Wicked Games (23 page)

“I was wrong.” He stared down into her eyes, his own steady and unflinching with honesty. “Wrong about refusing to let you fight. I'd be dead now if you hadn't brought Excalibur to me, if you hadn't asked Nimue to help you create the sword, even though it meant paying the price of its creation in pain.”

He sighed and stroked her face. “I've seen war cripple men with fear and evil memories. I've lived with my own nightmares, my own bloody ghosts. I didn't want you to know that shadow on your pure soul.” He hesitated. “But more than that, I didn't want to risk losing you. I couldn't stand the thought of watching you fall beneath Mordred's sword.”

“But I didn't.” She eyed him, wondering where he was going with this.

“No. I underestimated you. You're so much stronger than I thought a woman could be, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, too. But I should have known better. You've always been strong throughout all the years of our marriage, despite war and miscarriages and everyone who wanted us dead, my son included. Hell, you're stronger than
I
am, come to that.” Suddenly his mood shifted into lazy menace, dark eyes glittering. “Which doesn't change the fact that you disobeyed a royal order.”

“Ah. Yes. Well . . .” Gwen's pleased smile faded into sensual alarm.

“You do know,” he murmured, his lids dipping as he leaned close to whisper, his voice rough and erotic, “what happens to a pretty little witch queen who ignores her king's orders?”

“A spanking?”

He flashed those fangs. “Yes—as an appetizer. Unfortunately for you, I'm afraid it's going to take quite a bit more than that to satisfy me. One mere spanking just won't be enough.”

She swallowed and licked her lips, her heart banging in her chest. “It won't?”

“I'm afraid that tight little arse of yours will be paying the price for your defiance.”

Gwen returned his hot male smile with a sassy grin. “I look forward to it.”

“We'll see just how happy you are when my hand starts reddening that pretty rump.” His grin broadened. “And my cock starts fucking it.”

But beneath that erotic anticipation was another set of emotions: relief that they'd survived despite the odds, despite the cost. “I love you, Gwen,” he told her.

“And I love you, my king.”

His strong arms drew her close, and she nestled against him with a purr of happy anticipation.

No matter what challenges the future held as they tried to save humanity from itself, Gwen knew she and Arthur would meet them together. And they'd overcome.

“Of course we will
,”
Arthur said
. “Love does not back down.”

M
any of the Knights of the Round Table who appear in “The Once and Future Lover”
find happiness in my other published Mageverse novels and novellas, all of which are set in the present day.

Lancelot falls in love with Morgana's granddaughter, cop Grace Morgan, in “Seduction's Gift,” a novella in
Hot Blooded
.

In “Galahad,” a novella in the anthology
Bite
, Lancelot's son falls for a beautiful former teacher named Caroline Lang.

Gawain comes to love Tristan's granddaughter, Lark McGuin, in
Master of Swords
.

In
Master of Shadows
, Tristan finds court seducer La Belle Coeur impossible to resist.

Centuries pass before Arthur and Gwen have a son. In
Master of Fire
, cop and forensic scientist Logan MacRoy (whose last name means “son of the king”) falls for a beautiful chemist named Giada Shepherd.

I regret to say three characters in “The Once and Future Lover” do not get happy endings. Sir Bors dies in combat in the course of one of the books, as does Lady Diera.

In a couple of the books, I list Sir Kay as among the current Knights of the Round Table. However, in two other Mageverse stories, I state Kay died in action during World War II. (This contradiction is a result of both my rotten memory and the fact the series took a decade to write.)

While writing “The Once and Future Lover,” I realized Kay must be dead, because he's too important as one of Arthur's advisors. If he were still alive, he'd be front and center, so he must be dead in the present day.

If you'd like to learn more about my books, please visit my website, angelasknights.com. You'll find a list of the Mageverse books in reading order there at angelasknights.com/books.html. (Note that several of the Mageverse books don't involve a Knight of the Round Table as the romantic hero. You may want to refer to the printable booklist if you want to read the series in order.)

