“You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do it.”
“But I’m the beneficiary.” The memory of Emily’s jealousy-twisted face flashed through his mind, accompanied by the white-hot agony of her whip. Rage flamed up in him, hot and all consuming, until he wanted to go back in time and beat the shit out of Robert. But he couldn’t. There wasn’t a single fucking thing he could do for her.
“You know,” Masara said, her tone musing, “I honestly thought the scars would keep him away. I guess I didn’t understand any more than she did, because it was never really about sex. He wanted to breed me. And maybe teach Emily her place. He took me again as soon as I healed enough not to bleed.” She paused to refill their glasses. “I knew he’d get me pregnant again, so I ran the minute he left. Just headed into the woods and took off. No plan, no money, not a thought in my head but rage. I was lucky I wasn’t caught and hauled back to be beaten to death.” She settled back into the couch cushions. “And I was running from one of the worst places in the country to run from -- South Carolina, hundreds of miles from the Mason-Dixon line. And me a woman on foot. Even if I’d made it to the North, they’d passed the Fugitive Slave Act, so the odds were some slave catcher would recapture me. I didn’t care. I was headed to Canada.”
“How’d you survive?”
“I’d heard a rumor about a woman who lived up in the North Carolina mountains, about a hundred miles from the plantation. They said she was a conductor in the Underground Railroad, meaning she helped slaves escape. Turned out, it was Belle.”
Duncan turned to stare at her. “Tristan’s Belle?”
“They weren’t together then, but yes. She’d had a vision that a Latent they badly needed to recruit was going to stumble out of the woods.” She shrugged and tipped her glass at him. “And so here I am.”
His control shattered, and the words exploded from him in a snarl. “That was nice of them.”
Masara eyed him. “I thought so.”
“Why the fuck didn’t they do something sooner?” He set the glass down and lunged to his feet. “Why the fuck did they let those bastards enslave you? Enslave all of you for all those centuries? They could have stopped it, and they didn’t!”
She sighed. “Yeah, it infuriated me too for a very, very long time. It’s only been in the past twenty years that I realized why someone couldn’t just wave a magic wand and end slavery. Why we had to endure the enslavement of countless millions. Why we had to engineer a war that cost 620,000 lives.”
He stared. “Wait, the Magekind engineered the Civil War?”
“Perhaps ‘engineered’ is the wrong word, but we did encourage it. Visions suggested slavery would endure for centuries otherwise. Too many people were making too much money. They were going to take it industrial.”
“So why let it get started to begin with? There must have been another way.”
“There wasn’t.” She watched as he turned and began to pace, trying to burn off his anger. “Merlin’s law allows us to guide the people who fight evil, inspire them, help them with material assistance. We can work behind the scenes to defeat movements like the Confederacy, the Nazis, or the Taliban. But we can’t force justice down humanity’s throats. If we do that, we become dictators, not saviors.”
He turned to pace again, trying to burn off his frustrated rage at what she’d suffered. “What did you do to Emily? After you became a Maja?”
“Nothing. Oh, I won’t deny I dreamed of feeding her a fireball and castrating Robert. But I couldn’t misuse the power I’ve been given.” She smiled faintly. “I didn’t want to take the chance.”
“I’m not as evolved as you are,” he growled.
“If you weren’t, you’d still be in a wheelchair. They don’t give people the Gift who indulge in petty revenge.”
“I guess not.” He paused to study her. “Belle’s little job offer must’ve seemed unbelievable, given your background.”
She lifted a dark brow. “Did you have the option of not believing when they offered you the Gift?”
“Good point.”
“Besides, Belle had already demonstrated her abilities.” Her expression went grim. “My wounds had become infected. I collapsed in the woods feverish and out of my head. Belle had a vision I was dying, and she gated directly to me. When I saw her step through that hole in the air, I thought she was a hallucination.”
He laughed, though there was no real amusement in it. “I know the feeling.”
