Braving Fate (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 1) (9 page)

He’d never told her. In the year they’d trekked across Britain, engaging the Roman army at every opportunity, they’d grown closer with every battle won. His family was gone, as was hers. They’d make a new family.

“Just fuck me.”
 

Had she even heard him? He gazed down at the strongest, bravest woman he’d ever known. He’d followed her across the country, fighting for their homeland. She loved him back. She had to. After all they’d been through, she had to love him.

“I love you.” He repeated it again.

She stared up at him unblinkingly, undulating against him. “No, you don’t. It’s the horror of war that makes you think that. Put it from your mind and fuck me. I have no love to give. This—” She pulled him hard against her. “—is all that I have for you.”
 

This is all? “Fine.”
 

His lust was now fueled by rage and despair. He pulled back from her and flipped her over onto her hands and knees. She cried out as he drove into her, his cock plunging deep into her pussy.
 

“Take me,” he rasped, knowing that he was almost too big for her, but that she liked it. She had never minded pain, on the battlefield or in bed. He wondered if she used it to drown out everything else.

She moaned, arching her back to take him deeper. “Harder.”

He obeyed, pounding into her as the sound of their flesh slapping together drove him to boiling. She always wanted it harder, faster. Always avoided the intimacy that he sought. He’d give her harder. He turned her over onto her back, pinning her hands above her head. She cried out as he thrust into her, her eyes rolling back at the force of his thrust.
 

“You’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

She shook her head.

“Mine.”

“I am no one’s. I am my own.” She cried out as her orgasm took her, causing her sheath to clench around him in spasms that rocked him to his core.

He bellowed his despair as his orgasm shook him, spilling all his pleasure and pain into her.

Cadan jerked awake in a cold sweat, ill with the sense of loss that always followed dreams of the past. But now the past had merged with the present and Boudica’s reincarnate waited for him.

Diana’s eyes popped open in alarm. Who the hell was banging on the door at this hour? It was a Sunday, the only day she didn’t go into the office, preferring to work from home. So why was someone pounding on her door with a battering ram?

Wait, where am I?
 

Smooth sheets rustled under her palms. She glanced down at the red satin coverlet. She plucked at the shiny fabric.
Oh right, I’m in Narnia.
 

How had she ended up in this bed?
Had that strange woman put something in her drink last night? She never should have drunk the tea.
Stupid
. But her head felt suspiciously clear and she’d had no dreams last night—she must have been drugged.

The pounding on the door thudded even harder. “Diana.” The deep, commanding voice caused a shiver to run down her spine. Not the caveman. “Come on, lassie. I know you’re awake. I’m coming in.”
 

She gasped, sitting up and pulling the covers up to her chest. Someone, hopefully her loopy and drugged self, had stripped her naked before bed. She
never
slept naked.

“Um, a—a moment, please.” But she was so quiet that she almost couldn’t hear herself.
Toughen up, Diana. You deal with beautiful, untrustworthy men all the time. Especially when you’re naked.
Right.
 

“Give me a minute,” she yelled.

“You’ve got five minutes. It’s already ten in the morning. We’ve got to get started.”
 

Get started with what? She could almost feel his impatience radiating through the door. She raised a hand to the mess of hair on her head. The rats had clearly started building a nest sometime last night and had been at it ever since. She hadn’t showered since the horrifying night of the first attack nearly two days ago.

“You’re going to have to wait fifteen minutes,” she shouted, trying to keep the note of hysteria from her voice. She was a professor, for God’s sake. She should sound dignified. “I need to shower.”

“You’ve got ten, then I’ll be in there with you.”
 

There was no way she was winning this argument. She leapt out of bed.
 

Her overnight bag sat on the chair near the door. She thought she’d lost it during the fight last night. Had someone gone back to get it? She shook her head. There was no time to figure that out now. She grabbed the bag and headed into the small bathroom located off the corner of the room.

She speed-showered, then hopped out and rifled through her bag
.
Jeans and a loose, thin sweater were a few of the semi-appropriate things she’d brought, so she yanked them on. She should have taken more time to pack.
Really, Di? While the monsters were hunting you?
 

It hit her then, that actual monsters were chasing her, and she had to brace her hands on the sink and breathe deeply to keep her vision from going black at the edges. God, she was terrified out of her mind and losing control of her life. She’d spent her entire life trying to avoid conflict, first as a child when her father had made it an impossible task, and now because more often than not, it made her freeze up.

She’d always been content to stay at home, reading instead of doing. Doing
made her palms sweat.
Doing
was dangerous and it often involved breaking rules. She hated breaking rules. Her childhood had seen to that, and no matter how hard she tried to forget it all, she still instinctively trod the straight and narrow.
 

But she was well off the straight and narrow now. The only way back was through that bathroom door.

I can do this. Pull it together!
She nodded at herself in the mirror, unable to help sneaking in a nervous and appraising glance at her clothes, and swept out of the bathroom just as Cadan walked in.
 