Last but not least, there's the story of Morgana's 1,500-year obsession with Percival, Marrok, and Cador in “Oath of Service.” That's right—there are three of them, God help me. Look for that one in
Love Bites
. You'll find an excerpt at the end of this book.

Best, Angela Knight

T
he air was cold on my breasts, and my nipples tingled, drawn into tight, hard points. Staring into the darkness of the velvet hood, I tried not to shiver. I could hear the man pacing around me, inches away, moving so quietly, and yet there was an impression of size, of danger about him despite his silence. I was acutely aware of my nakedness.

“What do you think?” asked the precise tenor of my stepson. The whoreson bastard.

“Lovely,” the man said. His voice was odd, a deep, rich rumble that vibrated pleasantly in my ears. He was behind me now. Suddenly hands engulfed my breasts, big hands, hard and callused, lifting the soft globes to pluck delicately at my nipples. I stifled a moan and would have tried to push him away, but my wrists were bound in front of me. “She has very responsive breasts,” he said.

“Brianne's tits are her best feature,” agreed Cedric. “God knows my lord father thought so. May he rot in hell. He must have been addled, marrying her as he did with one foot in the grave. My God, look at her. She's younger than
I
am.”

“Yes,” answered the rumble. The big hands moved, drifting down the bare, sensitive ripples of my ribs, testing the plane of my belly. I fought not to squirm. I would not give either man that satis- faction.

The hand drifted between my thighs, long fingers burrowing skillfully into the curls there, parting the lips that had gone so shamefully damp under the man's skillful caresses. I stiffened in outrage, but I knew a protest would only earn me a slap from Cedric.

He stroked slowly between the plump lips, taking his time, teasing shameful pleasure from my body. It seemed I felt a brush of fur against my inner thighs as he touched me, and I wondered if he wore gloves.

“Well,” Cedric demanded. “Do you agree? Will you keep her here, in your castle . . . ?”

A very long finger found the opening of my cunt and slowly eased its way inside. “That depends,” the man said. “I still don't understand why you want to sell her to me.”

“Because otherwise I'll have to pay Brianne the share of the inheritance the old man left her,” Cedric said with exaggerated patience. “And I don't care to do that.”

A low, rumbling growl vibrated in my ear. I stirred nervously. It sounded far more like a wolf than a man.

When Cedric spoke again, he, too, sounded nervous. “I was going to kill her, but I remembered you and Edrea and all the games you used to play here before . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Before she cursed me.” The voice was so cold with frigid anger that I flinched. He slipped an arm around me to hold me still. I felt fur and linen brush my naked flesh, and shivered.

“Ah, yes. Don't you see, milord? It's poetic justice. She seduced my father with her charms, she would have inherited a third of everything rightfully mine . . . but instead, she becomes your slave. Yours to torment, as you are tormented.”

The finger probing me was joined by a second. The sensation was liquid, hot. Shameful. “Yessssss.”

“She is, after all, nobly born,” Cedric said, cajoling. “You won't often have a chance at such a beauty, thanks to Edrea . . .”

The growl was so loud I jumped. “True, curse you. But this one . . . this one won't refuse me. I won't allow it.” He released my waist and cunt, and suddenly hands were prying my bottom cheeks apart. A finger stabbed up, forcing its way into my anus. I arched my back and gasped in pain.

“I'll take her whenever I want, however I want,” the voice growled.

“So,” said Cedric, voice vibrating with triumph. “It's agreed?”

“Not so fast. First I want to see her face.”

Before I could even pull at the ropes binding my wrists, he whirled me to face him and snatched the hood off my head. Blinking in the light of the torches, I looked into the face of the one who would be my master. And felt my heart skip in shock.

The top of my head barely came to his breastbone, and his shoulders were wide as a sword over a chest roped in muscle. He wore a rich wine doublet, a fine linen shirt, and black britches that hugged his long, brawny legs. His boots were made of soft dark leather that clung to his strong calves.

In all, he had the sort of strong male form to make a maiden's heart beat faster—had it not been covered entirely in silky black fur.

His pelt—there was no other word for it—was as shiny and black as a panther's everywhere except on his head, where it lengthened into a magnificent mane that extended down his back. Great horns thrust through that silken hair, curving like a ram's on either side of his arrogant head.