“By the time I woke up, she’d healed me, and I knew all about the Magekind. Knew about them the way I knew my own name, because Belle had implanted the knowledge in my mind. I also knew I could become a witch like her. All I had to do was sleep with a vampire three times to activate Merlin’s Gift.” Masara sipped her whiskey. “But the most unbelievable part of it was that I was needed.” To his shock, her voice cracked. “The idea that they needed me to help free my people, that I could actually serve such a purpose…” She looked away.
He reached out and wrapped his fingers around hers, offering what comfort he could. “After what Robert had done… I mean, it couldn’t have been easy to trust a man again.”
“Belle brought in a Court Seducer.” One of the Magekind who specialized in triggering Merlin’s Gift in Latents. “He was from the African line of champions who aren’t related to Arthur at all. He was very skilled, very kind. It was the first time I’d slept with anyone who cared about my pleasure.”
That stung, never mind that it was years before Duncan had even been born. “I care.”
“I know. I can feel it.” She managed a smile for him. “It must’ve been even more of a shock for you. Your generation doesn’t believe in magic at all.”
Maybe it was time for a change of topic, at that. He wasn’t sure he could take any more of Masara’s straight-razor memories. “My doctor at Walter Reed told me I was being transferred to a private hospital in California.” The Magekind had established Elysium Sanctuary to treat Latents who’d never received the Gift. “Confused the hell out of me. My dad’s a construction worker and my mother’s a librarian. We didn’t have that kind of money or connections, but the doc said I had an anonymous benefactor. I’d been hospitalized for four months at that point, and I was still having surgeries.” He sipped his Scotch, remembering the pain and despair of those days. “So they flew me to California. This Maja healer, Estelle, came into my room the next day. I thought she was some kind of nut when she started chanting over me. Then it started to hurt. A lot. I grabbed her hand and demanded what the hell she thought she was doing. Estelle looked at me and shook her head. She said, ‘Well, this isn’t going to work.’ I don’t even remember passing out, but when I woke up, my dick was back.”
Masara flinched.
“Yeah, I was leaping when I hit that second IED, so my legs were apart. That didn’t end well.”
“That’s worse than my whipping story.”
“Hardly. I was in Afghanistan because I wanted to be.” He swallowed another hot mouthful of Scotch. “I woke up like you did, knowing it all. And then Estelle asked me what I would do if I could go back in time, back before the explosion. And I asked, ‘You can do that?’”
“She couldn’t. Even we can’t time travel.”
“No, but I didn’t know that. The next thing I knew I was standing right there with the team of Afghan Army recruits I’d been helping train. Everything felt absolutely real. I thought it was real.”
Masara winced. “At least they didn’t make me relive that whipping. You really thought she’d sent you back in time to change your fate?”
“Estelle didn’t actually say that, but it was the impression I got. We’d found this IED, and we were guarding it while we waited for EOD to come disarm it. Farijaad comes darting out of a side alley. His father was on the team, and the boy hadn’t seen him in a month. The IED was between us and the kid. I saw the look of horror on his daddy’s face. Everybody was yelling, but Farijaad didn’t stop. I don’t think he understood
-- he was maybe six.”
Masara shook her head “I read your file, but I didn’t know the details. This is worse than I thought.”
“I assumed someone else would save Farijaad. See, I’d second-guessed myself a lot, wondering if his dad could’ve gotten to him in time, or maybe just told him to stop. But then I realized that no, that child was going to die. I fucking couldn’t let that happen,”
“Of course not.”
“I jumped a hell of a lot farther, trying to clear both pressure plates -- the one we knew about and the one I’d come down on.” He drained his Scotch, remembering the deafening sound, the smoke, the pain. Lying in the dirt street. Turning his head to see one of his legs a few feet away…
“Then BOOM -- I was back in bed with my legs gone. I thought I’d fucked up my one chance, but Estelle told me it had all been an illusion -- a test to see if I was worthy. I was furious. But before I could tell her what I thought of her, this gorgeous woman walks through the door. The Court Seducer. Estelle left, and we spent the next three hours making love.”
