Both Briana and the sorceress knew that drinking water in the catacombs could lead to forgetting who you were. It had happened to Cian and Emma only weeks ago, and Emma’s Fae half had likely been the only reason she’d been resistant to the magic that would have kept the couple stranded in the catacombs indefinitely.
Skimming the walls of the rainforest, Briana frowned. How were they supposed to find a scroll here?
“Was that there a minute ago?” Nessa waved to a mural on the far wall, half hidden by the vines.
From her vantage point, Briana could just make out the figures locked in battle on a muddy battlefield. Another mural of a Campaign?
Closer than the others, Vaughn ventured toward it.
“Don’t,” Elena called out, half a second before the wolf’s fingers brushed the surface.
A gust of glacial wind snapped through the chamber that vanished around them, leaving them on a field that didn’t look so different from the painting.
Iron-gray clouds rolled across the sky toward them, the dampness promising a torrential downpour. All around them hundreds of bodies covered the ground, some dying, some already gone. Moans from those still clinging to life broke the screams of pain that echoed across the meadow.
Among the twisted and broken human bodies, lay horses. Beheaded wolf and cat gargoyles, many bigger than Briana’s own feline form, lay motionless and scattered across the field. The still smoking body of a fallen dragon rested a short distance away.
Briana’s throat cramped, the absolute carnage threatening to empty the contents of her stomach at her feet. Next to her, Lucan didn’t move, his face paler than before, if that was even possible.
Vaughn shuddered. “This can’t be real.” He pointed to the emblem of Morgana’s army on one of the dead men. “No one would be stupid enough to wage war on Morgana.”
“Not even the rebellion?”
He shook his head. “Not a chance. And they don’t have the support to pull off a battle of this scale.” Grim, he scanned the field, the wolf in his eyes.
“No.” Kel clenched his jaw. “This isn’t a new fight.” His gaze found Lucan’s. “It’s the battle of Camlann.”
“Impossible.” Bran shook his head, his expression stricken. “Another illusion.”
A dark blur shot past Briana’s face, and an arrow lodged in Bran’s arm.
Elena scoffed. “Still think so?”
A group of riders crested a grassy knoll, bearing down on them. It was right at that moment they all seemed to realize the weapons they’d carried with them had vanished along with the catacombs.
Stooping, Lucan grabbed a sword from the ground, and tossed it to Briana. “You always said you wanted to join the Guard.”
Lucan picked up an axe from one of the slain men nearby—one of Morgana’s—and made another sweep of their surroundings, noting the terrain that would be problematic for the approaching riders.
Encircled by war and death, the wraith remained conspicuously quiet. Had been ever since he’d left Briana in her room after their last conversation. Not even the hunger that stole through him, a subtle invasion of every cell in his body, roused the darkness.
An unexpected development that would have worried him if there had been time for it.
“This is where we’re supposed to find the scroll?” Elena asked. The glow of blue fire brightened in her palm.
The riders bearing down on them burst apart under the force of Elena’s magic, but most of them managed to remain in control of their horses.
“It’s a little early in the inning to have to pull the star pitcher.” Vaughn winked at the sorceress.
The group of men was larger than Lucan realized, close to fifty in the group. Another volley of arrows darkened the air. A burst of flame destroyed most of them before they hit the ground.
Lucan flinched, one of few arrows that got through slicing across his biceps. He sucked in a breath, the wraith finally stirring.
The ground vibrated as the men drew nearer, all of them Morgana’s. He knew without checking that Briana wasn’t as close to him as he wanted, but there was no time to maneuver closer.
The lead man raised his arm to throw a spear, and Lucan let his shape slip away to allow the weapon to pass through him.
Someone screamed directly behind him. The enchantress.
Eyes wide, the man pulled at the reins of his horse, and the animal reared up, giving Lucan an opening to strike. Arm raised, he froze. The scent of blood—sweetly metallic and pulsing with life—struck with sharper precision than the spear.
He spun around, felt the wraith roar to the surface. His gaze locked on the stream of blood trailing from the spear embedded in the enchantress’s side. His incisors lengthened, aching in his mouth.
From the corner of his eye he saw Briana herded toward three men. He took a step toward the enchantress. A little blood and he’d be in a better position to help Briana, to help himself stay in control…
Briana tripped, and one of men lunged off his horse, rolling to the ground to pin her beneath him.
Protect.
The wraith’s fury overrode the bloodlust, and he charged toward them. A wolf gargoyle, a mercenary fighting for Morgana shifted form mid-jump, landing between Lucan and Briana.
Not understanding what he faced, the wolf sprang forward and flew away from Lucan, knocked aside by a fist that would ruthlessly take down every obstacle between him and Briana.
He grabbed the closest of the group stalking Briana from behind, and sank his fangs into the side of the human’s neck. The blood curdled on Lucan’s tongue, sour and smelling like death.
Spitting it out, he shoved the man away. He wasn’t real. The Fae had been right. Another illusion.
The man holding Briana to the ground soared past his friends as she kicked him off. She dropped the third where he stood with a swing of her sword, grinning when the fourth scrambled away.
Pride filled Lucan’s chest, and the first real smile in days curved his lips when she glanced his way. He’d known she would be a sight to behold in battle, and when she plunged between two men, sliding to her knees in the mud to take them off their feet, he knew he’d been wrong to doubt her. Maybe she wasn’t a mercenary or a trained huntress, but she was just as capable, just as fierce as ever.
Hearing footsteps behind him, Lucan whirled, found himself face to face with Nessa. Both of them breathing hard, they stared at each other, weapons drawn.
“You’ve got a little something on your chin, wraith.” The huntress turned toward another small group of men close to those that Vaughn and Elena pursued.
Ten feet away, the Fae scanned the field, his gaze following something that moved away from them.
Kel.
The enchantress yelled, finally managing to pull the spear from her side.
Real, the wraith hissed, propelling Lucan toward her.
“No. This way.” Briana grabbed his hand, tugging him in the opposite direction. “We’re getting through this competition first and then you’ll feed.”
“Volunteering?” he snapped, the long-ignored compulsion for blood an ugly, ravenous beast fighting him from the inside out.
“Yes.” She kept walking, her gaze strategically sweeping the area.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t deserve to suffer.”
He stopped. “Maybe I do.” There wasn’t any maybe about it, in fact.
“Why?” Eyes a brilliant blue and glowing around the edges, she faced him. Blood stained her clothes, smeared her cheek. “Because you were forced to do things against your will? Rhiannon didn’t give you a choice when she created the wraith inside you.”
“No,” he growled. “There’s always a choice.”