Master of Passion

by Angela Knight

  And just like that, his body was finally back under his control. Cursing, he swiped his bankcard to pay the fare, growling a little at the charge -- the bitch could have sent him home on the subway, for fuck’s sake -- and got out to stomp into the building. He climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, unlocked the apartment door, and swung it open.

  Suddenly bone tired, he stepped inside, flicking on the lights. Illumination spilled down over the exposed brick walls to pool over the dully gleaming wooden floor. The only enclosed room was the bathroom. Kitchen flowed into living room into bedroom, the spaces set off by tall wooden bookshelves. The brick walls were hung with framed photos he’d taken on assignments -- women in black burqas shopping in an open-air Afghan market, a dazed Marine, head bandaged in the aftermath of an IED attack, fire belching from the muzzle of an M-4 as a Marine lifted the weapon to fire over a mud brick wall…

  He rounded the bookshelves that blocked off the living room. And stopped dead.

  Two figures in armor stood silhouetted against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The man faced away from him, staring out over the Brooklyn neighborhood. The woman turned as he entered, tensing.

  Adam gaped at them for five ticking seconds before he exploded. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  The man turned. “Hello, Adam.” And yes, he sounded a hell of a lot like Dad. The woman said nothing, eying him, narrow-eyed through her transparent faceplate.

  The fury that had been building since the woman sent him packing boiled free. “Where the fuck do you get off casting a spell on me?” The loft rang with his angry bellow.

  People walking through portals in empty air, spells, dragons… His world was going fucking insane, and he was sick of it. Life has rules, damn it!

  “The whole point of this little exercise was to keep your ungrateful ass alive,” the woman retorted. “If you’d had the sense to get out, I wouldn’t have had to make you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to protect me. You had no…” Adam began, as she reached up and pulled off her helmet. The hot words on his tongue died from sheer astonishment.

  In contrast to her hard-eyed stare, her face was surprisingly delicate, almost ethereal, with a narrow nose and long, elegant features that called to mind medieval virgins and unicorns. The impression of otherworldly beauty was strengthened by the deep red hair she wore pulled back in a tight ponytail, the color vivid against her pale complexion.

  And she was young -- barely twenty, though the large gray eyes under her winging red brows were cool, cynical, and decades older than that pretty face. But if her features were brought wood nymphs to mind, she had a solid, muscular build under that gold scale armor that made him think of female Olympian track and field stars.

  Who the hell cares what she looks like? She took over my body and turned me into a puppet. “How is my life any of your business?”

  “Your life has always been my business,” the male warrior said quietly.

  Adam turned on him, opening his mouth -- and felt his heart seem to stutter in his chest. Like the woman, the swordsman had taken his helmet off and tucked it under one arm. Adam recognized that face -- the broad lantern jaw marked with deep dimples and a cleft chin. Striking blue-green eyes dominated his face under thick brows and close-cropped honey-blond hair. His nose was slightly upturned at the tip, and his mouth was wide, curved in a smile that looked tentative, as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome.

  He also looked about twenty.

  At that, disappointment warred with relief. He’s not my father. But the resemblance… “Are we brothers?”

  The man blinked. “No, boy. I’m your father. I’m… Paul.”

  Adam’s heart leaped, beginning to pound in something that felt way too much like joy. It pissed him right off. “Then you’ve got one hell of a plastic surgeon, because you look fifteen years younger than I do.”

  The woman warrior snorted. “He’s older than he looks.”

  The man gestured at her. “Opal Cassidy, this is my son, Adam Parker. Adam, Opal.” There was warmth in his deep voice, a note of pride and approval.

  Adam’s mind flashed to his mother, who’d rarely dated since Paul Rogers had walked out on them. He remembered all the times he’d listened to her muffled sobs. Mom had never cried in front of him, but at night, when she thought he was asleep… “Assuming you are my father instead of a lying son of a bitch, is she the reason you left?”

