Night Quest

by Susan Krinard

  “And who are my people?” he asked. “I’m a Freeblood now. I won’t go back to Avalon, and I can’t accept Daniel’s way. I certainly won’t join a pack and hunt humans. Timon and I have to make a new home. We can’t do it alone.”

  “Of course you can,” she said. “You are one of the strongest men I have ever known.”

  “Daddy?” Timon ran up to Garret and hugged his legs, pressing his face into Garret’s pants. “I want to go.” He held out his hand to Artemis. “Come on, Artemis.”

  She looked away.

  Timon’s lip began to tremble. “What’s wrong, Daddy?” he asked.

  Garret bent and lifted Timon to his shoulder. “Artemis has a hard decision to make. She wants to help people who don’t have any place to go. I want her to stay with us.”

  “Me, too,” Timon said.

  Artemis clenched her fists. “You cannot coerce me, Garret.”

  “But I can and will use every means to convince you.”

  “I have heard your arguments,” she said in a low voice.

  “But not the final one.” He set Timon down and turned her face toward him. “I love you.”

  Her expression crumpled, and he thought he’d won. But she was still fighting him, and he could think of only one reason why.

  “You don’t feel the same way,” he said, forcing the words around the knot in his throat.

  She shook her head. “I know how much you loved Roxana. No one can take her place.”

  “That’s right. No one can. But I don’t want a replacement. I want you, for as long as we live.”

  “It is not in the nature of Opiri to mate for life.”

  “It’s not in the nature of Nightsiders to give up on human blood, but that’s what you expect them to do.” He ran the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone. “What proof do you need, Artemis?”

  She didn’t answer. Her gaze turned inward, as if she were seeking refuge from the pull of too many obligations.

  “She’s so sad,” Timon whispered.

  “Very sad,” Garret said. “Are you feeling well enough to stay with Daniel a little while longer?”

  “Will you make Artemis feel better?”

  “I hope so, Timon.”

  The boy hugged Garret again and went out the gate. Fighting the need to pull Artemis into his arms, Garret could think of only one other way to reach her. He closed off the outside world—all the smells, the noise, the feelings—and reached inside himself, digging beyond the surface of his emotions, into their core, and then deeper still, where he had gathered the fragments of a shattered blue crystal.

  Then he released his hold on the physical plane completely. Like a diver plunging into a lightless ocean, he swam so far beneath the surface that he could no longer even sense the presence of land.

  But he was Opir now. He could see in darkness. He glimpsed the crystal and stretched his hand to grasp it. His fingers slipped. He tried again.

  And caught it.

  Jagged edges cut into his palm. He hurled himself up, fighting for breath, searching for a surface that seemed to have disappeared completely.

  Artemis, he said.

  No answer. He held the crystal close to his heart, hardened his will and hurled it into darkness.

  Catch it, Artemis, he said. It’s yours. And mine. And Timon’s.

  It is life.

  The crystal shot through the darkness and vanished. Garret’s lungs filled with shadows as thick and choking as mud. He continued to fight, reaching for the one thing that could draw him home.

  Her hand caught his. She pulled him up and up, and his body regained its strength. The water was suffused with blue light, shot through with streaks of orange.

  He broke the surface. Artemis’s lips were on his, breathing life back into him, her love around and inside him.

  When she released him, her emotions were as crystal clear and vivid as the waters of a pristine lake.

  “I felt them,” she said. “Your feelings, your—”

  “Love,” he said, lacing his fingers through her hair. “And I feel yours, Artemis. You can’t run from it.”

  “I cannot run from my people. But I—” She searched Garret’s eyes. “I won’t leave you now.”

  Her anguish almost undid him. He thought of the new life he and Timon would have to make. He thought with pride of his son’s courage and resilience, his ability to see a woman just like his kidnappers as a person worthy of love.

  But could Timon adapt to a life completely unlike the one he’d always known, a life with the very people who had taken his mother, then taken him?

  “I need to talk to Timon,” Garret said, touching Artemis’s hand. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  He walked out the gate to find Timon. He drew him aside and talked with him, not at all certain of what to expect.

  When the conversation was finished, he took his son by the hand and led him back to Artemis. She smiled at Timon, though Garret could see how much it cost her.

  “Timon and I have talked it over,” Garret said. “We think that what you have to do is important for the whole world. That’s why we’re coming with you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Coming with me?”

  “To teach the Freebloods how to live in peace with humans. I’m one of you now. We can make a difference.”

  “But you—” She broke off. “I can’t let you give up everything you know to help those you have regarded as your enemies for so long.”

  “I have no hate left in me, Artemis,” he said. “You leeched that poison. You took my humanity, but you gave me new eyes to see with. Let me use them. Let me help you.”

  “Me, too!” Timon said. He puffed out his chest. “I’m not afraid.”

  Artemis looked down at him. “He has been through so much. As brave as he is...”

