She frowned. “You would have taken your own life?”
“To spare others, yes.”
Skepticism tightened the lines around her mouth. “Then why didn’t you?”
Tracking Kel’s progress, he let out a breath. “It wasn’t for lack of trying.”
“The wraith?”
It was always the wraith, had been for centuries. “It took over every time I tried until I gave up.” It had been hundreds of years ago, when the black-outs faded and he was faced with memories of what he’d done.
“Lucan,” she began, taking a step toward him.
“No. Don’t look at me like I was a victim. I’ve killed, Briana. Hundreds of times. Hundreds of deaths in a hundred different ways.”
She shook her head, and he knew she wasn’t getting it. Not really.
“I made them suffer. Killed them in front of loved ones or when they were on their knees, crying and begging for their lives. Once I stood for peace and honor, and now it’s misery and death.” He took a step toward her, hating that she retreated even though it had to be that way. “Still think I don’t deserve to suffer?”
“The wraith was in control,” she insisted.
“And that’s supposed to give me a free pass?” That wasn’t the way the world worked and he knew that better than anyone. “The wraith wasn’t always in control. It doesn’t care about being merciful and lessening someone’s suffering. Completing the objective any way possible is all that counts.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes, but instead of retreating further, she held her ground. “You made their deaths easier.”
“They shouldn’t have had to die at all,” he yelled, his anger fueled by a punishing hunger he was terrified would lead him to hurt her.
Never.
The monster’s confidence didn’t do a damn thing to improve the situation.
With the few of Morgana’s men left standing being dealt with by the Fae, Lucan scanned the area for Kel.
A flash of red insignia streaked across Lucan’s peripheral vision, and his stomach bottomed out. “Arthur?”
“Where?”
Heart punching through his chest, he pointed to where a man with the dragon shield separated from his men.
“He’s still alive?”
For now. Lucan glanced up, but the dark sky made it impossible to tell what time of day it was and how long the battle had been waging.
“It can’t be that simple?” Briana murmured.
He was already moving toward the man with the shield, the spiked tips of anxiety digging in. “What?”
Briana kept up with him. “Dragon. Nogard.”
He frowned.
“Nogard is dragon spelled backward.”
Son of a bitch. Tracking movement toward Arthur, he broke into a run. Kel was already too close to him. If the dragon wanted to be the one personally responsible for killing Arthur in this twisted playback of history, Lucan had no intention of indulging him.
Briana sprinted next to him, and they both saw the approaching band of men change course, heading toward Arthur. “I’ll be faster on four legs.” She threw her sword at Lucan and yanked at her clothes, preventing them from getting in the way during her shift.
He blinked at the explosion of magic and color, and the sleek grace of the huge black predator, tearing across the field.
More men burst over the knoll, pounding onto the battlefield. The sound of Nessa’s laughter carried on the breeze to his right.
Ahead of him, Briana pounced, knocking a man to the ground, her powerful paws incapacitating him. Another leap took a rider from his horse, giving Lucan fewer obstacles to deal with.
Between the gaps of fighting men that separated them, he glimpsed Arthur. Real or not, his friend moved with the same lethal precision that left every man who challenged him dead or dying. The three trying to surround him met with the same fate as the others, before Arthur faced another threat altogether.
Mordred.
Hundreds of years ago Lucan had lost track of Arthur in battle, though he’d sworn when they were barely past boyhood to always have his back. He hadn’t been there when Morgana’s son had somehow gained enough advantage to fatally wound Arthur. Constantine had been the one to find and drag Arthur from the fight, not realizing the extent of his injuries.
Everyone had been so convinced Arthur was invincible that no one had been prepared to deal with the agony he suffered for hours afterward, his screams heard for miles before they lost him.
Lucan searched the swarming bodies for Kel, but couldn’t spot the dragon. Pushing through the men, he used both the axe and Briana’s sword to fight his way to Arthur’s side.
Twice he saw Briana go down beneath Morgana’s men and both times she fought the bastards off, staying close to him.
Bleeding from injuries that didn’t matter, sweat running into his eyes, he hunted for Kel, cutting down every man or gargoyle foolish enough to fight for Morgana who got in his way. By the time he made a path through the last group of warring soldiers, he didn’t have the strength to slip into his phantom body, his body too weak from hunger and injuries slow to heal.
Calling out a warning to Arthur would distract him from his confrontation with Mordred, and Lucan refused to be the reason Arthur lost concentration. Although deadly in his own right, Mordred still wasn’t a match for Arthur. Too quickly Mordred’s movements grew sluggish and clumsy, and he retreated more than he advanced.
Kel stepped into Lucan’s path as Mordred went down, but not before he brought his sword up, slicing deep into Arthur before collapsing.
Kel bolted in front of Lucan, his sword raised.
“No!” There was no time to reach the traitor. No time to prevent the dragon from murdering the king he’d signed the death warrant for centuries ago.
Dodging the thrust of another spear, Lucan delivered a death blow to his latest attacker, stumbling forward as Kel buried his sword in…Mordred’s back. He hadn’t come there to kill Arthur?
Ignoring Kel, Lucan reached Arthur’s side just in time to catch his oldest friend as his legs buckled.
Grabbing his arm, Arthur hissed out a breath. “Always there when I need you, Lance.”
Lancelot. The nickname he hadn’t heard in centuries squeezed his throat. “I’m a little late this time.” The words tore at him.
Briana brushed up against him, and he took comfort in her presence.
Frowning, the lines around his eyes marked by pain, Arthur shook his head. “I’m not going to ask how you found yourself here, Lady Briana, but I appreciate the help.”
The cat nudged Lucan’s arm, the feline as confused as the woman no doubt.
“I can tell every one of my warriors in their animal form.” Arthur managed a pained grin, then held out a hand to Kel, who dropped to his knees next to them. “I thought you had abandoned us for a good tumble with that female from the last inn. Should have known you had a plan when you broke formation.”
Kel’s gaze found Lucan’s and the flash of guilt was strong enough to stop him from slaying the dragon on the spot. “I should never have left.”
Arthur coughed, his body racked with shivers. The fever had set in already. “You made it just in time to see me almost fall on my face. Like Lance, here.”
Briana set her paw on Lucan’s knee, and he nodded. “No one has called me that in a very long time.”
Arthur glanced at Kel, looking worried. “Did he take a blow to the head?” He turned back to Lucan. “I called you that only this morning.” He cocked his head, perceptive eyes finally noticing something was off with his men. “Help me up.”
Lucan and Kel exchanged looks. The dragon nodded, but when they tried to move him, Arthur cried out, stopping them.
Kel carefully peeled back the drenched material on Arthur’s chest. “It’s not healing.”