  Blue eyes widened in surprise, then blazed hot. “First, watch what you call me. Second, that had nothing to do with Opal. She’s here to be your bodyguard.”

  “Why would I need a bodyguard?”

  “Because the Fomorians are going to keep coming after you,” Opal told him impatiently. “And without our protection, you’ll get snatched. You would not enjoy what comes next.”

  “Fomorians? The aliens are Fomorians? Where’d they come from? What’s their problem with us?” All of which were questions that had obsessed the nation for the last week. Could he get the answers out of these people?

  His “father” pulled off his gauntlets and tossed them on the coffee table with a ringing thump, then pushed his hair back from his forehead. A signet flashed on his index finger.

  Adam knew that ring. An opal adorned the wide gold band with fragile layers of iridescent blue and violet threaded with crimson. He remembered staring at it as a boy, fascinated by its otherworldly, shifting colors. He’d never seen a stone like it in all the years since.

  “They want to kidnap you to get to me,” the man said. And yes, he really did sound exactly like the father who’d drilled him on parries, who’d praised him and taught him…

  And broken his mother’s heart.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Adam felt his disbelief crack. It’s him. It’s really him. A quiver of fear and excitement rolled through him. To hide it, he made himself sneer. “You know, for a guy who claimed to be a businessman, you seem to know a fuck of a lot about aliens. Is your name really Paul Rogers, or did you lie about that too?”

  The big man winced, something like shame flashing through his gaze. “No. It’s Baldulf. People call me Ulf.”

  “Baldulf? What the hell kind of name is that? What is that, German?”

  “Saxon. I was named for my maternal grandfather.”

  “Is anything you told us true?”

  A hint of anger chilled the blue green eyes. Paul -- or Baldulf, or whatever his name was -- did not like being called a liar. “I told the truth when I said I loved you.”

  Adam stared at him, at a loss of how to respond to that. Finally, he shook his head and changed the subject. “What did you do to the Smurfs? Why are they after me? It can’t be because you’re my father -- I haven’t seen you in almost two decades. And even then, I wasn’t sure it was you.”

  “It was me. I wasn’t about to miss your college graduation.”

  My God, it is him. How else could he have known where Adam had last seen him?

  Adam hid his stunned reaction behind a glare. “I’m sure I’d be touched, if you’d fucking hung around to talk to me.”

  Another pained wince. “I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

  “And why the fuck not?” The question exploded from him, propelled by the frustrated anger he’d felt every time he remembered pursuing his father through the graduation crowd, only to lose him. “Why the hell didn’t you speak to me? What was the point of coming if you weren’t going to at least say hello? What did we do that pissed you off so much you cut us out of your life?”

  “You didn’t do anything. I just couldn’t be with you and your mother. It’s not allowed.”

  “By who? Are you some kind of government agent? What happened between you and Mom?”

  “Ulf loved your mother,” Opal interrupted. “He still loves your mother. But she’s mortal. He was ordered to stay away from her.”

  “Mortal?” Adam looked from the woman warrior to his father. “Then what the fuck are you?”

  “A Knight of the R
ound Table.” He said the words simply, as if they weren’t utterly ridiculous.

  Adam stared at him, bafflement turning to fury. “You had me. You almost had me.” He stabbed a finger toward the door. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

  With a sigh, the man gestured at Opal. “You were right. Go ahead and do it.”

  Adam recoiled, remembering the last time she’d done something to him. Opal gestured, her hands graceful and swirling. He ducked.

  Too late.

  It was like being hit in the face with a hammer. Light exploded in his head, a soundless detonation that blazed over his skin in a foaming tsunami. Every hair on his body stood on end, followed a heartbeat later by a wave of impossible knowledge. His mind screamed in revolt, fought, howled rejection. Tried to cling what he’d always known to be the truth.

  Only to have it ripped away from him as if by a giant’s merciless strength.

  Understanding rolled over him, cool and undeniable.

  Dad’s telling the truth.

