Not even Nessa’s hunger for justice could compete with Lucan’s gnawing need for revenge. If Kel hadn’t deserted, Arthur might not have fallen in battle and Rhiannon might not have lashed out, making everyone suffer for her loss.
Distracted by the slow burn of betrayal and the wraith’s subtle push to take action now, it took him a few moments to remember his priority stood two feet away. As grateful as he was that Kel had been delivered to him, he also wanted to curse those responsible for reminding him of what Briana looked like in the sun.
As much as the shadows and moonlight suited the woman who hadn’t flinched from the wraith, the sight of her in the sun—the lighter threads of her dark hair the color of fire, her eyes more stunning—took his breath away.
Most remarkable of all was the way she ignored the sun completely. Even the wolf, who’d agreed the sun was likely an illusion, continued to turn his face up to the brilliant light. The dragon had made no effort to hide his indulgence, and yet Briana remained unaffected.
“I am Maeve,” the female announced.
Nessa straightened. “The goddess of war.”
The wraith stirred, intrigued, but Lucan didn’t let the leash slip. Getting Briana back to her brothers came first, and then he could deal with Kel, even if it meant using the huntress to make it happen.
Maeve smiled, though her eyes narrowed at Nessa’s interruption. “I am known for many interests.” She waved in the direction of the tree. “My brother, Aren. We thank you for accepting our invitation.”
Elena snorted. “You might try going with a simple Evite next time.”
The goddess gave her a blank look.
It wasn’t hard to see why Elena had gained such a notorious reputation among immortals. It was rumored her house’s allegiance to Rhiannon was the only reason she hadn’t been confronted by a huntress or marked for assassination by a wraith.
“You have all been selected to participate in our games,” Maeve continued.
Elena frowned. “Games? Are we celebrating something?”
“Our awakening, of course.” Maeve’s brother finally stepped from beneath the tree. His hair was the same fiery red and nearly as long as his sister’s, though he wore his tied back. One half of his face was as flawless as his sister’s while the other looked as though someone had taken a blow torch to it and the pink, blistered wounds never healed.
“Why us?” Briana asked, challenging the goddess a little more diplomatically than Elena.
“You all met our criteria.”
The Korrigan threw his hands out. “How could a lusty wench—” he pointed at the enchantress who apparently did know when to keep quiet and stay under the radar after all, “—ever be competition for the largest tradesman in Avalon?”
Nessa snorted. “Don’t you mean slave-dealer? And by largest, I know you’re not referring to your size.”
Briana reached for Vaughn, turning him around.
Lucan’s instinct to put himself between the two of them rattled him. He flexed his fist at his side, certain the enchantress’s spell was still affecting him. Standing motionless, he watched Briana point to the cross-like glyph on the back of the wolf’s shoulder. Lucan might have noticed it sooner if he hadn’t been preoccupied with figuring out why the wraith had taken control twice now.
“And was the Fae warrior part of your selection criteria?”
Maeve tilted her head, her gaze fixing too intently on Briana. “For some of you.”
“And by games,” Briana continued, her chin rising a notch. “You’re referring to the Gauntlet.”
Lucan’s head buzzed. The odds of getting Briana home unscathed had just been stacked against them.
He scanned the faces of those around him, their expressions a similar mix of confusion, and for those not quick enough to mask it, worry.
So it was true then. Another Campaign was definitely brewing, another explosion of ego-fueled shows of power that had the potential to wipe out at least half the immortal population.
Worse than that, though, was the likelihood the battles would spill into the earth realm. Lifetimes ago such a war wouldn’t have touched humanity or exposed Avalon. There would be no avoiding it this time. Even Rhiannon’s drive to keep their world hidden from the human race would cease to matter in the face of war with others like her.
No one made a sound for a long moment.
The goddess ran her hand across a flower with thorns that looked sharp enough to sever a finger. “I knew there was a reason we chose to include you instead of another from your gargoyle clan.” Her gaze landed on Briana, and a chill ripped up Lucan’s spine.
“The Gauntlet is a myth,” Vaughn said, talking to no one in particular. “Isn’t it?”
Briana tensed beside Lucan. “The mark on your shoulder blade is the symbol of the games.”
Vaughn reached back. “What mark?”
“I have the same one on my hip.” Briana tugged the waist of her pants down enough to expose the symbol that mirrored Vaughn’s. “I imagine we all have one.”
Lucan knew the brand explained the irritation he felt at his lower back.
The lines around Maeve’s mouth tightened. “The mark is a safety precaution. The Gauntlet is sacred and we couldn’t have any of you leaving—” she seemed to choose the last word carefully, “—before everything was explained.”
What was there to explain? The little Lucan knew of the Gauntlet came from Rhiannon’s own lips, and even the goddess regarded the event as a waste of time. Gauntlet victors—mere immortals in her eyes—couldn’t possibly affect the outcome of a war between the gods.
“And if we choose to decline your invitation?” Both gods glanced Lucan’s way, and he welcomed their attention.
Neither man nor wraith liked how closely Maeve watched Briana. If she’d been a last-minute selection, he didn’t want them changing their minds and lashing out at her because she’d provoked them.
The gods exchanged long looks and laughed—the sounds high-pitched, unnatural—as if they were the only ones in on the joke.
Aren tossed an apple that appeared from nowhere, into the air. “So eager to return to murdering innocents in service to your goddess?”
Lucan knew when he was being baited and kept his opinion of Rhiannon to himself. He hadn’t been selected to compete because of his loyalty to Rhiannon, but nothing could be gained by admitting just how deep his hatred for her ran.
“Or perhaps you haven’t had your daily fill of slaughtering yet,” Aren taunted. “Have you fed today, wraith? That one has a pretty neck.” He pointed at Briana. “Or would you prefer another?”
With a snap of the god’s fingers, the same redhead from the underground parking lot appeared next to Lucan.
Her eyes widened and she stumbled back a step, her terrified gaze darting around. Her lips parted, but Aren cut her off with a wave of his hand.
“Do not bore me with your questions, mortal.”
Her eyes went wild with the realization she couldn’t speak.
Aren wandered closer, paying no attention to the woman. “Is she not acceptable?” The god shifted his attention to Briana. “Your wraith’s new friend is quite beautiful, is she not?”
Maeve sighed. “Stop toying with them, brother. They’re our guests.” The redhead vanished with a snap of Maeve’s fingers. “No one will be forced to compete, but I will ask that everyone listens to our proposition before making a decision. I promise it will be worth your while to stay.”
“If he stays, then I hope you’ve got an endless supply of redheads for him.” Elena nodded at Lucan. “No offense.”
Maeve ignored the comment and continued her stroll around the courtyard, her long navy gown trailing across the stones behind her. “The Gauntlet is comprised of five rounds. Each one will be worth more than the last, making it possible to fail in the first rounds and still win by succeeding in the final challenge.”