you mean Avalon, like in King Arthur?” Curiosity glinted in his eyes.
She smiled in fond remembrance of home. “Yes. My great-great-grandfather was a child when King Arthur died.”
Ryan searched her face for truth, lies, she knew not which. “Explains a lot.”
Irritation skittered down her back. “Excuse me, but I—”
He held up a forestalling hand. “I only meant that you talk and dress differently.”
“Oh.” Her lips curled up in a tiny smile.
“You’re not,” a flush worked up Ryan’s neck, “Morgan le Fay, are you?”
Morgan flicked a dismissive hand. “Heavens no. She exists in my lineage long, long ago. Many women of power in my family have been named after her.”
Another weighty silence draped over them in the small space. Morgan plucked her damp tunic away from her breasts to give the air a chance to cool her moist body. Leisurely, Ryan’s gaze traveled from her face and downward, stopping at the rounded neckline baring the top of her breasts.
Licking his lips, he asked, “What magic do you possess?” Hoarseness toned down his usual forceful voice.
A flicker of anxiousness conflicted with the gleam of lust in his eyes. A cheerful swirl fluttered in her stomach. The little devil on one shoulder wanted to prolong his obvious discomfort and show him her abilities. As she opened her mouth to stall him, a rolling swell shook the ground beneath them. A loud rumble erupted below the Earth’s surface.
Terror grappled the bit of contentment Morgan had begun to claim. “What’s happening?” she cried.
“Damn,” Ryan bit out. He hauled her to her feet and shoved her toward the cave opening. “Get out of the cave!”
Chapter 12
Rocks and clods of dirt clattered to the ground, tumbled into growing piles. Thick dust zapped the air from the cave. Morgan stumbled toward the entrance, fighting the shaking ground, feeling like a sailor on a storm-tossed pier. She halted in the opening, peered through the dust cloud at Ryan.
He rushed to gather their gear. “Get out!” he hollered over the clamor of shifting terrain.
Frozen in place, she feared the rocking island would pitch her off the narrow ledge to her death on the reef below. She searched the cave walls for a handhold, hugging the entrance walls instead. Crystal laced gravel cascaded in a dry waterfall down the walls. The rear of the cave avalanched toward them in a deafening roar. A tide of earth blanketed their makeshift bed.
Ryan clamped his hand on her arm. She pivoted to face him, but her eye caught the bag of charms her father had relegated to her protection half buried in rubble. I will not give up this easily! The wretched island would not win before she had a chance to right the wrongs against Avalon and her people. The leather pouch lay a few feet from the opening. Morgan wrestled against Ryan’s steadfast grasp. Another rolling rumble belowground sent him lurching off balance, forcing him to release his clamp on her arm.
“Get outside!” he snarled.
Ignoring him, she mangled a shielding spell and ducked back into the shrinking cave. Grit filled her mouth and she gagged. She crawled to the stuffed pouch, regardless of the sharp stones poking into her bare knees and hands.
“Morgan!”
Vaguely, she heard Ryan cursing, felt him grab her ankles and his fingers slip away. He made it safely outside, and her heart pitter-pattered in relief. Undeterred, she stretched forward, snatched up the pouch containing the seeds to grow life on the island.
Grime coated her nostrils. She closed her stinging eyes and flattened her body against the rough cave wall, feeling her way toward the entrance. Pebbles pelted her, bouncing harmlessly off her thin barrier of opaque air. The collapsing cave edged toward her inch by inch. Only her elemental magic kept it from claiming her completely.
Morgan squinted into the gritty air, her sight drawn to a sliver of predawn moonlight in the blocked cave opening. A thread of panic
She smiled in fond remembrance of home. “Yes. My great-great-grandfather was a child when King Arthur died.”
Ryan searched her face for truth, lies, she knew not which. “Explains a lot.”
Irritation skittered down her back. “Excuse me, but I—”
He held up a forestalling hand. “I only meant that you talk and dress differently.”
“Oh.” Her lips curled up in a tiny smile.
“You’re not,” a flush worked up Ryan’s neck, “Morgan le Fay, are you?”
Morgan flicked a dismissive hand. “Heavens no. She exists in my lineage long, long ago. Many women of power in my family have been named after her.”
Another weighty silence draped over them in the small space. Morgan plucked her damp tunic away from her breasts to give the air a chance to cool her moist body. Leisurely, Ryan’s gaze traveled from her face and downward, stopping at the rounded neckline baring the top of her breasts.
Licking his lips, he asked, “What magic do you possess?” Hoarseness toned down his usual forceful voice.
A flicker of anxiousness conflicted with the gleam of lust in his eyes. A cheerful swirl fluttered in her stomach. The little devil on one shoulder wanted to prolong his obvious discomfort and show him her abilities. As she opened her mouth to stall him, a rolling swell shook the ground beneath them. A loud rumble erupted below the Earth’s surface.
Terror grappled the bit of contentment Morgan had begun to claim. “What’s happening?” she cried.
“Damn,” Ryan bit out. He hauled her to her feet and shoved her toward the cave opening. “Get out of the cave!”
Chapter 12
Rocks and clods of dirt clattered to the ground, tumbled into growing piles. Thick dust zapped the air from the cave. Morgan stumbled toward the entrance, fighting the shaking ground, feeling like a sailor on a storm-tossed pier. She halted in the opening, peered through the dust cloud at Ryan.
He rushed to gather their gear. “Get out!” he hollered over the clamor of shifting terrain.
Frozen in place, she feared the rocking island would pitch her off the narrow ledge to her death on the reef below. She searched the cave walls for a handhold, hugging the entrance walls instead. Crystal laced gravel cascaded in a dry waterfall down the walls. The rear of the cave avalanched toward them in a deafening roar. A tide of earth blanketed their makeshift bed.
Ryan clamped his hand on her arm. She pivoted to face him, but her eye caught the bag of charms her father had relegated to her protection half buried in rubble. I will not give up this easily! The wretched island would not win before she had a chance to right the wrongs against Avalon and her people. The leather pouch lay a few feet from the opening. Morgan wrestled against Ryan’s steadfast grasp. Another rolling rumble belowground sent him lurching off balance, forcing him to release his clamp on her arm.
“Get outside!” he snarled.
Ignoring him, she mangled a shielding spell and ducked back into the shrinking cave. Grit filled her mouth and she gagged. She crawled to the stuffed pouch, regardless of the sharp stones poking into her bare knees and hands.
“Morgan!”
Vaguely, she heard Ryan cursing, felt him grab her ankles and his fingers slip away. He made it safely outside, and her heart pitter-pattered in relief. Undeterred, she stretched forward, snatched up the pouch containing the seeds to grow life on the island.
Grime coated her nostrils. She closed her stinging eyes and flattened her body against the rough cave wall, feeling her way toward the entrance. Pebbles pelted her, bouncing harmlessly off her thin barrier of opaque air. The collapsing cave edged toward her inch by inch. Only her elemental magic kept it from claiming her completely.
Morgan squinted into the gritty air, her sight drawn to a sliver of predawn moonlight in the blocked cave opening. A thread of panic
Similar Books
