couldn’t afford to show him any weakness at all.
“And you didn’t answer the question.” There was an unyielding note in his voice that told her she’d better damned well answer.
Panic stung her.
Oh, God, what was the question?
She mentally rewound the conversation. “No, there’s nothing sexual between Percival and me.”
Arthur lifted a brow as one corner of his mouth quirked. “Vampires have a keen sense of smell.”
Morgana felt herself blush scarlet as she realized what he meant. He’d scented the arousal that had flooded her sex from the moment he’d mentioned giving Percival her Oath. She gritted her teeth. “You can be quite the bastard, Arthur.”
“Yes, and you’d do well to keep that in mind. Because if you refuse to offer Percival your Oath, I’m going to reassign his team. You’ll need to pick which of your witches to assign to them. You’ll be with Lamorak and Baldulf.”
Morgana jolted. “No! They wouldn’t be able to . . .” At the last moment, she managed to bite the sentence off. Arthur didn’t need to know why she needed the team so desperately. If he ever guessed she could become a greater danger than some of the monsters they fought—that she only trusted Percival and his team to control her . . .
He frowned. “Lamorak and Baldulf are Knights of the Round Table, Morgana. They’re hardly second-stringers.”
“That’s not the issue. I’ve spent centuries learning to work with Percival and his team. We’re so good at reading each other’s minds in combat, we’re practically Truebonded. I wouldn’t be as effective with anyone else.”
“Unfortunately, at the moment you’re not effective at all. You and Percival and his boys have too much baggage. It’s getting in the way of doing the job. One way or the other, I’m putting a stop to it before you get somebody killed.”
She stared at him, barely breathing. His black gaze was unwavering, fierce. It was his King Arthur face, the expression that said you’d better damned well do what he wanted, or you’d regret it.
He means it
. Her stomach sank. She was going to lose them if she didn’t do something.
“All right, you high-handed bastard.” Morgana rose to her feet and glared across the Round Table at him. “I’ll offer Percival my damned Oath.”
Maddeningly unruffled, Arthur lounged back in his chair. “He has to accept it, or the deal’s off, and you go to Lamorak and Baldulf.”
“Fine. I’ll convince him.” She spun on her heel and stalked out.
* * *
M organa strode along the cobblestone street, trying to ignore the incendiary combination of sexual heat and anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She’d told Arthur she could convince Percival to accept her Oath.
But now she’d started to imagine what it would actually be like being the knight’s Oath Servant. She wasn’t sure what disturbed her more: her arousal at the idea, or the deeper feelings for the knight she’d felt since the night she’d fed him for the first time.
Either way, she was vulnerable to Percival in ways she couldn’t afford to encourage. Fortunately, she could think of at least one way to make that dangerous vulnerability a little less acute.
It was three A.M. or so. The moon rode high in the sky over the magical city of Avalon with its eclectic array of architectural styles—everything from thoroughly modern American townhouses to Scottish castles and Roman villas. No matter what the style, all of them had been erected with magic rather than mortal construction techniques. The Majae—a notoriously competitive lot of witches—vied to see who could produce the most elaborate and elegant homes for themselves. In general, the more powerful you were, the more gorgeous your residence. Which was why the homes of single vampires tended to be more modest than those of their Maja counterparts. Part of that was because the Magi were generally too focused on going on missions to care where they slept between
“And you didn’t answer the question.” There was an unyielding note in his voice that told her she’d better damned well answer.
Panic stung her.
Oh, God, what was the question?
She mentally rewound the conversation. “No, there’s nothing sexual between Percival and me.”
Arthur lifted a brow as one corner of his mouth quirked. “Vampires have a keen sense of smell.”
Morgana felt herself blush scarlet as she realized what he meant. He’d scented the arousal that had flooded her sex from the moment he’d mentioned giving Percival her Oath. She gritted her teeth. “You can be quite the bastard, Arthur.”
“Yes, and you’d do well to keep that in mind. Because if you refuse to offer Percival your Oath, I’m going to reassign his team. You’ll need to pick which of your witches to assign to them. You’ll be with Lamorak and Baldulf.”
Morgana jolted. “No! They wouldn’t be able to . . .” At the last moment, she managed to bite the sentence off. Arthur didn’t need to know why she needed the team so desperately. If he ever guessed she could become a greater danger than some of the monsters they fought—that she only trusted Percival and his team to control her . . .
He frowned. “Lamorak and Baldulf are Knights of the Round Table, Morgana. They’re hardly second-stringers.”
“That’s not the issue. I’ve spent centuries learning to work with Percival and his team. We’re so good at reading each other’s minds in combat, we’re practically Truebonded. I wouldn’t be as effective with anyone else.”
“Unfortunately, at the moment you’re not effective at all. You and Percival and his boys have too much baggage. It’s getting in the way of doing the job. One way or the other, I’m putting a stop to it before you get somebody killed.”
She stared at him, barely breathing. His black gaze was unwavering, fierce. It was his King Arthur face, the expression that said you’d better damned well do what he wanted, or you’d regret it.
He means it
. Her stomach sank. She was going to lose them if she didn’t do something.
“All right, you high-handed bastard.” Morgana rose to her feet and glared across the Round Table at him. “I’ll offer Percival my damned Oath.”
Maddeningly unruffled, Arthur lounged back in his chair. “He has to accept it, or the deal’s off, and you go to Lamorak and Baldulf.”
“Fine. I’ll convince him.” She spun on her heel and stalked out.
* * *
M organa strode along the cobblestone street, trying to ignore the incendiary combination of sexual heat and anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She’d told Arthur she could convince Percival to accept her Oath.
But now she’d started to imagine what it would actually be like being the knight’s Oath Servant. She wasn’t sure what disturbed her more: her arousal at the idea, or the deeper feelings for the knight she’d felt since the night she’d fed him for the first time.
Either way, she was vulnerable to Percival in ways she couldn’t afford to encourage. Fortunately, she could think of at least one way to make that dangerous vulnerability a little less acute.
It was three A.M. or so. The moon rode high in the sky over the magical city of Avalon with its eclectic array of architectural styles—everything from thoroughly modern American townhouses to Scottish castles and Roman villas. No matter what the style, all of them had been erected with magic rather than mortal construction techniques. The Majae—a notoriously competitive lot of witches—vied to see who could produce the most elaborate and elegant homes for themselves. In general, the more powerful you were, the more gorgeous your residence. Which was why the homes of single vampires tended to be more modest than those of their Maja counterparts. Part of that was because the Magi were generally too focused on going on missions to care where they slept between
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