  “It’s the children who will make the difference in the end,” Garret said. “Timon is an ambassador to the future.” He laid his hand on his son’s head. “If he finds it too difficult, we’ll do whatever we have to. Until then, let him try.”

  A voice Garret recognized carried over the murmur of shuffling feet, shifting bodies and low conversation. Pericles was speaking with Daniel. He glanced toward Garret and Artemis, turned and slipped away into the crowd.

  “What about Pericles?” Artemis asked. “He is not an innocent.”

  “Kronos mocked us about forgiveness,” Garret said, watching the young Nightsider disappear. “I can’t forgive the Freebloods who killed Roxana, but eventually I’ll have to accept the ones who took the children. I can try to start with Pericles.”

  “That is all any of us can do,” she said. “Try to begin again.” She looked into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for believing in me. For this sacrifice.”

  “Where is the sacrifice?” He gathered her into his arms. “I love you.” Their emotions mingled, and Artemis flung back her head and laughed.

  “I love you,” she said. “I love you.”

  “Me, too!” Timon said.

  They pulled him close, and they all laughed together.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from ENCHANTED WARRIOR by Sharon Ashwood.

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  Enchanted Warrior

  by Sharon Ashwood

  Prologue

  Once upon a time—so much begins that way. What we forget is that once upon a time can be an ending, too. This was a little of both.

  Long ago there were many races that walked the world: humans, dragons, changelings, fae and countless others. It was the era of King Arthur and his knights of Camelot, a shining time that rode out of dreams and into the pages of well-thumbed books.

  Back then the men of the Round Table were the pinnacle of knighthood, both in chivalrous acts and the might of their swords. They numbered one hundred and fifty of the hardest, the most brutal and the most fearless of men. Their purpose was to defend the realms of mortal kind against those with supernatural power.

  At the height of Camelot’s glory, there came a war against the demons, led by Arthur and his sorcerer, Merlin. All the peoples—mortals, fae and even the witches—banded against the hellspawn under Camelot’s flag.

  After a mighty battle, the demons fled the earth, but the magic Merlin used was too costly. The witches and fae were badly injured and they fled the mortal realms, swearing vengeance on Arthur and the humans he had promised to protect—even if it took hundreds of years to regain enough strength to fight.

  With great sorrow, Arthur turned to his faithful knights, asking who among them would risk everything to protect the mortal world. Every one knelt and swore his loyalty. So Merlin cast a spell, turning the knights to stone statues upon their empty tombs. They would awaken, fierce and in their prime, when evil rose once more.

  After that, Camelot vanished like a mist in an unforgiving wind. But in an ending there is always the seed of a new day.

  That time is upon us.

  Once upon a time is now.

  Chapter 1

  Tamsin Greene blew out her breath to ease the tension squeezing her ribs. Her sigh made a cloud of mist that floated upward to the shadowy stone ceiling of the Church of the Holy Well. The ancient English structure had been relocated to the Medievaland Theme Park decades ago, but it seemed to hold part of the past inside it, as if time itself had seeped into the stone. Or maybe that was just the frigid temperature. November in the Pacific Northwest wasn’t a snowy deep freeze, but the damp air held a savage bite. At first she’d been annoyed at having to wear a costume to her workplace, but now she was glad of the floor-length gown of green wool. She should have sewn herself a cloak, too.

  She told herself her shivers were just the result of the cold. What kind of threat could there be at Medievaland Theme Park, anyway? Even in winter, it was a place for family fun, with costumed performers, games, feasts and make-believe. The worst that could happen was a stomachache from too many jalapeño Dragon Fries. The only thing remotely serious—or truly medieval—about the park was the church where she stood now, and normally the old stones echoed with the holiday mood.

  But today was different. Tamsin rubbed her arms as the feeling of being stalked crept behind her on stealthy paws. Although a glance confirmed she was alone in the church, fresh wariness settled in her belly. Tamsin turned slowly, senses probing.

  Nine times out of ten, being a witch meant nothing more than having a knack with cold remedies and some very odd family dinners, but once in a while her sixth sense was useful. She scanned the space, feeling first the layers of history that shimmered in the air, then the small living things that ran and squeaked in the walls. There was ancient magic sleeping there, but it was too old and dormant for her to understand its purpose. And beyond that...

  She probed just a little more before she snatched her psychic senses back, all too aware there were creatures that would sniff out spells and come looking. In the past months, victims—witches and humans both—had been turning up dead, their souls ripped from their bodies. Tamsin wasn’t a coward, but that was enough to spook anyone who was far away from the protection of her family and coven.

  Habit made her rub the delicate vine tattoo that circled her left wrist—the mark of the Shadowring witches. It should have given her comfort, but it only reminded her how isolated she was. An icy chill rippled down her spine. She spun, reacting to a sound she’d felt more than heard. A movement of air. A phantom footfall. No one but a witch would have caught it. Tamsin’s senses strained until they ached. Nothing.

