King Takes Queen
KING TAKES QUEEN
by
Monica Corwin
Legend states when the King Arthur is needed most he will
return. What if the legends are wrong?
Maggie Sanders gave six years and two feet of her now scarred
and twisted body to the United States Army. She received a thank you note and a
discharge in return. Effectively booted to the curb Maggie tries to pick up the
pieces of her life until her revival is interrupted by one smoking hot
immortal.
Arthur Pendragon, legendary
King and military leader, has been trapped on the mythical island of Avalon for
1500 years. When he is thrust from captivity to the modern world he has to
fight to stay there. Too bad for him, she has more fight than he anticipates.
With the help of Maggie and a teenage Merlin, Arthur sets out to end his torture
and free the rest of his comrades from imprisonment.
She stood up and began to
stretch her cramped muscles when the scent of apples slammed into her. It
fairly choked her—the taste of sweet earth and tart apple.
Maybe
I'm having a heart attack. She shook her left arm around, but
nothing happened. The Army First Aid Handbook definitely stated something about
odd scents and tingling in the left arm. Where
was it coming from?
She took a step from
behind the counter and a gust of air flattened her in a heartbeat. The sound of
an explosion followed, adding more to the assault. Dust coated the entire
store; books and shelves toppled over every inch of the floor. The shelves lay
together like the folds of an accordion, grotesquely littered with books torn
from their homes. Dust and dirt assaulted her senses as she wondered if she
still lived. She swallowed the bile clogging her throat as she stared at the
ceiling, unable to bring herself to move.
One moment she lay on her
bookstore floor, the next her mouth clogged with dust as her heart pulsed
behind her eyes. She couldn’t see anything but she was right back there in the
sandbox, with the dust, the pain, and explosion that took everything from her.
Her ears began to ring
and she touched a tender spot on her forehead to check for blood. Her vision
cleared and nothing on her scalp seemed hurt or bruised either; she'd missed
the counter by inches. The thought of dying from a blow to the head while in
her bookstore seemed preposterous, and if she wasn't already crying she might
have laughed.
She sat up on her elbows,
taking short breaths to remain calm. Nightmare after nightmare rolled through
her mind so fast that all she could do was breathe through the pain invading
her body and the tears tracking through the dust on her cheeks. She pushed a
long gust of air from her chest, and used the relaxation techniques she learned
to deal with her post-traumatic stress. Slowly, breath after breath, her
heartbeat resumed a normal cadence and she felt more like herself.
Shame battled for ground
amidst the cacophony of emotions swelling to burst insider her. She hadn't
worked through the worst of her nightmares; they could follow her to this new
life. As feeling returned to her hands, chasing away the tingling of
adrenaline, she realized she was happy to be alive, of course—and angry. She
pushed stray cardboard and books off her legs and out of the way so she could
stand, unsteady on her feet. She straightened her dress and brushed tears from
her cheeks. She bent over so she could peek around the corner of the counter,
sneaking out farther for a better view of where the explosion came from. On the
ground lay a hand, palm facing her.
Maggie started to creep
toward the hand, remaining cautious because whoever owned it knocked over two
cases, and books flooded the floor in her path. She pushed through, gently
sliding them out of her way as she moved closer while looking around for...
Maggie reached down and
grabbed a large and scary edition of The
Oxford Unabridged English Dictionary and held it up over her shoulder with
both hands. She continued to inch toward the body. Her vision broke the edge of
the last bookcase hiding him, and all the air rushed out of her lungs. He was
huge, large, ginormous, and every other large adjective she could conjure up.
He was also very naked.
She leaned in closer,
against her better judgment; the instinct to ensure he was at least alive
proved more than she could resist. She scooted books out of the way with the
toe of her shoe as she continued toward him. He certainly wasn't dead; she knew
what death looked like, so she kept the book up in a throwing position. Finally
close enough to check his pulse, she crouched down, much to her hip's dismay,
and picked up the strong beat of his heart under her fingertips at the curve of
his neck. He was alive, definitely alive, and his skin burned hot to the touch.
Far too much time had
passed since she appreciated a naked male body, and his was certainly something
to appreciate. He’s injured. You
shouldn’t ogle him. She needed to conduct a damage and injury check.
Starting at his feet, she progressed upward until she reached his face, cradled
by books, and found herself staring into deep ocean eyes.
Their gaze shifted from
her face to the book. In a blur of movement, so fast she couldn't react, he
held the book in one of his hands, his body pressed over hers, and her wrists
clutched in his other fist. A stunned
moment of stillness descended. They were both breathing heavily, chests rising
and falling, touching where his body held hers to the ground. He recovered
first, throwing the book at a nearby pile and reaching to grip a wrist in
either hand.
She shot him a nasty look
before wrapping her legs around his waist in a grip strong enough to crush
ribs, and then neatly smacked her forehead against his. Rearing his head back,
he dropped a wrist and tentatively brought his hand to his forehead, checking
for blood. In a split second, Maggie grabbed her fallen weapon and hit him
square across his cheek.
Loud muttering curses
exploded from him in a deep, accented voice. Before she could rear back he
wrenched the book from her hand and threw it farther than her reach. It
ricocheted off the other books as he regained control of her. Books dug into
her back but she barely noticed with her bare legs wrapped around his narrow
hips and his chest pressing her body to the ground. Maggie stared him down with
a glare so menacing even the most insane of people would have released her, but
the look he gave her in return was all heat.
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Monica Corwin is an outspoken writer who
attempts to make romance accessible to everyone no matter their preferences. As
a new Northern Ohioian Monica enjoys snow drifts, three seasons of weather, and
disliking Michigan. When not writing Monica spends time with her daughter and
her ever growing collection of tomes about King Arthur.
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I love the cover. Monica has an exciting story here!
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