Braving Fate (The Mythean Arcana 1)

“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.”