  She stood perfectly still, nervous sweat trickling down the small of her back. Light slanted through the stained glass, creating an otherworldly atmosphere. There were crowds outside, but the thick walls blocked the noise. The echoing silence made her feel incredibly small and alone.

  That did it. As much as Tamsin hated to admit it, she was giving herself a case of the jitters. Time to stand on the porch for a while, where she could see plenty of people. She started for the door.

  Huge hands grabbed her from behind, pulling her backward until she collided with a rock-hard chest. Tamsin inhaled, about to scream, but a palm clamped over her mouth. A moment later, the man’s free arm grasped her middle. Tamsin lunged forward, but his grip was an iron bar. Her next move was to kick back, aiming for the man’s knee. She missed, catching only his shin with the soft sole of her boot. He grunted and pulled her against him so tightly she could barely breathe.

  “Don’t,” he said, the word clipped and cold.

  Tamsin froze, going utterly still. Whoever this was, his psychic shields were so powerful he’d been completely hidden from her scan. After fretting about evil creatures stalking witches, she was too scared to reach for her magic. Every instinct warned her this stranger would not tolerate further defiance. This was a professional. A predator. A true threat. She knew it on a level so primitive it was coded into her DNA.

  Her obedience seemed to work, because the hand clamped over her mouth slowly moved away. He tasted of salt, sweat and man. He hadn’t used weapons to overpower her, just brute strength. That show of confidence made him seem all the more deadly.

  “You will not cry out.” His words had traces of a brogue—Scottish, perhaps. His deep, masculine voice vibrated through the line where their bodies touched and sank into her bones.

  “Please,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want?”

  “Turn around.”

  The arm locked about her loosened, allowing her to move but not to escape. Tamsin shrank away as far as she could, the heat of his body a sharp contrast to the cool November air.

  “Turn,” he repeated. “I want to see your face when I question you.”

  Tamsin obeyed, sliding within the circle of his arm. It put their faces barely twelve inches apart, and that was only because he was so tall. Her first instinct was to avoid eye contact, to rebel at least in that small way, but curiosity won. She snatched a glance from under her lashes.

  She froze all over again as he nailed her in place with a brilliant blue gaze. He was younger than she’d expected—maybe in his late twenties—and handsome enough that she forgot to breathe. His face had strong bones, the features bold and almost sensual. Heat rose to her cheeks as her insides curled into a protective ball. He was far too magnetic, far too there for comfort.

  He studied her face a moment longer, his gaze filled with bold assessment. It finally broke when the corners of his mouth quirked. “You are the historian who is supposed to explain this place to visitors, Tamsin Greene?”

  Tamsin cleared her throat. “Yes. How did you...?”

  He gave a pointed look at the name badge pinned to her dress, and she flushed more deeply. He made a noise of amusement. “Historians are meant to be old men in robes and soup-stained beards. A golden-haired sylph is a pleasant surprise.”

  “Hey, that’s sexist—”

  “You may call me Gawain,” he interrupted, as if he had no time to waste. He had an oddly formal way of speaking, as if English wasn’t his mother tongue. “I do
not intend to hurt or rob you. I simply want answers. Keep that in mind and we will go our separate ways in peace.”

  There was enough arrogance in the statement to break the spell of his overpowering presence. Gawain was roughly dressed in jeans and a dark green T-shirt beneath a battered leather jacket. He had a few days’ growth of beard and a mass of curling dark hair long enough to brush his collar. In truth, he looked half-wild. She stepped away, putting more distance between them, and felt the press of the wall against her back. The cold stone sent a chill up her spine.

  Her neck aching with tension, Tamsin forced herself to nod. None of this made sense. “If you want information, why not just ask? You don’t need to scare me half to death.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I have enemies. I never know what face they wear. Thus far, you have not attacked. Perhaps you are what you seem.”

  Tamsin felt her pulse jump with alarm as she swallowed against the dryness of her throat. The man was a paranoid lunatic. “What do you want to know?”

  “There should be tombs here,” he said in that same impatient manner. “Where did they go?”

  Gawain’s stare penetrated right through her, boring deep into private places she barely admitted to herself. It was too much, especially from an utter stranger. He advanced a step, closing the gap between them again. The movement was almost a glide, showing the perfect balance of someone trained to use his body. Whether he meant it or not, it was intimidating and—she freely admitted this went against all common sense—incredibly sexy.

  Tamsin held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Which tombs are you talking about? There is a lot of statuary in this place, and much of it’s been moved to make room for the exhibits.”

  His eyes flashed with impatience. Without warning, he pulled her into the center of the church, his strides long enough that she was forced to trot. Rough calluses grazed her skin when he finally let her go, and she automatically rubbed the spot where his fingers had been. The guy was clearly used to working with his hands.