Shades of Avalon (40 page)

I’d learned all this from Caleb the day he advised me not to wait to start my life with Amanda. Our conversation had taken place in this hotel, and this had been where we shared the news with Triona, and exchanged harsh words regarding Caleb. I accused Triona of being jealous that I didn’t leave Amanda despite her being human, the way he had left her in Camden before he knew we were Guardians. It had been true but cruel. I understood better now how our situations were different. Back then I didn’t fully grasp what I was getting Amanda into. Now, I understood the “why” of his reasons, even if I’d never comprehend the “how.”

Being here also reminded me of the dinner party Triona hosted in the hotel’s largest suite, and I couldn’t help drawing parallels with this night. It was what Guinevere talked about, the celebration before the battle, the pretense of normality under a shadow of threat.

It seemed as though we were retracing steps of our past. However, the rooms were not the same since the hotel had been refurbished to a more modern style in the intervening months. Our suite still smelled faintly of plaster and fresh paint, although stronger, more pleasant fragrances of leather and new wood overpowered it. The furniture was minimal and elegant, with dark leather and pure white linens on the bed.

I heard the occasional car beeping and the low chuck, chuck of the city’s electric train line where I stood by the window in the separate lounge area. Mingled in with commuters and shoppers, tourists still sported their green colors proudly after the recent Saint Patrick’s festival. I smiled thinking of our trip to South Cadbury where Guinevere had pointed out my tourist apparel.

I didn’t feel like a tourist here in Ireland. A hint of the fever I’d experienced on the journey to Tara the year before prickled in my blood, drawing me back there. It was the land and my ancestors claiming me as their own. Triona felt it too, only stronger since she was the first-born child in this generation of the royal bloodline. Those binds were the reason she could never quite settle anywhere else for any length of time and why Triona and Caleb made their home in Ireland.

I turned and picked up my cup of tea with milk—I’d developed a taste for it at the Brier—from the low coffee table. I ignored the black mask beside the room service tray. I poked my index finger into the tight space between the collar of my white dress shirt and my neck. Zeal had provided me, and almost all the men, with black tuxedos and expensive patent leather shoes. The tailored jackets were longer than the classic style, with narrow lapels giving them a contemporary twist. This brought up another question…since the Council’s wealth had been confiscated, where did Zeal get the money to mount his campaign? We had to presume from other Guardians supporting him. It made me queasy, the way our kind had turned against us and still believed Zeal’s distorted interpretation of the prophecy. We had believed the Guardians who arrived at Tara upon hearing Lia Fáil scream to proclaim the new queen would bear witness to what happened. We presumed they’d tell how we fought to free them from under Zeal and Lucien’s tyrannical laws. Instead, they feared us. How many of them would attend tonight? How many of them would stand with Zeal against us tomorrow morning? Would they lay down their lives, and if they did, could we take those lives?

I believed I could because of my Guardian instincts to protect Amanda and Triona, my mate and my queen. On the other hand, I also knew no one could ever truly predict how he or she’d react in any situation until faced with it.

The unrelenting ticking of the dinner clock on the mantle eroded the minutes and seconds we had left before Zeal’s cars came to take us to our destination. It reminded me of a beetle, a woodborer, which got into old buildings sometimes. The female emitted a clicking sound to attract a mate and then her larva would grow in the old, damaged wood. People used to believe that because the beetle was mostly attracted to decay that it had an ability to predict death. They thought the ticking was it counting down to the moment of passing. They called it the Death Watch Beetle.

I decided caffeine was probably a bad idea just at the moment I heard footfalls, the ruffling of fabric, and the dull scraping of a key card inserted in a lock.

“Amanda?” I called out of habit. I already knew the answer. This evening other fragrances accompanied her usual scent—makeup, hair product, and perfume with notes of cocoa.

“Don’t come out yet,” she warned quickly, unable to hide her excitement. “I want you to get the full effect.”

I smiled and touched my hair self-consciously. Applying styling product for once was unavoidable since my usual tousled style didn’t quite fit the formal attire. My dark red hair sat neatly combed away from my face with a side parting.

“There,” Amanda whispered, more to herself than me. Then she was in front of me, gliding through the door to the lounge and stopping by the marble fireplace. Her breath caught.

“Caveman, you do scrub up well.”

Time seemed to stop as I took her in. She’d been breathtaking at our wedding in a simple, silk gown with a deep cowl at the back. My entire hand had pressed against her warm, bare skin during our first dance. I had murmured my suspicions she was trying to torture me, and Amanda confirmed it with a smile.

In the weeks following our vows to each other, Amanda had gone from girl to woman before my eyes. The strapless black lace over gold satin dress created new curves, nipping in at her tiny waist and skimming over her hips before draping to the floor. It was a little longer at the back and swished at her heels when she turned around slowly, a sensual smile on her pale lips. Heels added inches to her height, creating a long, graceful silhouette.

Although I couldn’t see her whole face behind the mask, it revealed enough for me to notice how Amanda’s face had changed, become a little thinner, her cheekbones more defined now. There was a sharpness to her jawline, emphasizing her long, slim neck. Her dewy skin caught the light and gleamed with a golden luster.

Sweeping hints of gold and black lines traced against her eyelashes and extended out, catlike. Those eyes had seen more than any human should, and I thought I might glimpse the depth of her soul if I stared long enough. Through them she blazed with passion and strength. No longer a girl, Amanda radiated confidence in her ability, her choices, and her future. A bright spark in an otherwise colorless world.

“Say something,” she laughed lightly, shattering my trance.

