Master of Swords

by Angela Knight

  Running footsteps snapped his head around. The three teenage boys who raced up, their eyes wide and white in dark faces. “Where’d she go, man?” the taller of the trio asked the others. The van had apparently blocked their view of the abduction.

  “He must have dragged her off. I’m calling nine-one-one.” The heavyset one pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

  Waste of time, boys, Richard thought, as he turned away, still comfortably invisible.

  Spotting a bar across the street, he strolled toward it. He figured he had a couple of hours to kill before Jimmy would be ready for him.

  By the time they arrived at Gawain’s home, Lark was pretty sure she was going to have her hands full.

  He was, without question, the most seductive man she’d ever met. Even her vampire lover Dominic hadn’t projected raw sex the way Gawain did.

  He wasn’t overt about it. No oily winks or leers or “You know you want it, baby” double-entendres. He just…looked at her. Not lecherously, as if picturing her naked, but with a steady, focused interest in those leaf-green eyes.

  He asked her about her life and how she’d become a Maja, and he listened to the answers as if he actually cared what she had to say. Too many of the men she’d dated had made conversation as if just killing time until they could get her into bed.

  Then again, they hadn’t spent the past sixteen hundred years seducing women for a living.

  Even the man’s house was sensual. Three stories of elegant white stone, with high, curving walls and wrought-iron balconies, it was somehow medieval and modern at once. An interior courtyard hosted a tinkling fountain surrounded by a lush jungle of flowers, ornamental bushes, and cherry trees. Roses and orchids bloomed side by side—a neat bit of magic, that—scenting the air with their lush perfume.

  The house’s decor was just as striking. The furniture was starkly masculine, running toward big, sturdy pieces in cherry or walnut. No fussy French antiques for Gawain; he was definitely a massive leather couch kind of guy. Tapestries and paintings with medieval themes kept the place from looking too grim, providing splashes of bright color, while suits of ornate armor gleamed in corners.

  Two of the three stories hosted fieldstone fireplaces big enough to barbecue an ox. The ground floor was a single huge room obviously designed for combat practice, while the second floor held a living room, a library, and a well-equipped kitchen. Four bedrooms and a modern office complete with computer occupied the third floor.

  By the time they’d finished the tour, Lark was feeling completely out of her depth. She kept picturing her grandparents’ home, with its kitschy firefighter figurines.

  She was definitely not in Georgia anymore.

  “Hey,” Gawain said, interrupting her attack of insecurity, “you hungry?”

  As if responding to the suggestion, her stomach growled.

  Gawain gave her a cheerful grin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “You put too much garlic in that.” Kel had partially un-curled himself from the sword in order to brace his forelegs on Gawain’s shoulder. Tiny head cocked, he watched his partner minister to the pot of spaghetti sauce that bubbled on the gleaming stainless-steel stove.

  “I did not. Emeril called for a teaspoon and a half of garlic, and that’s exactly how much I added.” He gave the pot a stir, tendons shifting in his brawny forearm.

  Kel had transformed Gawain’s court mourning outfit into a navy blue T-shirt that clung to his powerful chest, and a pair of well-worn jeans that hugged his butt each time he shifted his weight.

  Fangface was becoming a distant memory.

  “I’m telling you, it’s got too much garlic.”

  “How the hell would you know?” Gawain stopped stirring to glare down at his tiny partner. “You don’t eat.”

  “No, but I can smell just fine. And it needs more oregano.”

  “It does not need any more oregano.”

  “Ask Lark. She’s the one who has to eat it.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” Shaking his head, he turned to Lark and presented the spoon to her lips. “Tell Geico here he’s nuts.”

  Battling a giggle, she leaned forward, blew on the spoon, and took a bite. Her eyes widened as the taste exploded on her tongue. “Damn, that’s good! Rich, meaty…” She broke off, abruptly conscious of the heated green eyes staring down into hers.

  “Let me see.” Gawain lowered his head and gently took her mouth.