  His father’s real name was Sir Baldulf, and he was a Knight of the Round Table -- and a vampire. Opal was an immortal witch who could twist reality to her will with a thought. They both lived in an alternate universe where magic was a physical force, like gravity or electromagnetism.

  And they wanted Adam to become one of them. But to do that, he’d have to give up his job, his art, his friends -- everything he was. He’d become immortal, but he wouldn’t be himself anymore. He’d have to become a fighter, a warrior in a war that never ended.

  A war for humanity’s survival.

  Adam staggered and would have fallen, but his father caught his arm and steadied him. For a moment, they were eye to eye. “It’s good to see you, boy.” Ulf smiled at him, though the expression looked a little tight, a little wary. As if he was worried about Adam’s reaction.

  Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Adam heard his mother’s soft sobs of despair. Fury exploded through him on a searing wave of betrayal. He hauled off and punched his father right in the mouth with every ounce of strength. “You hurt my mother, you son of a bitch!”

  To his satisfaction, the big knight staggered back. Shaking his head as if dazed, he wiped the blood off his lower lip. “Adam…”

  He didn’t want to hear it. He whirled on the woman. “And you! Stay the fuck out of my head and get out of my apartment! I will not tell you again.”

  The woman just glared. “If we do that, you idiot, the Fomorians will kidnap and torture you to get at your father.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’m sleeping with you!” It was only after he said the words that he realized that was indeed what they had in mind. The act of making love to her would trigger something in his DNA. Something that would transform him into a vampire. He knew it, the same way he knew all this other impossible shit.

  “I don’t like it any better than you do,” she snarled. “But I have my orders.”

  He stared at her a long moment, his jaw gaping as even more unbelievable information flooded his consciousness. Three times. He’d have to sleep with her three times to activate the spell they called Merlin’s Gift.

  And she really wasn’t any happier about it than he was. There was something in those gray eyes, something of old grief, of buried anger. And over that lay an expression of dogged determination, as if she meant to do her duty no matter what it cost her.

  Turning away, Adam rubbed his hands over his face. “Isn’t it supposed to be three bites that turn you into a vampire?”

  “As usual, fiction gets it wrong,” Ulf said dryly. “Latents become Magekind by sleeping with one of the Magekind.”

  Latents. Descendants of the Knights of the Round Table.

  Fifteen hundred years before, Arthur, his knights, and their ladies had fought for the right to drink from Merlin’s Grail. The potion the cup contained transformed them, the men into vampires, the women into witches. They’d then passed the spell called Marlin’s Gift down to their descendants, though it remained dormant in a Latent’s DNA unless activated by sexual contact with other Magekind.

  “Jesus, I can’t believe any of this shit.” And yet he did. He shouldn’t -- the things he suddenly knew made absolutely no sense. And yet there was an of course quality to the information.

  Water was wet and his father was an immortal vampire who served King Arthur. Not believing wasn’t even an option.

  They’re here because they want to make me a vampire so the Fomorians can’t use me against Ulf. Following that thought was one that carried a surprisingly painful sting. He’s not here to see me. He just wants something. Fuck, that hurt.

  Adam looked at Opal, who stood with her arms crossed and an irritated expression on her lovely face. “What did you do to me? How did you put this… stuff in my head?”

  She paused a long moment, as if trying to decide how to explain it. “We’ve found that it’s hard to get Latents to believe the truth. We created a spell that packages the basic information you need and implants it in the brain. If you think about whatever you need to know, the spell will feed you the answer.”

  He stared at her, his abused brain aching. “Every time I turn around, you’re making me do stuff I don’t want to do. You make me believe insane crap that just appears in my head. How do I know any of it is true? What next, you wave your magic wand and make me sleep with you?”

  His father sighed. “Nobody’s going to make you do anything. We don’t force people to accept the Gift. It’s not allowed.”

  Adam started to demand who “didn’t allow it,” but he already knew the answer. It was Merlin. Merlin, who wasn’t some ancient magician, but an alien wizard who looked like a fifteen-year-old boy.