“Given that you didn’t even have a cock an hour before, that must have been some experience.”
“Oh, God, yes. I was a hell of a lot more upset about losing my dick than my legs. There are surgical interventions, but it’s not the same. The third time the Seducer came, Merlin’s Gift hit me like a lightning bolt. It felt as if every cell in my body was exploding. Hurt worse than the IED. Next thing I knew, I was back. All of me.”
Silently, she leaned in and filled his glass again. He lifted it to her in a toast. “To second chances.”
“May we not screw them up.”
They drank.
For a long moment, they sat in silence. “Getting close to dawn,” Masara said quietly.
“I remind you of him, don’t I?”
Her eyes slid away from his.
“I’m not like that, Masara.”
“I know you’re not. Otherwise I’d never have slept with you.”
“What can I do?” He reached out and took her hand in his and met her eyes. “How can I help you heal?”
She smiled, but it looked forced. “I am healed, Duncan. It was fifteen decades ago, and Robert is dust in his grave.”
“Then why did I see his eyes in your dream?”
“It was just a dream.”
“‘Just dreams’ don’t cut your back to ribbons.” He stroked his fingers across her knuckles, trying to see to the bottom of those dark, dark eyes. “The last thing I want to do is tear into old scars.”
“Duncan, any wounds I’ve suffered, I healed.” Gently, Masara pulled her hand away from his. “You do realize that you’ve only got a few minutes to get to bed?” She flashed him a smile. “I can carry you with my magic, of course, but…”
It was a dismissal, and Duncan knew it. “Yeah, I’m not sure my fragile male ego would survive the trip.” He put the glass down on the table with a clink. Fuck it, he thought, and leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to object. When she didn’t he kissed her, making it as tender and sweet as he could. “With me, no always means no,” he whispered against her mouth.
She smiled and laid a hand against his cheek. “I know, Duncan. Sleep well.”
* * *
In his room, he lost no time skimming out of his jeans. Flipping the covers down, he crawled into bed. At least he didn’t have long to brood before the sun came up and put him out of his misery. It was sickening to realize that his eyes reminded Masara of slavery and brutalization. Do I have any hope at all? And yet, he couldn’t seem to give up. He wanted her. Wanted to be with her. If she’d have him. If he could make her forget Robert. If not…
Damn it, sun, would you rise alr…
* * *
The roar sent his hindbrain in a convulsion of terror. Oh, Christ, what now? Duncan grabbed for the sheathed sword hanging from his bedpost, and his feet hit the floor before his eyes were even open. He drew it as another roar sounded. It was coming from outside. “Masara!” Lunging for the veranda doors, he threw them open.
A huge shape flew past, blocking out the sky. Duncan thought it was an airplane until the wings beat, and he realized it had a beak. Moonlight rolled across fur and feathers as the creature spiraled in for a landing on the wide swath of rolling grassland that surrounded the city. Damn, that’s a griffin.
He’d heard all kinds of weird shit lived in the Mageverse, but how was a cross between a lion and an eagle even possible? Especially given that the thing must be the size of an elephant… As the griffin touched down, something even bigger tipped up a triangular head and breathed a gout of flame. “Holy shit.” Other huge heads turned to watch.
Dragons. There must be dozens of them out there.
Duncan had met a dragon once during training. Kel was a Knight of the Round Table, but he was also the only member of the shapeshifting Dragonkind who lived in Avalon. So where had all those others come from?
“You do realize you’re standing there stark naked?” Masara asked from the doorway, sounding amused. “And that sword you’re holding is a practice weapon.”
Crap. Before he could retreat into the house, a wave of magic rolled up his body. When he looked down, he saw he was wearing the same leather garb he’d worn the day before. Even his scent had changed; evidently she’d cast one of those cleaning spells she used when there was no time for a proper shower.
“Not that I disapprove of the view,” Masara added, one corner of her lips lifting in a smile.
Duncan relaxed. If the shit had truly hit the fan, she’d have looked a lot more concerned. “What’s going on?”
