“Careful, my friend.” Constantine lowered his voice. “That one is not a plaything.”
He resisted the urge to rub the unsettling tightness in his chest. “It’s the only thing I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then take care. You risk much—”
“I will take my vows.” He hadn’t for a moment forgotten his duties and what he’d worked hard to build with Arthur.
Constantine laughed, slapping him on the back. “I was going to say, you risk much by turning from such a formidable female.” He broke away to catch up to the others, handing Briana the scabbard for the blade, a piece almost as equally impressive as the sword itself.
Then he and Arthur headed in the direction of their tents.
Alone with Briana once more, Lucan knew it was time to escort her back to her family’s tents. Maybe then he could ignore the overwhelming sensation to hold onto her for as long as he could.
They stuck close to the dark tree-line as they worked their way back across the meadow. She would have enough questions to face in the morning without running into one of her brothers now.
Briana said little on their trek back, though he sensed there were things she wanted to ask. Worried he might not be able to say no to any request she made, he picked up the pace making conversation difficult, and making it impossible to avoid the scene they walked into when they rounded the next grouping of tents.
Hidden in the shadows of the trees, two bodies were wrapped up in each other, clothes already half peeled off—the woman’s—the sounds of their moaning teasing the air.
He stopped, and distracted by her sword, Briana plowed right into him. Keeping them both upright was nearly as challenging as pretending he didn’t love every moment of her pressed up against him.
“This way,” he whispered, leading her into the woods, giving the couple a wide berth.
Guessing his reason for changing directions, she fell into step beside him, her footing more sure than his own on the uneven terrain. “I am aware that mated couples kiss now and then. Even unmated ones.” He heard the smile in her voice, and the mischievous look was back in her eyes. “You do know that Merlin didn’t simply leave me at my parents door one day?” She bent her head conspiratorially. “Or do you still believe in gnomes that bring treats in exchange for lost teeth as well?”
“Wench,” he teased. “And what would you know about kissing?” Somehow, he doubted her brothers knew anything about that.
“Kissing? I know about a lot more than—”
Groaning at the tantalizing images their conversation was about to inspire, he cut her off. “Just answer the question.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking it over. “I can only say that I’ve been told I’m rather good at it.”
“According to…” he prompted, realizing too late that he was fairly sure he didn’t want to know the answer.
“My friend, Vaughn.”
He made a sound of disgust. “The boy always trailing after Cian?”
“Boy?” Briana laughed. “He’s barely a season younger than you are.”
“And one kiss makes you a rather good at it?”
“Who said anything about just one?” Her eyes twinkled, and she stopped. “You almost sound like I couldn’t handle more, or maybe just not yours. The same as I couldn’t handle your sword game?”
Lucan lunged for her, catching her around the waist before she could bolt, and hauling her to his chest.
Briana read the playful intent on Lucan’s face as easily as she had her brothers’ tracks that afternoon, but couldn’t evade capture. Not that she really wanted to.
“If you’re not prepared to use it…” he trailed off, angling his head at the sword jammed between them.
She let it fall to the ground at their feet. “I could say the same to you.” Her gaze strayed to his mouth that felt only a breath away.
Even if she’d had the chance, she wouldn’t have run. Wouldn’t have missed the feel of his arms trapping her against him, or the rapid rise and fall of his chest, as though his heart was racing too.
Lucan watched her, his expression unreadable. Gods, had she only imagined he felt the same feverish spark every time they touched?
Losing some of her courage, she shook her head. “If there is somewhere else you need to be—”
Something dark and a little bit feral flashed in his eyes. There was barely a second to prepare, and then his mouth closed over hers.
Sweet Avalon…
Hot and raw and mindlessly thorough, the kiss assaulted her senses. She clutched his shoulders, the whimper that broke between them coming from someplace deep inside her. Kissing Vaughn, even if it hadn’t been an experience they’d vowed never to repeat, could never have prepared her for the half-starved sweep of Lucan’s lips across hers.
Gargoyles were known for their dominant natures, but the brutal possession in Lucan’s kiss rocked her to the core, awakening an unfamiliar hunger. It stretched and reached inside her, craving more of the slick and scorching strokes of his tongue against hers.
Sliding her hands up the back of his neck, she sank her fingers into the ends of his hair. Her lips parted for him again and again as she found and matched the merciless rhythm. She’d never seen Lucan fight, but if he went into battle with even a fraction of the intensity that spilled over into her, she couldn’t imagine a soul touching him.
His teeth grazed her bottom lip. Sucking slow and hard, he pulled it between his own, drawing out the pleasure that spiked her bloodstream. Fitting herself closer to him, she indulged in his heat and strength, wanting to kiss him longer, deeper.
The certainty that she would never get enough of it—of him—punched straight through her chest. Nearly panting, she pulled back, pressing her fingers to her already swollen mouth.
Green eyes held her gaze carefully, an eerily calm lake on the surface, but with a fierce current raging beneath.
No, she hadn’t imagined anything. He felt it too.
Lucan didn’t try to stop her as she backed out of his arms, then she turned and ran. “You’ll have to catch me if you want more.”
“Briana,” he hissed after her, but she’d already left him behind, not caring if anyone heard them.
Knowing he’d follow, she let her cat rise close to the surface, guiding her as she lifted her gown to duck beneath branches and leap over fallen limbs and roots that turned the forest floor into a map of gnarled ropes.
She paused long enough to remove her boots, and ran until the celebration in the meadow had faded entirely, leaving only the woodland creatures to reach her ears when she finally slowed. It would have been easy to lose Lucan altogether, making it more of a challenge to leave a trail he could follow.
She tipped her face up.
A trail she could watch from above.
Grinning, she pulled herself up into the tree that split in two, twin trunks fighting for the moonlight. As comfortable moving among the leaves and branches as she was with the earth beneath her feet, she settled herself in the crook between the trunks, one leg tucked beneath her.
Surprisingly, Lucan didn’t leave her waiting for long.
He came into view moments later, bursting through the undergrowth. He slowed, crouching to study the ground. Carrying both her boots and her sword—what on earth had possessed her to leave such a gift behind?—he took another few steps, then paused to look at the twigs left broken when she’d passed.
When he studied her tracks for another moment only to turn in the wrong direction, she called out, “Do you always tromp through the woods like a drunken troll?”
Lucan laughed, spotting her easily. “If you’re waiting for me to come up there and get you—”