Yet despite those animal features, his face was human. Indeed, there was raw masculine beauty in his high, broad cheekbones and square chin that not even fur could disguise. His lips were full and sensuous, though as dark as his pelt, and his teeth gleamed white as he smiled down at me, hungry and possessive.

“I'll take her,” he told Cedric, his voice rumbling with lust. I fainted dead away.

•   •   •

I
f anyone had told me when I married the old earl that six months later I'd be naked on my hands and knees scrubbing floors, I would have called him mad.

But there I was, knees aching from the cold stone of milord's castle floor, my wet hands chill from the wash water.

Other parts of me were all too warm.

My breasts rubbed against the chains that looped from the slave collar down between my legs and up my back to my collar again. The links, warm from my skin, tormented my hardened nipples and clit even as they rolled against the openings of my sex and bottom. They tortured me, those chains, with little spurts of heat and pleasure and discomfort . . . almost as much as the eyes I could feel watching me from across the room.

My master's eyes.

Yet I did not dare stop in the task I had been given. I had learned my lesson when I challenged him as we rode to his castle.

“I will not be your slave,” I'd told him then, trying not to lean against his chest as I sat across his lap in the saddle. “My father . . .”

“Sold you to the highest bidder,” he said, in a voice somewhere between a purr and a growl, “Who sold you to me.”

“Unlawfully,” I said, lifting my chin.

The Beast shrugged. “Cedric is now the Earl of Darkcliffe. He can do what he wishes with you.”

I swallowed. “It is
not
his right to sell me like some bondslave.”

“Right is what you take,” he told me. “And I have claimed the right to you.” He lifted one of those human-looking hands from the reins and stretched his fingers wide. Inch-long claws extended from his fingertips.

So it was that I found myself scrubbing floors.

Now I dragged the scrub brush grimly over the worn stone. My chains still tormented me, but not as much as my bitter thoughts. By now Cedric had followed through with his plan to tell all and sundry that highwaymen had killed me. Thanks to his high rank, none would dare question him, not even my father, mere baron that he was.

I had no choice but to obey the Beast as I would a husband, or feel his fist. Or claws.

“Brianne,” he said from his corner, and I started. His eyes shone green fire at me. “Come here.”

My heart sank. I knew he wanted more from me now than playing the menial.

Wishing I dared stall, I stood and walked toward him, chains jangling softly. Folding my manacled wrists in front of me, I stood before him and waited, head bowed in galling submission.

“Down. On the floor,” he ordered. “On your back.”

Gnawing my lip, I lay down and looked up at him as he sat there in his massive carved chair. His booted feet were inches from my bare toes.

“Now rest your heels on the arms of my chair,” the Beast said, his voice a deep, thrumming purr.

I obeyed. And swallowed, realizing that this pose spread my thighs, exposing me completely to those green eyes.

“Very nice,” he said, leaning forward in the chair. “I like the way that red hair of yours pools around your face. And your nipples . . .”

He licked his lips, looking uncomfortably like a tiger anticipating a meal. Green eyes stared directly into mine, the irises vertical slits. “Caress yourself for me.”

“What?” I squeaked.

“Your nipples,” he growled, impatient. “Roll them between your fingers.”

I thought about refusing, but a scratching sound caught my attention. He was extending and retracting his claws like a cat kneading a cushion. The tips raked the wood of the chair arm with a chilling
scritch scritch scritch
.

Biting my lip, I lifted both hands, listening to the chains clank, and caught my pointed nipples between my fingers. I could feel myself going bright red with mortification as I began to roll them.

“Stretch them upward,” he ordered.

I pulled at the soft, pink flesh and tried not to groan at the curls of warm sensation that rolled through me.

“That's right,” he said. Something hard and thick grew behind the tight fabric of his fawn britches. “Grab those pretty breasts. Lift them to me.”

I obeyed, my fingers sinking into my own soft skin. “They're quite big. I wonder . . . Can you lick them?”

“I . . . don't know.” I'd certainly never tried.

“Find out.”

