Gwen

“You’ve got demon blood on you,” I say, gesturing to Lance’s stained shirt. It’s not a lot, but I need something to give us some separation. That kiss was more than I’d expected, oh, who am I kidding? It was everything. There was a strange sense of completion when we were joined, the flow of what felt like magic easing the missing part of me. I’ve spent these many lifetimes avoiding men, not able to handle the thought of sex. Sex led to my death, so naturally, I never gave myself that option. But really…if I’m being honest, aside from Arthur, I wasn’t interested in sex with anyone other than Lancelot.

He glances down at his shirt and runs a hand through his tousled hair. “I suppose I should have a shower.”

I nod. I need the time to figure out the tangled web of emotions coursing through me. Our kiss felt so right. It was like two halves to the same whole finally being reunited. But then I think of all the times Helena and Izzy had been wrong. For God’s sake, Tristan returned and dosed Izzy with a love potion—twice. She’d thought him true, and he tried to kill her.

I pace the floor, listening as the echo of water on tile filters from the open door to the bedroom. My fingers rest on my lips, savoring his kiss as I try to come to terms with the effect he has on me. Am I really going to leave myself vulnerable to this man again?

But Lance seemed so genuine when he said he’d never lain with another. Had he not left me? Was it all a misunderstanding? Fear strikes me, sharp and cold. Was my vision not true?

Shaking my head, I fight with myself as I sit on the couch. My visions aren’t wrong. I saw them together.

Excalibur lies across the coffee table, the shining steel calling to me. Reaching out, I touch the hilt, then the blade. A burning pain has me letting out a soft yelp of surprise and when I glance at my finger, I see a bead of dark blood welling on my skin. The drop falls to the blade and without warning, everything goes dark.

My tall, forbidding husband stands over me from inside my tower where he imprisoned me after the guards caught me trying to find my lover. He shakes his head and sighs. “Guinevere, my beautiful queen. I loved you. I truly did. But now? Now you’ve spoiled everything. All that’s left for you is to beg mercy and condemn your knight to death.” Heartbreak colors each of his words. “If…if there was a way to prove you were carrying my child…perhaps I could spare you.”

I could save myself a terrible death if only I’d accept his offer. But I’d been taking a potion to prevent pregnancy since I’d married Arthur. There was no way I’d bring a child into the world knowing I’d be leaving him or her alone when my curse took me. I look him in the eyes and lie to his face. “I’m barren. You know this. We’ve been wed close to ten years and you’ve not once gotten me with child.”

He grits his teeth and growls, a fierce anger building in him. Betrayal shining in his eyes. “I suppose now that everyone knows about the two of you, it would be too easy to question the legitimacy of any child carried by you while Lancelot still lives.” He drags a hand through his hair and locks gazes with me. His eyes are red-rimmed and pleading. “You were never supposed to fall in love. Either of you. I gave Lancelot to you in secret with hopes you’d provide me an heir. In this case, your empty womb is a blessing.” That sends a sharp stab of hurt through me. Particularly after my vision of Lancelot with a wife awaiting a child.

I swipe at the tears that escaped down my cheek. “Stop.”

Then, he takes my hands and falls to his knees. “Please, save yourself. Don’t make me go through with this sentence.”

I shake my head. “I won’t be the reason Lancelot dies.”

Anger colors his features then. He leans close to me and brushes his knuckles over my collarbone. “You know, my dear, your knight has abandoned you. He’s eloped with your very own cousin, Elaine. Morgan alerted me to his betrayal only an hour ago. He is faithless…to both of us.”

His confirmation of my vision releases the wave of grief and despair I’ve been holding at bay. I sob. I cry for Lancelot, for the broken trust and shattered beginnings of love.

“Guinevere, what’s happened?” Lance’s voice pulls me from the vision and I realize there are tears streaming down my cheeks and a pain deep in my chest, and blood dotting my jeans.

Sitting up straighter, I wipe the moisture from my eyes and clear my throat. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I…I touched the sword and it sent me back to the moment Arthur…” I can’t continue.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, taking my hand in his. The wound has already begun healing and now looks worse than it is.

“I said I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

My gaze roams his form and my breath catches. He’s clad in nothing but the white towel, those defined muscles making it clear this man is a warrior. I had fooled myself into thinking I could forget him, but I remember. I remember every scar from battle, each freckle, and the birthmark on his hip which peeks up from the edge of the low-slung towel. His demon scratches are barely visible now, just faint pink lines.

“My lady, you stare as though you see something you’d like to eat.”

