We may not have a scent-match or fated bond, but every single time I kissed or touched the man it felt like coming home—as if our magic was meant to come together the way it did.
But it wasn’t my opinion that really mattered.
Merlin knew how I felt, but did he want me too? He had been ready to spend the rest of his unimaginably long life trapped because the gods said so. Even still, he was here now looking at me with wide green eyes that seemed to realize what was about to happen.
Arthur set me on my feet and I turned to him. “Are you coming with us?”
He shook his head. “No, Guinevere, it is customary for each alpha—or lover—to have their moment with the center of our universe. It is Merlin’s turn to have you to himself.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, and shot the man an incredulous look. “How are there already customs when we’ve just formed the first pack in Logres?”
Arthur’s grin was wide as he took a step back away from us. “Because I am the king, my love, and if I decree such a tradition, then it must be.”
With a jaunty wave, Arthur turned and headed back in the direction we had come. I waited for him to turn the corner before I turned to shoot Merlin a sheepish look.
“We don’t have to do anything…” I trailed off, already feeling another echo of my heat starting to take hold. It was much weaker than it had been a few days ago and I didn’t feel nearly as weak, but if Merlin didn’t want me then I would need to make my way back to my alphas to sate it again.
But, thankfully, Merlin just shook his head.
“Come with me,” he said, holding one hand out as he opened the door to the bathing rooms with the other.
My heart was in my throat as I slowly slid my hand into his and let him pull me inside.
Chapter Forty-Two
Days had passed since I had last seen Guinevere. I, and the rest of the castle, had known that she was deep in the throes of her heat.
I had not approached the chambers at all, afraid that there would be no place for me in such a naturalistic mating. After all, I was no alpha, nor was I a beta or even an omega.
How did I truly fit into their bond when it seemed fairly even keel with the four of them surrounding her like the four pillars that were the basis of all things in the world.
There were four directions, four elements, four seasons, and more. It seemed to be perfection as the gods had intended it and after not seeing her for days I had allowed doubt to grow in my heart and my soul.
But when Arthur had sent for me where I was brooding in my rectory, taking a page out of Lancelot’s book, my feet carried me to the bathing rooms without a second thought.
Now she stood in front of me, her soft hand in mine as she looked pleasantly rumpled in her linen robe. Her cheeks were still flushed with her heat and I knew if I pressed my weak nose to her neck she would smell of sex and desire.
Sex had never been something I had considered overly much before now.
None had ever given me the desire to experience it before—or at the very least they had not until I summoned this brown-eyed woman from the future.
Getting to know her had also seemed to trigger my desire to experience the urge to taste her flesh. Kissing her was no longer enough. I wanted to feel the length of her body against mine and see what sort of magic we could create in a way that was as benign and human as it could get.
Guinevere seemed shy as we stepped into the dim room and breathed in the thick, humid air.
“This is one of my favorite places,” she commented, likely to fill the awkward, empty space between the words we wanted to say and the discomfort of having to say them in the first place.
“It is mine as well,” I said, playing along with her game for a moment as I tried to organize my thoughts.
I needed to tell her exactly as I felt as our relationship now seemed entirely uneven—Guinevere displaying her hand so clearly to me weeks ago and me not returning the offer.
But how did I begin? I was never much one for words and professing one’s feelings did not necessarily come with a script.
I could have certainly perused the castle for the various works of poetry that were kept in scrolled form, or I could have asked others what they said when they told their significant others how they felt about them.
Those, however, were not my words nor my feelings. They all seemed… vastly inadequate.
Resolving just to blurt whatever came to mind, I turned to Guinevere. “Gwen, I feel I must say—”
