Lucan: The Pendragon Legacy Read online

  Behind them the door smoked and blackened, and flames ate through the panels. Calm was a good thing, but urgency and haste w FG Oere in order now.

  He pounded on the doors of the service elevator. “Where does this go?”

  “I have no idea. But the power’s off. We can’t take the elevator anywhere because it doesn’t have a manual override. At least not one I can see.” She turned around, searching the stacked trash bags. “But there’s a garbage chute over here somewhere that might take us to the basement.”

  Lucan joined her search and started flinging aside bags to clear a path toward the wall. The room grew hotter and began to glow. She worked alongside him and prayed the flames wouldn’t reach them.

  She wasn’t ready to die. Not yet. Not when she’d found a man who didn’t fear her. Who treated her… like a woman.

  Lucan worked with fast and powerful efficiency, grabbing heavy bags with each hand and tossing them aside. Sweat streaked his brow, but he didn’t slow his pace. She managed to move only two bags at a time. The stench made her stomach roil. Her back ached. The muscles in her arms burned. But she dared not rest, even for a moment.

  Perspiration soaked under her arms, down her back, and between her breasts. The trash bag straps cut into her palms. But the discomfort was nothing compared to what they’d suffer if the flames reached them. The crackling fire at the door behind them and the increasing heat spurred her efforts.

  “Found it.” Lucan shoved aside one last trash bag and pulled open the chute’s door. “Get in.”

  Again his gallantry of putting her first made her feel feminine—even if she stank like a dead fish. But perhaps she would be the first to die. Cael had no idea if the chute would drop them into the heart of the fire.

  The ceiling started to smolder. Any place was better than here. She stepped forward. Lucan held out his hand to help her climb into the chute. Without hesitation, she took his hand, wondering if this was the last time she’d ever touch him.

  “You’ll have to lie down. Feet first,” he instructed, all business. Then his veneer cracked, allowing her to sense his deep concern about sending her down the chute.

  “Cross your arms over your chest.” She did as he commanded, wishing she knew what he was thinking. But she knew what he was feeling. Eyes smoldering, he looked at her mouth, leaning closer until his perfect face was a mere inch from hers. It was crazy how much she wanted him to kiss her. And then for one too-brief moment, he pressed his lips to hers.

  Her first kiss. Filthy, stinky, scared, she nevertheless marveled at the sweet sensation. Her lips welcomed the pressure, and when he pulled back, she ached for more.

  He grinned. “Good luck, princess.”

  “Priestess,” she corrected automatically, but she doubted he heard.

  He’d closed the chute, tipping her body downward. She began to slide. It grew so dark not even her keen eyesight could discern any light. She picked up speed, and friction began to warm her calves, the backs of her thighs, her bottom. Just as the heat became uncomfortable, her fee no ide+yest crashed through a hinged door and she was airborne.

  Above all, have fear of traitors, for they creep in the dark, burn the cities, ravage the heart, and steal the souls of men.

  —ARTHUR PENDRAGON

  4

  Lucan wanted to wait until he could be sure Cael cleared the chute. Around him, the ceiling buckled.

  Fire shot across the floor. His heavier weight would make him fall faster, but he couldn’t delay any longer. He jumped into the trash chute with fire licking at his back.

  He yanked the chute door closed and let gravity do its job. Was he jumping from the fire into an inferno? Would he land in the middle of a burning slag heap? Would Cael be waiting for him at the bottom, or had she been injured in the descent?

  If these were his last moments, he wanted to go out with the memory of her lips against his. But even more, as he surged through the black chute, picking up speed, he wanted to live to kiss her again.

  His body dropped, the friction heating his flesh, and he spread his feet, using the soles of his boots against the sides of the chute to slow his progress. There was no point to surviving the fire only to smash his bones when he reached bottom.

  He went from filthy metal surrounding him to… midair and blackness. Falling, gut swooping, he flailed, trying to catch hold of something in the darkness. Anything to stop his fall. But his fingers grasped nothing but air.