My cheeks go hot at his words. In all these lifetimes I’ve never stopped wanting him. And now he’s here. This beautiful knight, brave and bold, faithful and loving, has returned to me. But the devotion he once had for me is gone. He’ll defend me, that much is true, but he’s not mine anymore. Now that I can have him without fear of discovery, of punishment, he doesn’t want me.

“You know I’ve always appreciated your body, Lance. After all, it’s the only thing you gave me that Arthur struggled to provide.”

His eyes flare at the mention of his king. “You never let him have the chance.”

A laugh escapes me without warning. “I was a dutiful wife, believe me. It was your king who rarely visited our marriage bed. And when he did…” I trail off, not wanting Lance to know the depth of Arthur’s conflict.

The clenching of his jaw betrays his reaction. He’s angry. “When he did? What happened? Please don’t tell me my dearest friend mistreated you. He only ever spoke of his love for you.” He rakes a hand through his wet hair, the muscles in his torso flexing with the movement, drawing my gaze down his body again. “It’s no wonder I was imprisoned in purgatory. I should never have let him convince me to help provide an heir. I knew once I had you I’d be lost to you.”

My heart gives a pained lurch. Our past is a minefield of wounds. “No, that’s not it.” How do I tell him that it wasn’t only my name Arthur called when we would come together as husband and wife, but Lancelot’s? The High King of England’s forbidden and unrequited love. He loved us both and he never truly had either of us. “Arthur was good to me.”

“And yet you came to me willingly. You planned to continue our love affair until when? The end of our days? Were it not for Morgan discovering us in bed together, would you have ever left him for me?”

I shake my head. “I never planned to leave. But not because I didn’t want you. If our circumstances had been different. If I hadn’t been destined for a young death, I would have happily lived out my days with you.”

He sits next to me, his big body so close I can feel his heat. I want to touch him, but if I do, we’ll likely end up killing each other or fucking…or both. Our relationship was always passion filled, but this anger between us stirs a different level of desire. This would be a hate-fuck. Lancelot isn’t the type of man who’d allow himself to indulge in that way. He taught me many things Arthur couldn’t, but my knight had always treated me with tenderness and care.

“I want to believe you, my lady. I truly do, but your words don’t match the truth you spoke when last we saw one another. You need me now, you’ve said as much, but I doubt that is because of your love for me. Now I understand how it is between us. You’d say anything to get me to help you recover your magic.”

Oh, this man is the most frustrating person I’ve ever known. I stand, not willing to let him hurt me with sharp words. “You’re right. I need you for nothing more than as a way to stop what’s coming and to restore my sisters and me. Thanks for the reminder.”

“My queen,” he starts as I leave. When he moves to rise, I hold out a hand, stopping him.

“I’m not your queen anymore. You don’t have to stand when I enter or leave.”

“You’ll always be my queen. I can’t think of you any other way. That’s why this is all so strange. You walk around in breeches, your gorgeous rear end on display for every man to see, and your shirt so thin I can see your undergarments beneath it. You’re the picture of temptation, but then you always were. The forbidden fruit I shouldn’t covet. My best friend’s wife. God help me, but even now, I want you.”

That has my breath catching in my throat. I swallow past the tightness and tell myself this is a bad idea. “We’re no good for each other, Lance. You know as well as I do. We’ll bring each other nothing but misery.”

He stands, his face serious and gaze filled with need, irises nearly glowing from the arousal burning in him. “Will we?” I back up slowly as he stalks toward me. “You’re here, brought to me by an angel. Would God really toy with us like this? I suffered nearly a thousand years in purgatory. You’ve died time and time again. Would he deny us this now?”

I cough, choking on my own words. “It’s late…we…we need to…we should go to bed.”

“I remember very clearly the nights you spent in my bed. You had no care for the late hour.” His strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his nearly naked form. He’s hot. His skin burning me like a fire. His eyes, nearly pitch black, flash red for just a moment, but I must’ve imagined that. When I focus on them again, they’re only darkened with arousal.

“Lance…you’re—” I lose all power of speech when he presses his lips to the sensitive space between my neck and shoulder. Shuddering in pleasure, I give myself to the feeling I’ve been missing since my nights with him. His hands slide up my back, under my shirt. Oh, the feel of those fingers, rough with the hard won toughness only a knight who has seen many battles can claim. I lean in instead of pulling away. He’s right. Gabriel didn’t say anything about keeping our hands off one another. I’m not married. I can finally be Lancelot’s without any guilt.

“Oh, Gwen, my Gwen,” he murmurs against my skin. There’s such desperation in his words. I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my belly and I ache for him just as I did in the lift when the adrenaline of fighting with those demons got the better of me.

