The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(73)

EIGHTEEN


Arthur didn’t trust the archangel. Not one bit. But he had no wish to be skewered on the point of Raphael’s flaming sword. At least with the archangels present, Dusek wouldn’t get his hands on Merlin’s staff, either. That was something.

He stepped away. One tense moment later, Raphael’s shoulders relaxed. He lowered his sword.

“Arthur!”

His head whipped around. Dusek hauled Cybele up against his body, his arm across her throat. She fought like a wild thing. They were near the edge of the cave. A couple more steps and they’d disappear into the maze of tunnels. If Dusek told the truth and whatever angel had been inhabiting Jack’s body was now secure in the Alchemist’s mirror, the Nephil could carry Cybele through the celestial seal and disappear before Arthur could stop him.

Unless...

Arthur lunged for Merlin’s staff. This time, both hands closed on gnarled wood. Bracing his legs wide, he pulled with all his strength. With no resistance at all, the twisted branch slipped free. Arthur fell backward, clutching the staff to his chest.

“Fool.” Raphael, sword ablaze, leapt across the water. Arthur, still sprawled on his arse, swept the head of the staff before him. Hissing steam, shooting from the hole where the staff had been, momentarily obscured his view across the water. By the time his line of sight cleared, Cybele and Dusek were gone.

He jumped to his feet, wings aloft, intent on launching himself after them. His flight was blocked by Raphael. The archangel landed before him, brandishing his flaming sword and shrieking with fury.

“Cursed Nephil. What have you done?”

“Out of my way.” Arthur feinted left and dove right. The archangel wasn’t fooled. Half-obscured by the hissing steam, his sword raised above his head, Raphael blocked Arthur’s escape.

Arthur raised the staff, holding it crosswise in both hands like a fighting stick. The crystal orb flashed. The angel’s sword came down. Golden blade bit twisted wood. Shock reverberated through Arthur’s body. Magic raced up his arms and across his shoulders.

It exploded in his brain.

And with the magic came memory.

***

“You are so beautiful,” said Merlin.

Nimue’s lashes swept downward, as if to deny her lover’s fervent praise. How could she be shy after what they’d just shared? But she was young, Merlin told himself. Young and uncertain. Whereas he was old and filled with regrets.

She made him feel new.

Perhaps that was why he’d brought her to the place where he’d met his Ordeal. Here, on the island in the center of the pool. He’d nearly died here, nearly gone mad. But in the end, he’d triumphed. Magic greater than any he should have been able to possess had come to him.

The underworld was very close to the surface in this cave. To his attuned senses, it pulsed like a heartbeat. Had his demon powers been worth the price? In the past he had not doubted it. Now, he was less sure. Of a certainty, there had been victories. Important work done on behalf of his human brothers and sisters. In the end, though, betrayal had found the High King—in the guises of his lover, his best friend, and even, most tragically, his son. Fragile alliances had shattered. War and corruption had followed. Merlin had poured his heart and magic into salvaging the wreckage. To no avail. In the end, humanity had ended up no better off than when he had started.

“What are you thinking, my lord?”

He shoved the past into a dark corner of his mind and turned his attention to the light of the woman before him. “Nothing important, my dear. Only of how foolish I have been.”

She smiled. “Never foolish. You are a wonder to me. So wise. So strong.”

Merlin knew he was neither, but his vanity soaked up her adulation nonetheless. “And you are perfect,” he told her.

She sat up, her naked breasts swaying softly. He found it incredible that she was able to give herself so completely. When he’d found her, she’d been close to ending her own life. She’d been ravished, she told him, by a Saxon. She’d left her violator’s child at the door of a monastery and entered the forest. She had intended to do herself the ultimate harm.

He’d taken her into his care. After all his failures, it had felt good to bring peace and healing to one woman. A witch, he sensed. He would nurture her magic, he decided, teach her to defend herself from future attack.

He hadn’t thought to make her his lover. But somehow, Nimue had burrowed her way into his heart and from there, into his bed. He’d been honored that she had chosen him after all she’d endured.

The sable furs he’d spread upon the stone for her comfort provided sumptuous dark contrast to her fair skin. She crawled across the fur to him on lithe slender limbs. His gaze clung to her rounded bottom. His erection, so recently spent, thickened anew.

She reached him and pressed a kiss to his chest. “Will you show me?” She arched her back and peered up at him through her lashes. “Will you teach me?”

“Magic?” He frowned down at her.

She licked a line up his neck and nibbled at his jaw. “Yes.”

Though it was the last thing he wished to do, he set his hands on her shoulders and eased her away. Kneeling before him, her bottom on her heels, she gave him a questioning look. “Well?”

“You are not a Nephil,” he said.

She lifted her arms and stretched like a cat, her back arching. Her breasts filled his vision. He reached for her and they filled his hands as well.