I blinked and shook my head. I swallowed and licked my lips. My heart had burst back to life with a vengeance and savagely thundered.

Amanda laughed again and sashayed toward me. The movement of her hips roused a need in me, a coiled snake of maddening desire twisting though my body. How could I possibly be this lucky? Something had to go wrong tonight or tomorrow because having Amanda want to stand beside me, to fight with me, love me, be my partner through this chaos of a world—it seemed like too much good fortune for one person.

“Ben?” Her head tilted to one side just a bit.

I realized I still hadn’t spoken.

“You’d make Danu herself jealous. You’re radiant.”

“Well I can’t take all the credit, considering Emma did my makeup and hair. But, a goddess, well that is high praise.” A delicate pink flushed her cheeks.

“I mean it,” I insisted.

She stepped back, her pupils dilating when I stepped nearer, unwilling to allow any space between us. Her gaze flickered to my mouth briefly but it was enough to ignite the embers of passion smoldering under my skin to a raging heat. A dry ache scorched my throat.

“I feel like I’ve been plucked and stuffed. There’s no way I’d have fit into this thing if Carmel hadn’t been able to adjust the bodice.” She broke eye contact to look at the dress and glided her hands downward over her hips innocently. Amanda lifted her eyes to peer up at me from under thick curling eyelashes.

She’s playing with fire!
I really didn’t want to mess her up after she’d spent hours preparing, but damn it, my fingers twitched by my side in the effort to hold back.

“I wasn’t sure about the sweetheart neck line,” she mused softly, pouting just a little. The backs of her scarlet fingernails grazed along the neckline of the dress to where it dipped and the corset pushed up her breasts.

“Are you trying to kill me?” It came out as growl and rumbled through my chest.

Amanda’s expression shifted in the blink of an eye, and her posture stiffened as though she was bracing herself. She spun away before my words registered.

“I didn’t mean—”

“No.” She straightened and took a deep breath, keeping her back to me but slipping off her mask. “It’s my fault. It’s foolish to enjoy dressing up for a ball when I know what’s coming. This isn’t a party. It’s a wake.” Something in her had deflated briefly, some of her bravado gone until she rolled her shoulders back and turned to me. “It’s just I’ve always wanted to go to one of these, and I got a little caught up.”

I placed my hands on her arms, running my thumbs back and forth. A moment ago, even this chaste contact would have led to more, but right now I just wanted to comfort her. “It’s not foolish.”

She grimaced ready to protest.

“It’s not,” I insisted, giving her my best lopsided grin. “It just shows that evil man hasn’t bled the hope out of us yet.”

She regarded me dubiously for a moment before she frowned. “Seth tried to kill Triona on prom night. What is it about these mad men and formal wear?”

I chuckled and stood back, giving her an appraising look. “It could be something to do with the lack of concealed weapons, because you aren’t going to be hiding much in that dress.”

Amanda smirked, and one shaped eyebrow quirked up. “Not much, but something,” she said, her confidence firmly back in place.

My eyebrows drew together in confusion.

Without another word, Amanda moved over toward the small two-seater couch. She flashed a mischievous glance over her shoulder, dipping her head and pressing her lips together. Blood rushed to the plump flesh when she released them, darkening her pale lipstick for an instant. I was right back to wanting to touch her.

My foot moved forward.

“Don’t even think it, caveman,” she warned with a breathy laugh. “You stay right there.”

She laid her mask on the seat cushion, and raised the front of her dress over her ankle. She then perched one foot on the edge of the same seat. Perspiration began to gather at my hairline as she pinched a slip of the gold fabric and lace overlay, drawing it farther up over the creamy golden skin of her tensed calf.

I held my breath when the fabric reached her knee, and she released one hand, batting her eyelashes demurely. I had no idea when Amanda had learned to flirt and tease so expertly, but I wasn’t about to complain…well, maybe just a little. She’d drive me crazy with this newfound ability.

Amanda’s free hand slid over her knee and continued upward, bunching the fabric to reveal a sheathed dagger strapped to the outer side of her thigh. The tip just reached her knee. My eyes widen in astonishment at the decorative hilt, twisting thorny vines intricately engraved in the silver colored metal. The design carried down the dark leather sheath.

“This is the Druid Blade.”

Except for Merlin, we gathered in the lobby, where old world met new in the decor. Recessed spotlights shone down from coved ceilings onto marble columns, polished wood floors, gilt mirrors, and gilt framed paintings from the Late Baroque era. These were elaborately detailed and complex images, many with religious influence. The furniture consisted of upholstered wingback chairs and dark polished tables with curved legs. Black and white wallpaper with a simple repeating flower design gave another modern touch with a hint of the past.

Our surroundings reflected our small group—the past intermingling with the present and working together. We were quite a sight with each man wearing our custom suits with swords mostly concealed by our sides and the women, stunning in an array of ostentatious gowns. Guinevere’s gown had a black corset laced down the back with cream ribbon. Long strips of the same color overlapped from above her hips and parted when she moved revealing leather pants beneath and Excalibur strapped to her side.

Emma was right about “rocking the red.” She looked beautiful having dyed her hair raven black. She had piled it on her head with tiny red and rhinestone pins fixing it in place. Multiple layers of gauzy flowing fabric swished from a sash below her bust line when she moved, and small sleeves covered her shoulders. The quiver at her waist far from distracted from the look, instead it made her seem like a medieval princess. She gained several admiring glances from passing men—after work drinkers heading to or coming from the hotel bar. John had told her to stay close to me. I experienced a brotherly protectiveness toward her and a need to issue warning glances.