  His free fall ended in a jarring crash onto his back that knocked the oxygen from his chest. Something hard poked his shoulder. Something gooey and rank oozed down his neck.

  “Lucan?” Cael’s voice pulled him back from a close encounter with unconsciousness.

  But he couldn’t respond right away. Not until his head stopped spinning, not until his lungs drew in air. Through the blackness, he reached for Cael, but he touched only plastic bags. More garbage.

  “Lucan?” she called again. “Tell me you aren’t hurt. Talk to me, damn it.”

  Finally his chest muscles relaxed, allowing him to draw in a much-needed breath. The stench almost overpowered him, but he managed a whisper. “I’m here.”

  She found him in the darkness. Her hands touched his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.” He shook off his grogginess. She’d taken the same route, suffered the same jarring landing. How was it that she sounded so unaffected?

  “You don’t sound so good.”

  “I’m fine,” he repeated. Gritting his teeth, he shoved up from the mess onto Bgginess

  She didn’t respond to his innuendo. As usual, she didn’t talk about herself and switched the conversation back to him. Concern deepened her voice. “Your neck’s bleeding.”

  “Just scratches.” Automatically, he attempted to push his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. But he’d lost them during the fall.

  “Here.” She shoved the glasses into his hand.

  “Thanks.” He put them on, but he still couldn’t see beyond the blackness. “Where are we?”

  “I’m not sure. Since there aren’t any windows, I’m guessing we’re in the basement.”

  His eyes teared as they strained to see, then began to adjust to the darkness until he could make out shadowy areas against inky blackness. “Let’s do a perimeter check. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a door.”

  She stood, but a bag popped under her foot and he heard the sound of her body hitting plastic. She didn’t gasp or complain—not even about the foulness. “Maybe we should crawl?”

  “Good idea.” He listened to her movements and reached for where he thought her leg to be. “I’m holding on to you so we stay together.”

  “This way.” She began to creep over the bags. Some had come down the chute whole. Many had spilled. He prayed they weren’t slithering through contaminated chemicals.

  Girding himself, he moved forward. After what seemed like endless crawling, she stopped. “I’ve hit the wall.”

  “You still on top of garbage?”

  “Yes. Apparently the entire level’s one gigantic incineration bin.” She sounded more weary than frightened. “There’s no way out.”

  He refused to believe that. “There’s always a way.”

  They circled the perimeter for what seemed like a long time before stopping. Hot, thirsty, and tired, he slumped against the wall for a rest. He would not give up. He hadn’t come this far to die in a garbage dump.

  “Is it getting warmer in here?” she asked, her voice rising in concern.

  He wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his wrist. “We just need a rest.”

  “It is heating up.”

  Lucan realized it wasn’t as dark as it had been before. A faint red glow was emanating from beneath the garbage. Uh-oh. “The incinerator’s burning the trash.”

  “And us along with it?”

  Sweat soaked him. Within the last few seconds, the temperature had shot up twenty degrees.

  He started tearing open the bags of t
rash. “We need to find something heavy or sharp enough to break through the wall.”

  Sweat poured from his body. His lips dried and cracked. As the fluids seeped out of him, so did his strength. He tossed aside trash, feeling for something, anything, to use to get them out of here.

  Cael swore and then softly began to pray to the Goddess.

  He couldn’t let her die.

  It was hot. So hot. They didn’t have time to cut their way out. The heat was cooking his brain. He reached for Cael. His arm wouldn’t respond. “Sor… ry.”

  He couldn’t save Cael.

  He couldn’t bring home the Grail.

  Sorry. So… Sorry.

  Lucan collapsed. He heard a distant crash. A roar. Fire blasted through the wall. Hot enough to melt it? He must be hallucinating.

  And if that wasn’t strange enough, he was scooped up and flung through the air.