“The Fomorians have attacked Llyr’s palace.” Llyr was king of the Sidhe, Mageverse Earth’s version of humanity. He was also Arthur’s ally. “Evidently King Bres was indeed using the peace talks to buy time to get his forces into position. We’re officially at war.” Her mouth flattened. “Which means you and I will have no backup at all.” She turned and walked back into the bedroom.
“Wait, we’re not joining in the fighting?” Duncan followed her.
“No,” Masara told him as they walked into the thoroughly twenty-first-century kitchen, where she had a meal waiting in the breakfast nook. Evidently, they wouldn’t be eating on the veranda tonight. “Walker found out who the werewolves are, and he needs our help taking them down before they murder another mortal. We’re going to grab breakfast and gate over there.”
“How did he figure that out?”
“A Direkind woman named Amy Harrington went to check on her parents and found their house empty and splattered with blood. Judging by the scent patterns, she thinks her father attacked her mother Friday night. Walker believes they both killed the jogger Saturday morning.” She poured him a glass from a bottle, handed it to him, then sat down at her place at the table. “We’re supposed to meet him at the Harrington house and try to get a lead on where they might have gone and what caused them to do this.”
Duncan took a sip from his glass. It tasted flat and unsatisfying after the memory of drinking from Masara’s throat. “How did you spend the day? Because I can tell by looking at you it wasn’t sleeping.”
She shot him a cool glance over a bowl of what looked like oatmeal. “Flatterer. And anyway, I did sleep.”
“Let me guess -- about three hours. You worked a lot of magic yesterday, Masara. You’re probably going to work more today. You can’t do that running on fumes.”
Masara snorted. “I was fighting wars a century before your great-granddaddy was born.”
“Did you know your southern accent gets thick when you’re tired?”
“You’re one to talk, Magnolia Mouth. Drink your breakfast.”
He obeyed, but he watched her as he did so -- the graceful, precise movements of her right hand as she ate, the little frown line between her brows. The way her full lips closed around her spoon, long lashes casting shadows on her down-turned, angular face. The bands on her dreads glittered as she moved her head. Desire rose in him, even
hotter for the taste of her on his tongue. He shifted, feeling his cock harden. Good thing the table concealed his lap. He wanted her so badly his fangs ached.
Patience, Marine. It’s her call. After what happened to her, I’m damned if I’m going to push. All he could do was wait and hope that she was willing to look past her ghosts.
Chapter Six
It didn’t look like a werewolf’s kitchen, not that Duncan had any idea what a werewolf’s kitchen was supposed to look like. The cabinetry was white, with dark green marble countertops, potted plants sitting here and there between stainless steel appliances.
A woman sat on a barstool at the kitchen island, looking stunned as the dimensional gate vanished behind them. Her hazel eyes were so red and swollen from crying, they clashed with the bright copper of the long hair she wore in a messy knot on top of her head. She wasn’t particularly tall, but her body looked lean in black leggings and a long, sky-blue tunic. Duncan thought she’d probably be pretty if she didn’t look so devastated.
“Good of you to come,” Walker said, giving them a nod from the opposite side of the island. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need all the help we can get. We found a key piece of evidence, but I wanted to brief you before you take a look.”
“We’re glad to help,” Masara told him. “The last thing we want is for someone else to die.”
The woman rose from her chair, moving like someone who’d taken a beating. Walker turned to her with a compassionate smile. “This is Masara Okeye and her partner Duncan Carpenter of the Magekind. Folks, Amy Harrington. She needs some help with her parents.”
Masara extended a hand, sympathy softening her gaze. “I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how painful this must be for you.”
“Yes.” Amy’s voice cracked, and she visibly fought grief. “Dad’s not like this! He’d never hurt anyone, especially not my mother…” She choked back a sob.
Duncan’s heart seemed to contract in his chest. He’d seen that dazed expression too many times overseas on those who’d just watched family members die. Cut adrift, flailing in a world plunged into chaos and blood.
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