The sight of him stopped her in her tracks. He stood near the doorway, his stance casual, but still as tall and broad as she remembered from the previous night. The man was huge.

“Time’s up, lassie, we need to go.” His voice was deep, almost rough, and the Scottish brogue that shaped his words made a shiver run down her spine.
 

He felt vaguely familiar, as he had last night. Her gaze roamed over him, searching for anything recognizable and coming up short. She didn’t know anyone with such tightly leashed discipline. From his board-straight posture and impeccable T-shirt and jeans to his dark, military-neat hair, everything about him spoke of self-control.
 

She wrinkled her nose in suspicion; he looked too big and perfectly shaped to be from the real world.
He should be on a billboard somewhere.

The light of day didn’t make him look any safer than he had last night, though; her original assessment of
dangerous
held true even in these civilized surroundings. Perhaps
because
of these civilized surroundings. Actually, a billboard wasn’t the right place for him; he should be out on some battlefield in the Highlands, wearing a kilt and beheading an Englishman.

She was probably giving him the third degree with her eyes and felt heat creep into her cheeks. “You’re here to help me figure out who I was?” she asked.

“I’m here to keep the demons off your back while you figure out who you were.”

“Do you know who I was, then?” Tension gripped her heart in an iron fist, squeezing until it felt like it couldn’t deliver blood to her starved extremities. This was even worse than nightmares.
Her soul wasn’t her own.
 

“Yes.” His voice gave away nothing.
 

“Assuming that I believe you, can’t you just tell me? This would all go a lot faster.” And she could finally figure out what these damn dreams meant.
 

“Of course you believe us, lassie. You’re intelligent, what with the university job. Recent events—the tattoo, the appearance of demons—indicate that the world isn’t all you thought it to be. And nay, I canna tell you who you were.” End of story, the undercurrent of his voice said.
 

“And why not? Precisely?”

“Rules.”
 

“If you are half as intelligent as you say I am, you’ll agree that
rules
is just another deflection of my question. Why can’t you tell me who I was?” The professor voice was the only one that would do in this circumstance.

“Fine. I’ll explain. But the rules
are
important. They’re the only way we keep our society secret from the mortals. They need to be followed.” He gave her a hard look to make sure she understood.
 

Diana was all too familiar with the consequences of not following rules, so she nodded.

He nodded back and said, “Reincarnates usually experience a catalyzing event that returns their memories. The appearance of your tattoo was a small event that sent you to us, but you still haven’t experienced one that will allow you to understand who you were. I could tell you that you were Queen Victoria, but it wouldn’t do you a damn bit of good because you wouldn’t have her memories. You’d have no idea what your task is. It could even divert you from the proper path if you went chasing off after loose ends. You were reborn for a purpose, and for you to misinterpret that purpose would lead to dire consequences.”

Dire consequences?
As in, more dire than being attacked by monsters and kidnapped by a previously unheard-of magical organization?
 

“Gather your things. I’ll meet you in the hall outside in two minutes.” He spun on his heel and walked out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cadan paced in the hall, clenching and unclenching his fists while he waited for Diana. They needed to get the hell out of here so that they could leave Edinburgh and her pursuers, yet the idea of being in close proximity to her had his heart sinking and his cock stirring.
 

What had that been in there? Seeing Diana, being near her, had felt like drowning. She’d made him
feel
, and he wanted to despise her for that. He’d worked so hard over the years to cut off emotion that he didn’t know how to fucking deal with it anymore. Who the hell could live as long as he had, alone, and keep feeling and expect to stay sane?
 

The door creaked behind him and he turned, heart thudding just a little bit harder. The small, black overnight bag was slung over her shoulder.
 

“Where are we going?” She sounded calmer, more collected. With her glasses perched above a straight nose and the intelligence shining behind her eyes, she looked like a 1940s librarian. The kind from a pin-up calendar posted above a bunk on a WWII battleship. He hadn’t known he had a fetish for sexy librarians.

Shite
. His self-control was going to be a problem. Staying away from her, keeping himself focused, was the only way to ensure her safety…and he was already failing.

“We’re leaving Edinburgh. It’s no’ safe for you here.” There were too many Mytheans in this city, and he was afraid that some of the more dangerous ones already knew she was here. She’d been a soldier for good in her first life, and the underbelly of Mythean society wouldn’t want her fulfilling her destiny.

“Come on, I’ll take your bag.” He reached for it.

“I can carry it.” She clutched it closer and glared at him.

“Sure you can, lassie. But I’ll be taking it all the same.” He grabbed her bag, ignored her protest, and turned to head down the hall. Her light footsteps quickly caught up.

“Is that your idea of chivalry? I can carry my own damn bag.” She scowled at him.

He supposed it was, though normally he was smoother. He never had any trouble with other women. But this one...

“And quit calling me
lassie
. I’m not your lassie.”

“Never said you were. Lassie.” He didn’t know why he baited her. To see her reaction, probably. Was she as volatile as Boudica had been?