Jack and refilled his glass. “You’re not contemplating some kind of experiment—like giving someone the Gift when you suspect they might go insane?”
Was that a flicker of hurt in those vivid eyes? “Do you seriously think I’d do something like that?”
“Would you?” Cador lifted a cinnamon brow.
“No, damn you.” Morgana turned and began to pace restlessly, gesturing as she spoke. She evidently didn’t notice the way they watched her long legs stride in those sheer red stockings and four-inch crimson fuck-me heels. And God, her arse . . . Percival’s hands itched to grab those pert cheeks and spread them so he could see the plump curves of her labia, the tight pucker of her anus . . .
When she turned, there was a shadow of genuine hurt in her eyes. It distracted him from his lust, made him realize just how rough they were being on her. He was surprised by the stab of guilt he felt.
Maybe he was being a little too hasty in rejecting her Oath. Could this really be the way to finally resolve the sexual issues between them? Not that he’d ever let himself become too vulnerable to Morgana—that would be asking for trouble. His gaze lingered on her practically naked body, and he felt his cock harden even more. A sideways glance confirmed his partners were just as aroused.
Percival frowned. They’d shared women before, of course. Most of the time the team went on missions with one Maja, two at the most. Any time a job went for longer than a few hours, there was usually the opportunity for a little sex, and one thing would lead to another. Knights of the Round Table never had a problem getting laid. Besides, Percival and his team had acquired a certain reputation among the Majae; the women were always eager to experience a night with the three of them.
But sharing Morgana . . . that was something else again. He didn’t like that idea one bit. Unfortunately, having her to himself didn’t seem to be on the table. If he wanted her at all—and God knew he did—then he was going to have to ignore his possessive instincts and share her with Marrok and Cador.
Unaware of his thoughts, Morgana was still explaining the theory behind the collar. “No matter how carefully we screen the candidates or how well-trained our Court Seducers are in accessing them, a percentage of our Latents always go insane.” Pivoting, she paced the other way. “If we collared all of them before that third time, even the stable women wouldn’t suffer the psychic storm of gaining their full power at one time. We could ease them all into becoming Majae, especially the unstable ones. If they didn’t develop full-blown Mageverse Fever, killing them wouldn’t be necessary.”
“God knows that’s a worthy goal.” His thoughts went to Clarice.
Fifteen years ago, Lancelot had been forced to kill Percival’s only daughter to keep her from murdering Morgana’s granddaughter, Grace. Percival hadn’t even known about Clarice’s existence until she’d been identified as a candidate for the Gift. Which, unfortunately, was one of the hazards of siring illegitimate children.
Percival had been impressed with Clarice in the brief time he’d known her; she was an intelligent, idealistic woman who volunteered in her local soup kitchen and was passionately involved in environmental causes.
Then she was dead, all her bright potential lost with her. Though he’d barely known the girl, he’d grieved her passing. Especially since she’d died during an attempt to kill sixteen-year-old Grace Morgan. In her right mind, Clarice would have been horrified at the idea of doing something like that to a child.
Watching Morgana gesture, eyes alight with passion as she talked about the problem of Mageverse Fever, Percival realized she sincerely wanted to find a way to save those girls. He wasn’t surprised: though the Liege of the Majae had a well-deserved reputation for cool ruthlessness, she was also deeply protective when it came to