Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 02] by Captive Page A

back at the Morrigan.
    Except they had yet to fuck .
    Her toes curled, fingers clawed. Curse the gods, why did she care so much? She had been without sex for many moons. To insult her goddess by embracing her enemy would be enjoyable but if it didn’t happen, it made no difference.
    Against her better judgment she flicked him another dark glance. He was watching her, his face expressionless, as if anticipating her making a bid for freedom.
    Oh, she would make a bid for freedom. When the time was right. And if he continued to treat her as an undesirable encumbrance, she’d slash his throat before she left too.
    She ignored the fact she had no dagger. Ignored the real possibility he would leave her chained the entire time they were in Camulodunon. She’d find a way to get back at him because how dared he fight his desire for her? How dared he despise the fact he lusted after her?
    How dared he deny her satisfaction?

    Morwyn turned her back on him in bed, her body rigid with affront at his continued distance. He hadn’t even bothered procuring her a bath. Instead they had washed in a bucket of lukewarm water, and even if he had allowed her to go first, she still felt ill-cleansed.
    As he extinguished the last lamp and the room plunged into darkness she allowed her muscles to slowly relax. But even that was an effort because every nerve stretched in awareness at his close proximity. The heat emanating from his body.
    The chill of the space between them.
    No shackle imprisoned her ankle.
    She clenched her hands. Forced her breath between her teeth. This journey was testing her sanity to its outer limits. While on Mon, she’d been approached on several occasions by men wanting more than friendship. But, despite her body’s need, she’d never been tempted to take them up on their offers.
    Her need to scorn the Morrigan had been greater.
    But now, lying in bed in the dark, all she could think of was the Gaul. How he would feel. How he would taste. And the most despicable thing of all was she knew, deep inside, that wanting him had nothing to do with wanting to abuse her goddess’s divine gifts.

    She was back in the Morrigan’s sacred grove on the Isle of Mon. The grass was sharp green, the sky vivid blue, every color so vibrant her eyes ached. Somewhere in the back of her mind, beyond the reach of consciousness, she knew this wasn’t real. Knew it was just another dream. But when Gawain came to her and took her hands, relief, woven through with remorse, sliced her heart.
    “I’ll find the Briton king, Morwyn. And fight for our freedom the way we should have fought, before Aeron created his cursed spiral. Before he concealed us from the Romans.” The last words vibrated with fury. With loathing at how the Druids had been prevented from protecting their people.
    No dream. This was a memory. The last time she’d seen Gawain alive before he’d left the Isle to seek out Caratacus.
    “Let me come with you.” The words spilled from her lips even though she knew his answer, as if this memory demanded to be replayed over and over, an endless loop, despite her knowledge of how it would all end.
    His fingers tightened around hers. She could feel their strength as if he truly stood before her and held her hands, but still ethereal wisps of precognition fluttered in her mind. Distorting the moment. Confusing her ability to distinguish between reality and reminiscence.
    “No.” He released her and stood looking down at her, as if committing her to memory. “I need to go alone.” He hesitated for a moment as if debating his next words. “I need to get away from you.”
    She watched him turn and walk away, proud and alone, and her heart ached. No matter how she longed to leave this Isle and join the rebels, she couldn’t go with Gawain. He deserved, at least, the right to leave on his own terms.
    The sky darkened; the air chilled. Shivers raced over her arms as shadows lengthened and the trees thickened, becoming dense and