Page 14 of Queen Takes Camelot: Gwen
“Never enough,” I rasped out, fisting my hands at my sides. Overwhelming thirst licked through my veins, driving me to madness. I hadn’t tasted Aima blood in years. Never a queen’s blood in the four hundred years I’d been alive. Let aloneGuinevere’sblood…
I had no idea how long it’d been since Lancelot du Lac had fed from his queen and given his life’s blood to strengthen her in return. The memories of doom that were written in my soul insisted it had been millennia.
Muscles clenched, I fought to keep my position until she said otherwise. “A handful at most.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached down to slip off the red heels one by one. “We should do something about that, then.” She glanced up at me through her lashes and laughed softly. “All of you.”
I don’t remember moving a muscle, let alone crossing the ten paces or more to her side, but suddenly I was on my knees before her with my brothers-in-arms on either side of me. “My queen. We’re yours. Use us as you see fit.”
6
Gwen
Icupped Lance’s cheek and smoothed my thumb over his mouth. He trembled beneath the slight touch, but he made no move to touch me. No Blood would ever touch his queen unless invited. He certainly wouldn’t feed until my thirst was met. It had nothing to do with chivalry, but a Blood’s complete dedication to his queen.
He would always put my needs before his. My safety before his. Especially as my alpha.
Goddess, it hurt my heart to look at him, aching with need, his lips parted to make room for his fangs so he didn’t puncture his own lips or tongue. I didn’t need a full bond to know how much those long ivories were throbbing, because mine sent a constant throb deep into my skull.
Staring into his eyes, I felt as though I should say something to mark this momentous occasion. The greatest knight of the Round Table had survived over four hundred years despite our enemies’ schemes to find me once again, as he’d served countless times before. Even knowing that he would most likely die horribly.
It wasn’t our fate to go gently into the darkness, but raging and spitting curses at our enemies.
Memories of past lives fluttered in my mind, pages of a book that had no end. Betrayal. Shocking horror. Pain. Aching loneliness. Misery.
Staring at each other across a room, unable to touch. Unable to speak.
Or worse, holding his head in my lap as the light died in his eyes and blood dripped from his wounds.
Rage swirled inside me like a devastating hurricane, tearing that awful book to shreds. Papers flapped and tore away one by one, leaving only a tattered spine of the book I’d come to hate so much.
No more pages of agony and heartache and despair. This time…
I would write us a new book. A future where we could be together. Forever.
I started to lean down to his throat, intending to be gentle. To honor him with a graceful bite, this legendary knight of beauty and skill. But the warmth of his skin beckoned, his scent filling my nose. Warm sandalwood and well-used leather, like a favorite saddle that had been polished and oiled for decades because of its perfect fit.
Hewas perfect. He was here. And I couldn’t contain my thirst any longer.
I struck hard, sinking my fangs deeply into his neck, tearing through his carotid artery. So much blood, surging into my mouth eagerly before I could even retract my fangs.
I gasped against his throat, clutching him. He tasted exactly like his personality, as if his blood carried timeless love, shining honor, and pure, sweet silver.
Goddess. So long.
Just as I’d known him on sight, my power knew him and reveled in his blood.
Guinevere had been the White Enchantress, a famed witch queen with a thirst for blood, at least to those who knew the true history. She’d worked her magic to protect her knights, care for her people, and heal the sick, but she’d also worked the darker magics to ensure the best crops, performed the fertility rites, and created charms to protect against the fae creatures that preyed upon our kind as well as humans.
All of which had involved sacrifice.
Blood sacrifice.
Usually her own, but her knights had willingly bled for her too. Her power had been immense, something I couldn’t even comprehend until I’d met Shara Isador. Surely my new queen came close to the power that Guinevere had wielded so effortlessly.
She had great magic, yes, but that magic was powered by her Blood. She’d drawn on Sir Lancelot’s blood to build Camelot. She’d used Merlin’s to ward her knights. Bors, Mordred, and yes, even Arthur, had flavored her power and the magic she worked, and she’d used that power to protect them all.
I’d never had that kind of power.