My head spins and the world tilts, but this time it’s not because of his touch. Everything fades as a rushing pulse of power fills my ears. Shit. After all this time without one, I’m finally having a vision of the future.

Lancelot

Gwen is my home. From the moment I pulled her to me, I knew I couldn’t deny my need for her any longer. But I hadn’t planned to do anything of the sort. My desire and my control have been waging war since she was brought back to me. This time, desire won and I couldn’t stop myself from taking her into my arms. I’m a weak man. I spent my life waiting, serving my king, loving my queen, and living as a sinner.

The depth of my betrayal of Arthur goes so much farther than taking his wife to bed. In his eyes, there was nothing to forgive. It had been his idea. He had watched us and enjoyed it. Who better to help provide England with its next king than his most trusted friend and knight? He knew I’d never breathe a word of the child’s true parentage. I’d pledged my loyalty to him and his queen. But, he didn’t know the sinner I became. And oh, how I sinned.

I coveted her. I wanted Guinevere more than my next breath, and after I had a taste, I became a glutton for her. I worshipped at her altar. I put her above all else. Even my king and my God.

She’s as perfect as I remember. Her soft floral scent reminding me of waking with her perfume still on my bedclothes. I trail my lips up her neck until I reach her earlobe. I know the small places that make her moan my name. But she stiffens in my arms and groans as though in pain.

“No,” she murmurs, panic in her voice.

“What is it?” I pull back and stare down at her, shocked to find her eyes closed, lids fluttering.

Her breath comes in harsh gasps as her brows furrow and she trembles in my hold. She doesn’t answer me and fear takes hold in my gut.

“Gwen. Answer me, please?”

She comes out of her trance almost as quickly as she fell into it. Her face pale and eyes tired. “We’re destined for tragedy. We always have been.”

“We aren’t. We’re destined to finally have our life together.” I know it in my bones. This is our second chance.

Pulling away from me, she shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. “No. Loving you ends in our deaths. I saw it. You’re not here for me.”

“Stop it. You can’t know that. Your visions about me aren’t always true. They’ve led you astray before.”

She won’t look at me. Those beautiful eyes are cast down and she closes herself off. “I…we’ll stop the end of the world, but after that, you have to move on. Find someone else. I’m not meant for you.”

Gwen leaves me in silence, my body unfulfilled and throbbing with wanting her. But the worst part is the ache in my chest. Her visions ruined us once before. She’s clearly going to let the same be true today.

I don’t go after her. I made that mistake once and she left me. Instead, I make my way into the bedroom. I can hear Gwen moving around in the kitchen, the hiss of the water boiling in the kettle, the clink of a mug and saucer. She’s troubled. The woman always busies herself when her mind is full of worry.

My room is at the end of the hall. A small space, fit for a man such as myself. I don’t need much, just a place to rest. Letting my towel fall to the floor I stride across the room to the chest of drawers in the corner. I select some boxer briefs, as the angel Tamiel informed me they’re called, and step into them. My cock is still hard as stone and I suck in a harsh breath at the contact while I adjust myself. I haven’t spent my pleasure in far too long—not since Gwen—and the nearness of her now makes me wild.

Perhaps I should take myself in hand and stroke my aching length until I release, if only to temper some of my desire. But it would be a temporary reprieve. With her in this flat, I can only imagine this will be a persistent problem. I let out a long sigh and close my eyes, willing away the arousal coursing through my body. I’m not ready to take to my bed, not when Gwen is fretting.

The sound of a pained cry and a clatter from the kitchen has my heart lurching and I’m opening the door before I can calm myself. It’s always been my first response to her distress. Protect. Defend. Rescue.

The thought of her being harmed brings to mind one particular terrible moment in our history. Her tear-streaked face, torn gown, and the haunted look in her eyes as she stood over the body of the man who’d tried to rape her. I never want to relive that moment.

“Gwen,” I call, working to keep the fear from my voice.

I round the corner and find her holding her hand under the running water of the sink. Her palm is an angry red, the kettle on the floor at her feet offering clear evidence that she’s burned herself.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I was a bloody idiot and forgot that metal gets hot on the stove.”

I can’t help but laugh as I take her hand from the water and inspect the burn. “Such language, my lady.” I can’t help myself. I press my lips to her palm in hopes of soothing her hurt.

She locks eyes with me and I can see the warring emotions. “Please don’t be gallant. Don’t save me. I’m past the point of rescue.”

“I will always save you, Guinevere. It’s who I am. Your knight. Your champion.”

She bends down with a rag in her hand and picks up the hot kettle before placing it on the stove. Then turns to me and whispers, “I don’t want a champion.”