Far From Camelot (Far From Series) by Rylee Hale

Author:Rylee Hale [Hale, Rylee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vicious City Press
Published: 2024-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

The bed beside me is empty and cold when I wake. Not that I was expecting anything different. Mordred made it pretty clear last night that sex doesn’t mean the same to him as it does to me.

I still don’t fully understand why I gave in to him. I don’t…care about him. Sure, I may not want to kill him anymore, but I don’t care about him in the same way I’ve cared about my previous partners.

Mordred wasn’t wrong though.

Hate is an emotion. And as far as hate sex goes, yeah, I can see the appeal now.

I’d rather not analyze everything that happened after.

Before I head downstairs for the day, I feed Percy and finish cleaning out my closet except for a few outfits to wear until I leave. I dress in another turtleneck sweater—because the bruises on my neck still haven’t faded—and head down to the shop.

I spend the morning contacting the Realtor I worked with when I bought the place. I let her know that I’m less concerned with making money off it and more so with making sure the store goes to someone who will appreciate it and make it their own. Keeping it as a bookstore would be a plus, but I’m not going to be that picky. If I do make any money off the sale, I’ll just give it to charity anyway.

That afternoon, Willow comes in with our usual coffees and asks if I want to go to Dethrone the Queen’s show with her tonight since it’s their last one in the city.

I consider telling her no. If I don’t see Mordred again, then last night could be our goodbye. That would probably be for the best…

But, of course, I tell her I’ll go with her. Just to see him one last time.

I’ve never been addicted to anything before in my life, not until him.

Willow meets me at the shop after I close up that evening, and we take the subway to where the band’s playing. As we get off and head down the street toward the bar, she links her arm with mine. I think nothing of it—my mind too full of other thoughts—until I tilt my head to see her grinning at me.

“What?”

She stares pointedly at our arms joined together.

I clear my throat and look ahead. “What about it?”

“You’re not going all stiff. You weren’t standing on the subway with your arms tucked into your chest. Someone bumped into you, and you didn’t cringe.”

“What’s your point?”

She shrugs and removes her arm from mine. “I always thought you were a slight germaphobe or something. I know I shouldn’t pry, but…does this change have anything to do with Mordred?”

“No.”

At least, not technically.

It’s been, well…let’s just say a long time since I last had sex, and I think the extended period of abstinence made me somewhat averted to touch. Not drastically, but enough to where Willow noticed.

I’m realizing now that maybe my psychological well-being had been wearing thin over the last several centuries, and it simply snapped in the face of my surprising lust for Mordred.

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