remain here for the duration of the competition. If you agree to participate and then choose to leave the games before their conclusion…”
Aren drew an invisible blade across his neck, to Maeve’s giddy delight.
She clapped and spun around. “Until your brands are removed, you will be restricted to our home and the competition sites. Communication with anyone beyond these walls is strictly forbidden. It would be unfair to seek information or guidance from those without a personal stake in the games.”
Circling the wolf and the Korrigan, the goddess came to stand beside her brother who picked up where she’d left off.
“There are certain…protections in place here to prevent you from injuring each other in between competitions. How you choose to deal with your competitors during the games is your choice, but know that the weapons available to you are not capable of a killing blow. At least not until the final round.”
Lucan knew well that killing was a mercy the gods would resist when pain and suffering would be so much more amusing.
“And the prize?” The Korrigan asked.
Maeve beamed as though they’d finally gotten to the good part. “Whatever your heart desires.” Her gaze slid from Briana to the wolf. “Bargaining power?” She glanced at Kel. “Validation? Forgiveness?” She turned to Elena. “Or perhaps strength.”
The sorceress shifted under the goddess’s penetrating stare, but there was no denying the flash of interest in Elena’s eyes.
Maeve’s knowing gaze found Lucan’s. “Or maybe retribution?” She turned away. “As I said, whatever your heart desires. The possibilities are endless.”
“And what prize could grant such things?” the Korrigan pressed.
Maeve paused, her fingers idly tracing the design in the stone half-wall. “Do you doubt me?”
The Korrigan bowed his head. “I’m merely curious about the mystical object that could grant such gifts.”
Maeve lifted her hand and a trail of mist followed in its wake. A shape took form at the center of the darkening, swirling clouds.
“Excalibur,” Nessa murmured.
It wasn’t possible. Lucan took an involuntary step forward as though it would put him one step closer to the king they’d lost. A ray of light caught the tip of the blade and for a moment it hurt to look at Arthur’s sword.
An illusion.
Lucan knew it in his gut. So why then did it feel like his chest was pinned beneath the boot of an enemy, the pressure agonizing?
Not real.
