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“What is it?” Draven appeared at my shoulder. “Fuck.”

Reaching into my saddlebag, he retrieved the leather bag we’d been keeping the cup in, then pulled out the velvet cloth it had been wrapped in.

Wrapping the cloth around his hand, he carefully lifted the grail from the dirt and wiped the traces of my blood off it.

Shooting Gawain a displeased stare, he folded the grail into the cloth and packed it back into the saddlebag.

“Fucking humans,” Hawl grumbled. The Bearkin was nursing a cut over one eye, but other than that, seemed none the worse for wear.

“Fucking bandits,” Lancelet corrected. “Not all humans are bad.”

Hawl looked at Lancelet for a moment then grunted. “I suppose not.”

“They were desperate men,” Guinevere said quietly. She still looked shaken from the attack. Lancelet had draped a heavy wool cloak around her shoulders. Now she pulled it more tightly around her throat.

The campfire crackled. The moon shone overhead. It might have been any other night on the road. Were it not for the scent of burnt wood mingled with the lingering scent of blood. An unpleasantly aromatic reminder of our recent battle.

Draven sat beside me. With practiced care, he wound a strip of linen around my hand, his touch firm but gentle.

There was a soft whooshing sound, and the ground shook momentarily. The campfire flickered, casting its amber glow on the two battlecats as they landed and lumbered towards us.

Nightclaw, his fur obsidian velvet beneath the moon, padded over to me, his golden eyes reflecting the firelight. Folding his wings along his sides, he looked down at my hand, then lowered his massive head and nuzzled me, gently but a little reproachfully, too.

“What would you have had me do?” I said, lifting my free hand to run it over his head. “Summon you back?”

A low rumble came from his chest. An unmistakable growl of disapproval.

I shook my head. “You know I’m not going to do that. Besides, you were hunting. Probably too far away to come back in time.”

Another low growl, but softer this time.

“I know,” I said, leaning my head down to rest atop his. “I know you would have come back. But it’s just a scratch. Nothing more. We were fine. I promise you.”

I glanced over at where Sunstrike sat watching and cleaning her paws.

“Besides, you have your own mate to take care of now,” I said quietly. “She has to come first. She has to heal. You had her back. And my mate had mine.”

I looked up at Draven. He finished knotting the bandage, then pulled me tight against him.

“Remind you of another night?” I murmured. “Far from here?”

He smiled slightly. “It was your back that time.”

“Fenrirs.” I shuddered.

I glanced at where Gawain sat on a rock nearby. The big man was staring into the fire.

“You fought well tonight, Gawain,” I said softly, feeling the need to somehow reassure him.

He looked over at me and forced a smile. “Thank you, Morgan.” His smile fell away. “But the grail. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s a powerful object. Hard to describe the pull it can have,” I said, even while I knew I had never felt that same pull.

“Do you think they came for it? Specifically for the grail, I mean?” Gawain queried.

I shook my head. “I don’t think that man had any idea that it was even there or what it was. He just saw a precious treasure. Something he could sell.”

Gawain nodded. A few moments later, he had drifted off to his own tent for the night.