Page 90 of Under Arthur’s Protection

Gwen set the sword case and her messenger bag by the door and stood in the middle of the room, hugging herself. The stark white light washed her out, emphasizing the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes.

She went into the bathroom, but didn’t close the door. She rummaged through the cabinets under the sink, so when she returned with a first-aid kit, I wasn’t surprised. Nor was I surprised when she pointed at the table and said, “Sit.”

If she’d felt obliged to kiss me after the fight in Champagne, surely the feeling would be stronger after the fight with Rick. Although, given how soundly he’d beaten me, the feeling underneath it all would more likely be pity. Either way, I wasn’t about to give her any indication that was what I wanted.

I mean, of course, I wanted to kiss her again, but not as an obligation. I’d known men who would have pulled that card—hell, her Lionel sounded like the kind of man who’d do that. I wouldn’t put it past him to have said it to her outright.

But I was not that kind of man. No matter how much my body kept nudging me forward, my brain was mostly in control.

I reached for the kit. “I can handle it. You get some sleep.”

She pulled one chair out and sat, then nudged the other with her foot. “Sit. Down.”

Let her. She needs to stay busy.

I sat.

Without a word, she opened the kit to take inventory. It was twice the size of the one at the rental house, which figured.

I eased my jacket off, tossed it onto the table, and rolled my sleeve up for her.

“This one’s got butterfly strips. That’ll help.” She peeled the old bandage off my forearm and started cleaning the wound. The antiseptic was stronger than the wipes she’d used before, and it burned deep into the torn edges.

This was supposed to be an easy job. Low risk. One hotel break-in that might have been related to her case, but probably wasn’t, and one idling car.

How the fuck had I wound up at an off-the-books shelter with a woman whose lips I couldn’t stop looking at? Whose every tear made me want to hold her?

I needed a buffer. I needed Lance.

At least he was safe in Geneva.

She pressed the first strip across the wound, pulling the edges of the skin together with careful fingers. Strip by strip, methodical and focused. Just as steady as before, but faster now. She was too familiar with this wound already.

My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced at the screen. “It’s Merlin.”

I tilted it up to unlock it while Gwen worked. “Hi, Merlin. You’re on speaker.”

“How’s the palace?”

“Charming,” I said. “What do you have?”

“Sounds like Rick’s been busy since he left Pendragon in 2023. He’s connected to something, but I don’t have the full picture yet. I talked to a few people who confirmed he’s done a lot of international travel, primarily in the UK and Western Europe. Some of the flights were first class, but he flew several charters, too.”

I stared at my arm as Gwen applied two more butterflies. “So there’s money behind whatever it is.”

“That’s my read. I’m going to get Morganna’s head out of her ass and set her loose on this. She’s the only one with the access to trace this properly.”

“She went dark two days ago.”

“I know, but she was chasing a journalist before that. When she hears Rick’s involved, it’ll change things.” Merlin had pulled her onto the Legacy team in Afghanistan the minute the Agency let him, even though she was less than a year out of college. He’d been right to choose her, and she’d been his go-to for most human intel. “In the meantime, stay put. Get some sleep. You sound like shit.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

“I mean it. Sleep. Both of you.”

The call ended, and Gwen added a fourth butterfly to my arm. “He was CIA, right?”

“How did you⁠—”