  Lucan awakened slowly. Why was he so groggy? Where was he? His head was pillowed in a soft lap, gentle fingers caressed his brow, and warm languor spread through his body.

  Uncertain what had happened, or how much time had passed, he opened his eyes.

  “Welcome back.”

  Had he died and gone to heaven? Was he dreaming? Was a blond-haired, violet-eyed angel hovering over him?

  Angels didn’t have dirt smudges on their cheeks, did they? Half awake, he reached up and brushed the soot from her face. Her skin was soft, satiny, smooth, and he found himself caressing the same spot even though the dirt was gone.

  Their eyes locked.

  Cael blushed, and she pulled away from his touch, then poured water between his lips. He swallowed, his eyes searching hers. Her pupils had become a golden inferno surrounded by dark purple irises that didn’t look so human anymore.

  His gaze moved past her to the incinerator room. The cinderblock wall had been reduced to rubble, and garbage smoldered within the ruins. How had they survived? Had the blast flung him through the wall and out of the garbage heap? Was that why he’d blacked out?

  Although he hated to question their good fortune, he frowned. What had caused the explosion just when they most needed to escape? Seemed like a huge coincidence. Cael had carried water from a nearby fountain in a cup-shaped piece of plastic. He drank more and looked around. “What happened?”

  Her neck was dark with soot: she wore her now tattered and dirty pink tunic backward. When she turned to get more water, he saw that her tunic pocket, which had held Shaw’s papers, was burned away, the pages lost. But from the gaping hole in her clothing, he understood that modesty had required a readjustment.

  He shouldn’t stare. But damn, she had a sexy back. The hollows of her shoulder blades called to him. And the sensual purple markings down her nlost!spine made him want to explore her with his tongue. A purple tattoo? Of some kind of vine?

  She looked from the demolished wall to him, raised her chin, and squared her shoulders, almost as if bracing her body against an expected attack. “I broke the wall.”

  She’d broken through the wall? With what? “You broke through…”

  “Who are you?” she asked, eyes wide with curiosity. “Why don’t you know who I am?”

  Her first question rattled him, and he ignored it. He had to choose his words with care. “I know you’re the High Priestess.” He breathed out a sigh of frustration. “But that’s all I know. It’s not like I can go to the library and look you up.”

  “My privacy’s protected by law.” She fidgeted, and he could tell there was something she wasn’t saying.

  He searched her face—for answers. “What are you hiding?”

  “I-it’s forbidden to write or speak about me without special, preapproved permission through government channels.”

  No wonder his research hadn’t scratched the surface when it came to the High Priestess.

  Perhaps she’d attribute his ignorance to confusion due the blast. His gaze moved to the giant hole she’d created, and he raised a singed eyebrow. “So how’d you break the wall?”

  Unease flickered in her eyes. “I hear engines circling. They may be hunting us. We need to leave.” She gestured to the parked vehicles in the garage. “Unfortunately, those skimmers are all locked.”

  Standing on shaky legs, he tucked his question away to ask later. He also relegated to the back of his mind the alien vision of her purple irises and her slender back with its enticing curves and taunting hollows entwined in that tantalizing vine. He would savor the memory later, along with the memory of their short but sensual kiss. Right now, he needed to get them out of here. Squatting, he opened the compartment in the heel of his boot. The hidden multi-tool and circuit rerouter had saved him on more than one occasion.

  He staggered to the nearest skimmer, a flying vehicle that the Dragonians used for transportation, and slapped the device on the lock. After an audible click, he opened the door.

  With a sigh, she slid into the passenger seat. “I’ve never stolen anything before.”

  “We’re borrowing. Not stealing.” He sat behind the controls, revved the motor, and grinned. “This baby has some juice.”

  “Try not to crash.”

  He dialed in the Dragonian equivalent of pop rock and grinned. “I’m a very good driver. Made it halfway across the city last week with only three or four fender benders.”

  She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Focus on getting us out of here.”

  “No back-seat driving,” he replied.

  S P