them. But more than that, they had to convince some Maja to build their homes for them.
Morgana’s team lived in a trio of homes on adjoining lots in Avalon’s oldest neighborhood. None of the three houses were anywhere near that old, of course, since she made a point of building them new places to live every century or so, whether they asked for them or not. She usually told the men it was a matter of personal pride on her part, but the truth was, she liked making sure they had somewhere comfortable to live.
Percival’s place was a brooding gray stone pile that bore a strong resemblance to a gothic castle. Its stained glass windows depicted interwoven Celtic knots in vivid colors. The colored glass wasn’t just beautiful; it also protected sleeping vampires from the sunlight that could inflict nasty burns.
Morgana climbed the stone steps, refusing to let herself falter. She might have to do this, but that didn’t mean she had to do it the way Arthur dictated.
Offering her Oath to Percival alone wasn’t an option. That would be too intimate, make her too vulnerable. If she gave him that kind of opening, Merlin alone knew what he’d do with it.
“So you’re telling me you feel nothing at the thought of being bound hand and foot while he rides you like a mare?”
Oh, she felt something, all right. And that was exactly why she wasn’t going to put herself in that position. At least, not the way Arthur intended.
Morgana swept through the front door without knocking; she had the ugly suspicion Percival wouldn’t have let her in if she had.
She found the three men sprawled in the house’s lower level, where a fully stocked bar and an impressive flat-screen shared space with an enormous navy blue sectional. The couch formed a U-shape around a massive oak coffee table with a black marble top.
“Save your breath,” Percival told her, as he emerged from behind the bar carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels and sauntered over to his teammates. All three of them had shed their bloodied, dented armor in favor of jeans, boots, and knit shirts. “We’re not going to ask Arthur to change his mind.”
“I’m not asking you to.” She managed a cool smile despite her clawing nerves. “Arthur has already given me another option.”
Percival hesitated a moment before he sat down and topped off the glass Cador extended to him. “Not interested.”
Morgana ignored his effort to shut her down, instead dropping to her knees. In rolling, formal tones, she said, “Percival, Cador, and Marrok, I wish to offer you my Oath of Service. If you accept my offer, for the next year I vow to serve your desires, whether for sex or blood, in whatever way you choose.” Bowing her head, she waited, watching them through her lowered lashes. Her heart pounded furiously in anxious arousal.
Marrok’s dark brows shot up. Cador straightened; if he’d been in wolf form, his ears would have pricked in interest.
But it was Percival who spoke. “No.”
Morgana stiffened in shock. She’d been utterly sure he’d jump at the chance to make her his Oath Servant. “What do you mean, no?”
He shrugged and dropped onto one side of the couch’s U, swinging his long legs up and crossing his booted ankles. He gave her a cool, emotionless stare. “For one thing, I doubt your sincerity,” he drawled, his gaze sliding over her, as heated as his bare palms. “That’s not how an Oath Servant dresses for her Masters.”
She firmed her lips. It was a challenge, but more than that, that hard look sent a quiver right down between her legs. She had to make this work. She had to. Reaching into the Mageverse, Morgana drew on the simmering reservoir of power there. Ignoring the magic’s seductive offer of omnipotence, she let the magic spill down her body, transforming the elegant red suit she wore into a negligee of thin scarlet lace. “Is this closer to what you had in mind?”
Still kneeling, acutely aware of the nipples so boldly visible through
Morgana’s team lived in a trio of homes on adjoining lots in Avalon’s oldest neighborhood. None of the three houses were anywhere near that old, of course, since she made a point of building them new places to live every century or so, whether they asked for them or not. She usually told the men it was a matter of personal pride on her part, but the truth was, she liked making sure they had somewhere comfortable to live.
Percival’s place was a brooding gray stone pile that bore a strong resemblance to a gothic castle. Its stained glass windows depicted interwoven Celtic knots in vivid colors. The colored glass wasn’t just beautiful; it also protected sleeping vampires from the sunlight that could inflict nasty burns.
Morgana climbed the stone steps, refusing to let herself falter. She might have to do this, but that didn’t mean she had to do it the way Arthur dictated.
Offering her Oath to Percival alone wasn’t an option. That would be too intimate, make her too vulnerable. If she gave him that kind of opening, Merlin alone knew what he’d do with it.
“So you’re telling me you feel nothing at the thought of being bound hand and foot while he rides you like a mare?”
Oh, she felt something, all right. And that was exactly why she wasn’t going to put herself in that position. At least, not the way Arthur intended.
Morgana swept through the front door without knocking; she had the ugly suspicion Percival wouldn’t have let her in if she had.
She found the three men sprawled in the house’s lower level, where a fully stocked bar and an impressive flat-screen shared space with an enormous navy blue sectional. The couch formed a U-shape around a massive oak coffee table with a black marble top.
“Save your breath,” Percival told her, as he emerged from behind the bar carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels and sauntered over to his teammates. All three of them had shed their bloodied, dented armor in favor of jeans, boots, and knit shirts. “We’re not going to ask Arthur to change his mind.”
“I’m not asking you to.” She managed a cool smile despite her clawing nerves. “Arthur has already given me another option.”
Percival hesitated a moment before he sat down and topped off the glass Cador extended to him. “Not interested.”
Morgana ignored his effort to shut her down, instead dropping to her knees. In rolling, formal tones, she said, “Percival, Cador, and Marrok, I wish to offer you my Oath of Service. If you accept my offer, for the next year I vow to serve your desires, whether for sex or blood, in whatever way you choose.” Bowing her head, she waited, watching them through her lowered lashes. Her heart pounded furiously in anxious arousal.
Marrok’s dark brows shot up. Cador straightened; if he’d been in wolf form, his ears would have pricked in interest.
But it was Percival who spoke. “No.”
Morgana stiffened in shock. She’d been utterly sure he’d jump at the chance to make her his Oath Servant. “What do you mean, no?”
He shrugged and dropped onto one side of the couch’s U, swinging his long legs up and crossing his booted ankles. He gave her a cool, emotionless stare. “For one thing, I doubt your sincerity,” he drawled, his gaze sliding over her, as heated as his bare palms. “That’s not how an Oath Servant dresses for her Masters.”
She firmed her lips. It was a challenge, but more than that, that hard look sent a quiver right down between her legs. She had to make this work. She had to. Reaching into the Mageverse, Morgana drew on the simmering reservoir of power there. Ignoring the magic’s seductive offer of omnipotence, she let the magic spill down her body, transforming the elegant red suit she wore into a negligee of thin scarlet lace. “Is this closer to what you had in mind?”
Still kneeling, acutely aware of the nipples so boldly visible through
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