Reluctantly, I bent my head down, tightening my grip until the nipple pouted into range of my tongue. I licked. And squirmed as I caught my nipple in a glancing swipe.

“Oh, yes.” The Beast's eyes were glowing like twin candle flames. “I thought you could. Now masturbate for me.”

Heat flooded my face. But there was something about that hot green gaze that ripped away my will to resist. I reached down. My fingers threaded through cherry curls, slid between my lips.

And found, to my shame, that I was very wet. My fingers glided to my clit to begin a practiced circling.

The Beast's hand went to the buttons of his britches. I froze.

“Continue,” he rumbled, even as he freed his huge, dark erection. Like his lips, his shaft was so black it was almost blue. And it was near as thick as my wrist.

Staring helplessly at milord's massive cock, I rubbed my clit, feeling something wet trickle furtively between my lips.

His hand, claws retracted, began to stroke up and down that menacing rod.

I gasped, unable to control my breathing, as one hand strummed my clit and the other rolled my nipple. Milord watched, his big hand working his shaft. His eyes glowed hotter, male and predatory. A sense of rigid restraint vibrated around him, as if he barely kept himself from falling on me like a starving lion.

I slid two fingers into my cunt. My hips rolled upward, but I managed to still them. I had to obey his orders, but I didn't have to be so obvious in my lust.

“Tomorrow, I think,” the Beast said, “I'll show you the dungeon Edrea designed for our pleasure. I'd love to see you stretched out in chains there, writhing as I paint those big breasts with candle wax. I can't wait to watch that noblewoman's arrogance turn to helpless submission.”

Eyes narrowed to slits, a lazy rumble in his throat, Beast stroked himself. I watched his hand move and wondered whether it was natural to have a cock of such size. The earl had not had half milord's length, even in his rare moments of rigidity.

My shame faded as my heat rose, and I couldn't seem to stop myself from burying my fingers deeply into my wetness, each gliding entry painting fire throughout my mound. My thighs twitched and I shut my eyes, gritting my teeth as I sought the climax that danced somewhere just beyond the next stroke of my fingers.

“Open your eyes!” Beast growled, and I snapped them wide.

He was on his feet now, astride me, looking down from his great height as he pumped his shaft. My own hand picked up its pace and I whimpered, twisting between his shiny black boots.

“That's it,” he purred, “I want you to come. Come watching me. Come thinking about what I'm going to do to you. How I'm going to take you. Soon.”

I groaned in mingled shame and helpless excitement, thrusting my hips upward at him.

And then, suddenly, the heat in my pearl exploded, thrumming through me in hard ripples that made me scream out with the raw, stark pleasure of it. Distantly, I could hear Beast's purring rumble, building in intensity toward a low roar.

Something wet splashed onto my upturned face, hot and white.

Gasping, I looked up at him, towering above me, and licked his come from my lips.

•   •   •

I
stood close to the fire, savoring its warmth while I tried not to stare at my master. He sat at an elaborately carved dining table, eating with neat, precise movements of his knife. My stomach rumbled. I'd had no food since before my kidnapping the previous night, and I was more than ready to eat.

Milord put down his knife and leaned back, eyes going to me. “Come here,” he said, and I stiffened at a wave of heat. I remembered all too well what had followed those words this afternoon.

But I also knew better than to refuse, so I padded across the stone floor toward him, feeling my silk skirts sliding around my legs as I walked. Milord Beast had allowed me to dress after our last heated encounter, though the gown was a thin white silk that barely veiled the pink of my nipples.

He spread his knees apart and pointed to the floor between them. “Kneel.”

I bit my lip as my heartbeat accelerated. Obediently, I crouched between his boots, feeling the warmth from his muscular thighs bathe me.

Milord watched me as he reached out a long arm to the table in front of him. Then he held it out to me, holding a bit of savory meat like a man feeding a hound.

“Open for me,” he said.

I parted my lips. His fingers, covered in satiny fur, slid into my mouth, touched my tongue, teased it with the bite. Greatly tempted, I managed not to lick them as they withdrew. I chewed the morsel, hot juices flooding down my throat.