  For an ambush kiss, it was astonishingly sweet. His tongue slid between her lips just once in a slow, seductive stroke. He tasted like wintergreen toothpaste and masculinity.

  Lark gasped, forgetting her unease as she let herself lean into him. He felt as delicious as he tasted, all intriguing muscle and delightful vampire warmth.

  Seconds spun dizzily by before he lifted his head. His gaze on her mouth, he licked his lips and gave her a slow smile. “Needs oregano.”

  “Told you!” the dragon crowed as Gawain turned back to the pot.

  Lark leaned a hip against the counter and tried to catch her breath. “Damn,” she muttered, “you’re good.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her. There it was again—that flashing, breathtaking male smile. “I’ve had a very long time to practice.”

  And you can practice on me anytime, purred her libido. Her new vampire phobia squeaked a protest.

  She tried to ignore it.

  At Gawain’s urging, Lark carried her plate into the living room. He followed with a pair of wineglasses and a bottle of a very fine red wine. Blood, apparently, was not all vampires drank.

  As she sat down, he shrugged off Kel’s scabbard and laid it across the stone coffee table before settling down next to her. Close, but not too much so.

  Yep, this was definitely the setup for a seduction, she thought, eyeing the leaping fire. Which would be just fine—if she hadn’t known he intended to bite her.

  Fangface’s ghost was back again, bloody canines and all.

  Restlessly, Lark scooped up the roll he’d made and bit into it. It was crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, buttery, flavored with just enough garlic.

  And she damned near didn’t get it down.

  Everything about this scene is perfect. Grimly, she forced another mouthful. Except me. She made herself take a bite of the spaghetti—again, delicious, if only she could swallow past the knot in her throat—and chased it with the wine.

  “I told you, you put too much garlic,” Kel announced from the table. “She’s just playing with it.”

  “Maybe I did at that.” Gawain studied her, a faint frown between his blond brows.

  “No, really, it’s wonderful,” Lark protested. “I’m just…not that hungry.”

  His eyes shuttered. “Ah.”

  Bloody hell. Suddenly she remembered her grandfather tossing her into the deep end of the pool when she was thirteen. Kid, you think too much, he’d told her. Sometimes it’s better if you just jump in.

  Suddenly determined, Lark put the glass down on the table with a clink. “But now that you mention it, there’s something else I am hungry for.”

  One minute, Gawain was watching his new apprentice pick at her dinner. The next, he had a lapful of warm woman sitting right on top of his erection. His cock, though frustrated by a zipper and two layers of denim, took this as a good sign. He’d been hard since he’d kissed her.

  Lark’s mouth swooped down over his for a kiss that made his toes curl in his cowboy boots.

  And we have liftoff! Kel made the hissing sound Gawain had come to translate as a Draconian snicker. And on that note, I’m going to bed. Looks like you’ve got it all well in hand.

  The sizzle of background magic that was Kel’s consciousness went silent. The dragon never liked sharing minds while Gawain made love; it reminded him of how much he’d lost.

  Lark, meanwhile, seemed intent on probing Gawain’s mouth with her clever little tongue. Her lips moved over his, sweet and soft and demanding. Every nerv
e ending he had hummed approval.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice asked, Where the hell did this come from?

  He told it to shut up. This was one gift horse he had no intention of looking in the mouth.

  His hands discovered her little backside and found it perfect in those snug black jeans. Rounded cheeks just wide enough to comfortably fill his grip, long legs gripping his thighs with promising enthusiasm.

  And Merlin’s balls, that mouth. Tasting faintly of Emeril’s spaghetti sauce, soft and teasing and just skilled enough. His cock throbbed longingly behind his zipper. His fangs twinged.

  Her stroking tongue discovered one of the sharp points, hesitated, then thrust past it. Gawain groaned into her mouth.

  The Desire roared to full force, demanding he sink himself into her and drive her to a white-hot orgasm. He slid a hand under the hem of her silky top, touched warm skin, and groaned in need.

