Lucan nodded to where another section of the chamber had collapsed and the man’s legs peeked out from under the debris.
“And the others?”
“Gone,” the Fae answered, falling into step next to them.
She rested her head on Lucan’s shoulder. She struggled to keep her eyes open, barely catching Lucan thrusting something at the Fae.
The scroll?
“Lucan, don’t.” Her voice was gone, the words little more than a squeak that sucked the last of her strength. There was something she wanted to tell him, but the fuzzy details slipped away. Her head lolled forward and she seemed to drop in and out of consciousness until they reached the entrance to the catacombs. Through slitted lashes she watched Bran unravel the scroll, and then darkness snatched her away.
Lucan knew the second Briana lost consciousness, her arm slipping off his shoulder.
“Briana?”
He never should have taken her blood. He could have found another way instead of drinking from her, his thirst sated in a way he’d never felt before, and at a cost he wasn’t prepared to pay.
He smoothed her tangled hair back from her face, her body fragile looking in the ripped and stained shirt that didn’t even reach her knees.
Briana had a mate.
His mind continued to reel from that revelation. It explained why she’d wanted to keep her distance after the last of the enchantress’s spell had worn off.
The walls inside the entrance continued to rumble, but no longer threatened to cave in.
“What does it say?” Kel demanded, leaning against the outside wall. His limp and the pain creasing the dragon’s face in tight lines, kept him from lunging past Lucan to snatch the scroll from the Fae’s hand.
Refusing to trust Kel not to hurt Briana in the time it would take to reach the entrance, he’d sacrificed a win in favor of making a bargain. Lucan had promised the scroll to Bran if he freed Briana, half hoping the tunnel wouldn’t hold long enough for Kel to escape as well. The dragon needed more than a few minutes to face the consequences of what he’d done to Arthur—to all of them—when he’d deserted them.
He could almost hear Briana’s diplomatic voice in his head, insisting more than one man’s decisions had been responsible for what happened at Camlann. With her lying broken and so still in his arms, he didn’t care about anything but making things right between them—and getting her back to her mate.
Like he’d been stabbed by a dozen spears, he clenched his jaw at the thought of her with anyone else. He’d made his peace with it centuries ago—when he’d been promised to Gwen—or so he thought.
For the first time, the violent need to lash out was his own and not the wraith’s.
Bran frowned at the opened scroll. “It’s a map.” His eyes widened.
A burst of light exploded from the entrance to the catacombs, and Lucan turned, shielding Briana. When he lifted his head, they stood in the courtyard. The scroll had disappeared from the Fae’s hand.
Briana moaned in his arms, finally stirring, though she didn’t open her eyes.
“What did you do to her?” Covered in dirt and blood, Vaughn stalked toward them.
The wraith snarled, something reflecting in his eyes that gave the wolf pause.
“She’s down a few pints of O-Neg. Get over it.” Kel limped away.
Elena crouched on the ground next to Nessa. She glanced at Vaughn. “Give me a hand with her.”
He pointed to the jagged tear along his shoulder blade. “Your huntress friend tried to decapitate me. You’re on your own, sweetheart.”
If looks could decapitate, Elena’s would have ripped Vaughn’s head from his shoulders. The Fae helped her with Nessa, the huntress’s eyes opening before Lucan carried Briana past them and inside.
Upstairs, he laid her on the bed then set about cleaning her up. Once that was finished and he made sure her wounds were closing on their own, he wrapped her in a robe and tucked her in bed.
Leaving her wasn’t an option. Listening for her, he cleaned himself up, wrapped himself in a towel and stretched out on the bed next to her, watching her sleep. Every once in a while her brow creased, and he would run his fingers along her cheek, unable to resist.
She wouldn’t like that, and neither would the mate who’d somehow earned the right—through fate, biological compatibility, attraction, whatever—to call Briana his.
But it wasn’t her mate who watched over her now, determined to protect her, even if it was for someone else.
He rolled on to his back, staring at the ceiling. How was it that centuries of accepting the life Rhiannon had cursed him with could be so easily undone by the woman next to him?
Although Briana’s blood had given him the strength to take his phantom shape and speed up the sluggish healing of his wounds, Lucan knew he needed rest as much as she did. The next challenge could be days away or only hours and they both needed to be ready for it.
Edging as close as he could without disturbing her, he closed his eyes and welcomed sleep.
He dreamed of Briana.
Laughing and running through the grass ahead of him, she coaxed him to follow, always staying one step ahead of him. Every time he thought she was within reach, she danced away, slipping through his fingers over and over.
Until she didn’t.
It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember if he’d caught her or she’d caught him. She was there now, in his arms, her body soft and warm and fitting against him in all the right places.
All the hard-for-her places that cranked his temperature from warm to blistering, and every inch was burning for her.
He dragged her to the ground, pulling her down on top of him. Her hands slid into his hair, her mouth taking his. Teasing and light, the kiss scrambled his thoughts, offering him only a hint of the wild heat set to consume him.
He ran his hands up her hips, his hand spanning her lower back, drawing her closer still. Her soft whimper raced across his lips, and he turned to the slender column of her throat, nipping gently.
“More,” she breathed, and he licked across the pulse point thumping beneath his tongue.
Pressure built in his chest, increasingly uncomfortable, but he ignored it, rolling her beneath him. Pain hissed through him, and forced his eyes open.
Briana lay beneath him on the bed they’d fallen asleep in, watching him. The heat he’d imagined, that he swore continued to fire in every cell in his body, rolled off Briana, her skin feverish.
She was still fighting the poison from the thorns, or the venom from his bite.
Her nails raked the back of his neck. “Don’t. Don’t let me go.” She shook her head. “I need you. I’ve always needed you.” She cupped his cheek, her thumb sweeping softly.
The words slipped past every guard in place to keep her from getting a tighter hold on his heart.
He shook his head. “This isn’t you.” One look at her eyes, unfocused and sleepy, and he knew it was the fever talking.
“This
She coaxed him back, and he let it happen. Let his eyes slide shut, lowered his forehead to hers, breathing deep and letting her fill his senses.
“You see me. You don’t always say it, but I can read it in your eyes. My brothers love me, my friends support me, my clients respect me, but you…you see me. All the little pieces that make up the whole. You.” She opened her mouth over his. “I’ve been waiting so long,” she whispered across his lips, “for you. For my mate.”
His body went cold, the wraith so quiet Lucan felt alone in his own skin for the first time in decades. “Briana?”
“Mmmm,” sleepy and sexy, she opened her eyes.
“Who am I?”
“Mine.” The most incredible smile curved her lips, and it hurt more than he could stand because she thought
