The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(13)

“I could attempt the Ordeal on my own,” she said. “Like you did.”

“No,” Arthur snapped. “You will not.”

Cybele flinched. She turned and leaned against the sink. To her surprise, Arthur had left the table. He stood on the other side of the room, palms braced on the wall, head bowed.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He turned and pressed his spine to the wall. She wanted to go to him, put her arms around his neck and press her cheek to his chest. She wanted to feel like she was free to do that at any time, and he would welcome her.

She stayed where she was. “The Ordeal was awful, wasn’t it?”

His expression hardened. “Leave it, Cybele.”

She bit her lip. “Leaving it” wasn’t much in her nature. “Forcing it” was more her style. But in this instance, she found herself backing down.

“So,” she said. “It’s to be a challenge.” She eyed his rigid shoulders. “Can you win a duel?”

He made a harsh sound. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

His uncertainty left her cold. If he couldn’t defeat Mab, there were only two other ways things could end up. Arthur would be dead, or he’d be wearing Mab’s thrall collar. She wasn’t sure which outcome would be worse.

But how could he possibly win, if he didn’t believe he could? She approached him slowly, hating herself for her caution. She’d never felt cautious around him before. But then, she didn’t know this new Arthur. Oh, she’d known the Ordeal would change him. She wasn’t an idiot. But somehow she hadn’t expected him to be so...harsh.

She stopped, close enough to feel his body heat. He watched her with wary eyes, unmoving. She didn’t like that reaction at all. She resisted the urge to brush a wisp of hair out of his eyes. She gave him a small smile instead. He didn’t return it.

The pad of her finger brushed his mother’s touchstone. A spark of magic leapt. The star inside the gem glowed brighter.

Arthur covered her hand with his, pressing it against his chest, the pendent under her palm. His eyes met hers. His gray irises, light in the middle, with a darker ring around the edge, looked like ice.

“I promise you,” he said urgently. “I will give the last drop of my power, and my body’s last breath, to see you safe.” His fingers tightened, squeezing almost painfully. “But I have to warn you. You need to be prepared. I might not be able to defeat her. I might end up dead. Or wearing a collar.”

She forced her voice to remain even. “You don’t think your power is strong enough?”

He released her and paced to the other side of the room. “Oh, it’s strong enough. The trouble is, I can’t control it.”

“You’ll learn.”

“Maybe. Given enough time. Time and... Hell. I have no idea what it’ll take. I can throw hellfire, obviously, but constructing a glamour?” He spread his hands. “I can’t create even the simplest illusion.”

“I can teach you.”

He shot her a look. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“Why not?”

“I won’t have you within striking range. Not until I’m sure I won’t hurt you. Right now, calling magic is like trying to shoot a single leaf off a tree with a hand grenade.”

She turned and leaned against the wall, in the spot he’d occupied just moments ago. The plaster was still warm from his body heat.

“A grenade might do the trick in a duel,” she said. “It might even be better than a direct hit.”

“No.” He opened a cupboard, frowned at the boxes and cans inside, and then closed it again. “The advantage would be Mab’s. She’ll slice me in half before I can even summon so much as a spark of hellfire.”

“What kind of sad-ass talk is that?” Honestly, Cybele felt like strangling him. “How the hell are you going to win if all you think about is losing?”

“We need to think about it.” He swung around to face her. “We need to plan what you’ll do if it happens.”

She crossed her arms. “No. I won’t discuss it. Because it’s not going to happen.” Someone had to believe that, since he clearly didn’t.

And she did believe it. She’d always believed in Arthur, from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. No matter that he’d been twelve years old and shivering, eyes blank with shock and grief. When she’d looked at the British boy Mab had brought to Texas, she’d felt her magic stir for the very first time. Tingling in her palms, spinning in her brain. A hum in her ears and a strange vibration in her chest. Yes, she’d known. Even though he was a dormant, and only a male, she’d sensed a rare and powerful magic. It hadn’t surprised her at all when she’d learned Arthur was Merlin’s heir.

And that was before he’d filled her mind with his strange notions about the human race and his duty toward it. Before he’d helped her step away from Mab and discover her own strength.

“The ancestral memories will help,” she said now. “Once you can see them clearly.”

He laughed, an ugly sound. “If I ever see them clearly.”

“You saw one strong memory. It led you to the moonstone. More memories are bound to follow.” She paused. “Can’t you make out anything else at all?”