  The fuck? Could his life get any weirder?

  Adam turned away and stalked over to the kitchen, where he started making himself a drink. The southern manners his mother had drummed into his head picked that moment to speak up. “I’ve got bourbon, Scotch, vodka and white wine. Do either of you want anything?” He poured three fingers of Scotch into a glass and downed the whole thing in one searing gulp.

  The two Magekind joined him in the kitchen. Looking as tense as he felt, Ulf opted for the bourbon. So did Opal, somewhat to his surprise. Not a white wine girl.

  “You do realize the Fomorians are going to keep coming after you?” Opal asked. “We’re the only chance you’ve got at survival.”

  Adam’s brain supplied the helpful information that the Fomorians were one of a number of intelligent species on the magical version of Earth.

  Magical Earth? What the fuck?

  Oh. There were an infinite number of universes, all with different physical laws. Magic worked to one degree or another in most of them, just as most had some variant of Earth and some version of humanity. Magic didn’t work all that well on Adam’s version, so witches had to draw on the Mageverse to power their spells. “What’s the Fomorians’ problem with the…” He stumbled over the word. “… the Magekind?”

  He handed the drinks around to murmured thanks.

  Ulf sipped his and pursed his lips, nodding in approval. “King Bres isn’t very fond of humans from either version of Earth. Plus, he was having trouble with some rebellious nobles he needed to keep in line. He decided to kill two birds with one war, figuring it would unite his people.”

  Adam nodded. “A lot of dictators here do the same thing.” He’d been making a living covering that kind of blood-soaked politics for years.

  “Exactly. Didn’t quite work out the way he had in mind, mostly thanks to one of our seers. Bres got himself killed, and from what we understand, his queen has her hands full with all those nobles he was so worried about.”

  “But why are these Fomorians coming after me? How do they even know about my connection to you?”

  “That’s a good question. And the answer is we’re not really sure. Our best seer, Alys, says it’s got something to do with me, but she doesn’t know what.” Apparently reading Adam’s confusion, he explained, “All th
e Majae get visions of the future…”

  “But they’re usually pretty vague,” Opal put in. “Alys not only sees the future, she can tell how to avoid the worst timelines. According to her, some ugly stuff is coming. Ugly enough to make what happened in Times Square look like a high school prom. She believes the Fomorians want something from Ulf, and they’re planning to kidnap you to force him to give it to them. They’re going to come after you on the subway tomorrow, and if we aren’t there, they’ll snatch you and kill six people in the process, including a five-year-old.”

  Ulf’s gaze bored into his. “We can’t let them do that, Adam.”

  He felt a sudden sense of dislocation, as if he was falling. He’d stared into that face so many times. Big hands lifted him, tossed him upward as he laughed hysterically, caught him again and dragged him into a hug… How old had he been? Five? Was it even a real memory, or something the witch had planted in his head? How the hell could he trust anything these people said?

  I can trust it because he’s Dad.

  Which was when Adam realized that somewhere, buried deep in his head, there was a five-year-old who was thrilled Daddy had finally come home. But I’m not five years old, he thought savagely. And he abandoned us. “So now that I know, I’ll take a taxi.”

  Opal didn’t even hesitate. “Alys predicted you’d say that. She also told me a centaur and three Fomorians will hit the cab when you stop at a red light. The Fomos will take you, and both the people in the next car and the cabby will burn to death when the centaur nails the taxi with a fireball.”

  Adam glowered. “Then I’ll call a Lyft.”

  Cold gray eyes bored into his. “The Lyft driver gets a spear in the chest.”

  “Then I’ll fucking hitchhike.”

  “Christ Jesus, you’re a stubborn bastard.” Opal gestured with a swirling motion of one hand. “Alys?”

  A window opened in the air. On the other side of it, a black couple were wrapped around each other in a passionate kiss. The woman’s shirt was off, and she wore what looked like an athletic bra, the white almost glowing against rich, dark skin.