  “You feel so good,” he whispered against her mouth. “You make my hands shake.”

  She drew back a little, her mouth damp, her eyes slumberous. His hand—and yes, it was trembling—found her breast and cupped her through her bra. Exploring, he discovered the lacy confection had a front closure. He promptly flicked it open and claimed bare flesh.

  To his delight, her nipple rose against his palm, a hard, ripe little berry. Her breath caught. Taking the point between his fingers, he tugged it. She rewarded him with a soft moan.

  Gawain was so hard now, his jeans dug into his erection. Saliva pooled in his mouth. She tilted her head back, panting, and he pressed his mouth to the slender arch of her throat. He could almost taste the blood pulsing against his lips. Enjoying the rich, heated roll of desire, he pressed the points of his fangs to her throat. Just teasing himself.

  She froze. An acrid scent stung his nose.

  Fear.

  He drew back, frowning in puzzlement. Where had that come from? “Lark?”

  She wouldn’t look at him, instead cupping one hand over his as he held her breast. “That feels good. Do it some more.” But her heart hammered against his palm, and somehow he knew it wasn’t from desire.

  “What’s going on, Lark?”

  Now she did meet his gaze. And lied right to his face. “Nothing.”

  “My ass.” He examined her face grimly. “You’re afraid of me.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Never lie to a vampire, darling. Even if I couldn’t smell your fear, your heart is hammering like a rabbit’s. What makes you think I’d hurt you? I know you’ve been with Magi be…” His eyes widened as, belatedly, he put two and two together. “It wasn’t a Magus that hurt you.”

  She slumped and looked away. “No.” There was such shame and misery on her pretty face that he winced in sympathy.

  “You got into trouble during last night’s invasion.” Her fear was too new, too raw, for anything but a very recent cause. He pushed a strand of her dark hair away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. “What happened, Lark?”

  She swallowed and looked away. He was beginning to think she wasn’t going to answer when she finally admitted it. “When the attack started, I did okay. At first. I killed one of them.” Her gaze flicked back to his with a touch of defiant pride.

  Gawain nodded. “Good.”

  Lark blew out a breath. “But then another one hit me. He was…strong. They’re all strong, but not like that. He knocked my sword out of my hand. I kept trying to blast him, but I couldn’t get through his shields. He hit me, and I…”

  Gawain worked to keep the rage off his face. The idea of one of those vicious bastards getting his hands on delicate little Lark McGuin…He cleared his throat. “The thing about the sorcerers is their death magic makes them really nasty on a battlefield. They get stronger the longer combat goes on because they draw power from the deaths around them.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders rounded. She still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “That would explain it.”

  “What happened then?”

  “He took me down and bit me.” Lark swallowed. “Tore my throat. I tried to fight, but I couldn’t get him off me. If Guinevere’s spell hadn’t wiped them all out, I’d be dead.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Lark.”

  “Obviously. But I couldn’t stop it either. And now…” The girl rolled her shoulders in a jerky gesture. “Now I’m wondering what’s going to happen the next time I’m in a fight.” She met his gaze again. “But I won’t run.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I just want you to be clear on that. You don’t have to worry about me cutting and running. I won’t do that.” Despite the brave words, self-doubt shadowed her eyes. “I’m not a coward.”

  Every instinct Gawain had clamored to tell her she’d never have to face danger again, that he’d protect her with his last breath. But not only was such an offer unrealistic, it was insulting. She was a Maja, and she had her own power, her own pride. And her own responsibilities to the Magekind.

  “Lark, it’s natural to feel fear after what happened to you,” Gawain said gently. “‘It’s not the lack of fear that defines bravery…’”

  “‘…It’s doing the job.’ Yeah, I’ve heard Arthur give that speech, too.”

  “It’s not just a speech.”

  “I know that.” Lark squared her fragile shoulders and met his gaze. “There’s something else you need to know. You’re probably expecting me to give you…” Her voice trailed off, then strengthened. “…blood. You’ve got a right to that. I’m a Maja. I’ve got a duty to feed Magi, especially a Magus who’s my partner. But…”

  “The idea of letting a vampire touch you makes you break out in a cold sweat.” He could taste it in the air.

  Her eyes narrowed with sudden determination. “I’m not going to let that stop me. I’ll do it. I know you’ll smell the fear—you’re probably smelling it now—but that doesn’t mean you have to stop.”

  He looked her in the eye. “I appreciate that, love, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever drink from a woman who’s as frightened as you are right now.”

  “This is not about chivalry. This is about not letting myself be crippled by one of those vampire bastards.” She spoke through her teeth. “He’s not going to win this.”

  Gawain shook his head. “It’s not a question of winning…”

  “Yes, it is. Gawain, he beat me. I’d be dead now if Guinevere had been thirty seconds later destroying that grail. I lost. And if I don’t overcome this…” She broke off, dragging in a deep, painful breath. “If I can’t get past this, I’m no good to the Magekind.”

  To her horror, Lark felt tears sting her eyes. The words began to spill, faster and faster, choking her. “We’ve lost so many fighters, and those bastards are killing innocents. I can’t just decide it’s too tough and walk away.”

  Tristan would have given her a biting buck-up speech. Gawain merely studied her with sympathy. “I never thought you would.”

  Lark swiped a hand across her eyes. “Do you ever want to? Just hang it up, forget duty. Walk away?” She’d intended the question to sound challenging, but instead it held a note of longing.

  “Everybody feels that way sometimes, especially in the middle of a war.” He shrugged those strong shoulders. “But we’re Magekind, and you don’t get to run away from that.”

  “No. You’ve got to fight. You’ve got to beat the fear.” And he was right. Despite the copper taste of it in her mouth, despite her pounding heart, it was obvious what she had to do.

  Lark grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it off over her head. The bra he’d opened parted, revealing her bare breasts. She could have made her clothes disappear with a blink, but somehow she needed to remove them this way. “So that’s what I’m going to do. Make love to me, Gawain. Please.”

  Blond brows flew upward. His gaze dipped to her nipples with a hint of longing before he dragged them back up to her face. “Believe me, there’s nothing I want to do more. But…”
<
br />   “No buts. Just…do it.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “You’re killing me here, McGuin. I haven’t fed in three days.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Feed. Take me.” Let me get it over with.

  Strong hands closed around her waist and lifted her off his lap. She grabbed for him, but he put her on the couch, then rose to his feet to pace restlessly. Sighing, he raked a hand through his blond hair. “I know you haven’t been a Maja very long, but this is not the way it works.”

  “I’m not exactly a virgin, Gawain. I know what’s going on.” Frustrated anger rose. Why was he making this so difficult? She just wanted to get it over with before her nerve broke.

  Gawain’s gaze flashed to hers. “I’m not just a guy, Lark. If I were, then maybe I could just concentrate on my own pleasure and not care whether you got yours. If, that is, I was also an asshole.” He sighed. “But I’m a Magus. I don’t just drink blood—I need your pleasure, too, because it’s the energy of your climax that feeds my magic. Otherwise, there’s a whole magical wine cellar of bottled blood waiting for me at the Lords’ Club.”

  “So you need me to come. I can do that.”

  “That’s not the point.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and visibly reined in his own rising frustration. “I’ve been at this sixteen hundred years. I probably could bring you to orgasm, even as frightened as you are.” He dropped his hands and looked her in the eye. “And make no mistake, the Desire would love to take you up on your offer. But taking you when you’re this afraid would be way too close to rape.”

  “Gawain…”

  He dropped to his knees in front of her and took her hands. “Sleep with me.”

  Lark blinked. “But I thought you just said…”

  “I did. And I meant it. Tonight I just want to sleep beside you. Tomorrow night, we’ll see. But tonight I want to teach your body that you’re safe with me.”

  Deep in her chest, a small, cold knot seemed to untie itself. “But the Desire…”