Master of Swords

by Angela Knight

  “Oh.” Lark winced. Killing and tormenting animals was one of the signs of developing sociopathy in teens.

  Bors nodded. “And then there was what happened with Diera.”

  “Diera?” Lark raised her brows and looked at her friend. “What’d he do to you?”

  Antonio frowned, tensing protectively.

  Diera glanced at him and took his hand. “Nothing that dramatic. He had a little crush on me, but he was a child. I tried to let him down gently…”

  “And he threatened to kill her,” Bors gritted.

  “He didn’t mean it. He was a child, simply speaking out of frustration and rage.”

  “He may have been a child then,” Antonio told her, looking even more upset, “but he’s certainly not one any longer. You could be in danger.”

  “I doubt it. We reinforced Avalon’s wards after the invasion.” She gave him a comforting smile. “There’s no way he could get through.”

  The young Magus did not appear comforted.

  Lark turned to Bors. “What happened after he threatened Diera?”

  “Meredith finally moved to mortal Earth with him. We’d hoped he would form a sense of empathy among his own kind, but it didn’t work.”

  “No,” Lark said softly. “He’d been raised among Magekind, so he wouldn’t have fit in back on Earth either.” Suddenly Tristan’s distance from John was much more understandable.

  “Exactly.” Bors stood with his head down, his expression troubled. “He was constantly in trouble, with his teachers and other children. He was expelled from school, stole a car, got in trouble with the law. I think he would have sold our secret to the first reporter he found, but his mother put a spell on him to make sure he couldn’t talk.”

  “God.” Lark rubbed a hand over her face, wincing. “The teenage years are normally hard, but…”

  “Yes.” Bors sighed. “I moved in with them early on, trying to help Meredith control him, but my attempts at discipline only made him angrier.”

  “That must have been tough,” Lark said softly.

  “And it got tougher when Richard turned eighteen, because he fully expected me to submit his name to the Majae’s Council to become a Magus.”

  “And you said the only thing you could say,” Diera said.

  “Which was, of course, no.” He blew out a breath. “Richard was furious. He swore he’d make me regret ruining his chances at immortality. He never spoke to me again.”

  Lark stared at Bors. “What chance at immortality? The council would never have approved him, not with that track record.”

  “Exactly. I actually considered submitting his name just to keep the family peace, knowing he’d be denied. But I hoped that my refusal would make him see he couldn’t continue to follow this path.”

  “But it didn’t work.”

  Bors sighed. “No.”

  “What about his mother?”

  “She continued to try to help him for several more years before she finally gave up and washed her hands of him. To my knowledge, she hadn’t seen or spoken to him in fifteen years. The irony is that she died in that final battle with Geirolf ’s army three months ago.” He turned and walked to an armchair, then dropped into it heavily. “In a way, it’s a blessing. She doesn’t have to see what he became.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lark said softly.

  “I never dreamed he was capable of anything like this. It wouldn’t have surprised me to discover he’d become a petty thief or been shot in a barroom brawl, but this…” His voice trailed off. “My worst nightmares never included anything like this.”

  Antonio spoke softly. “What are you going to do now?”

  Bors looked over at him, his gaze flat. “The only thing I can do—kill him.”

  His apprentice straightened away from the fireplace in alarm. “Dude, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’s your kid. Yeah, sounds like he needs killing, but you shouldn’t have to do it.”

  “There are others who can fulfill that duty,” Antonio said quietly.

  Bors shot him a glittering look. “Maybe I deserve to suffer.”

  “I think you’ve already suffered more than enough,” Lark said.

  “It’s pointless,” Diera agreed. “And not particularly safe. You can’t afford to go into combat like this. He’ll eat you alive.”

  “I don’t care.” The knight slammed his palm against the coffee table, making the cups rattle and jump. “I did this! I am responsible for making him what he is!”

  Diera rose from her seat and went to kneel beside Bors’s seat so she could meet his eyes. “Perhaps when he was eight, but Richard is in his forties now. He’s responsible for making himself what he is.”

  “And what he is, is a monster.” Bors gritted his teeth. “I kill monsters.”

  He rose from his chair and started for the door.

  “You’re not going after him now?” Lark demanded, shooting to her feet in alarm. “Without reinforcements?”

  Bors gave her a glittering look over his shoulder. “Of course not. First, because I’m not a fool, but more importantly, my primary responsibility is to Arthur. He must be informed my son has turned traitor.” Pain flashed across his face. “Arthur will probably dispatch the Round Table.” Straightening his shoulders, he strode from the room like a proud man walking to his execution.

  His apprentice threw them a look of such helpless, worried frustration, Lark found herself feeling for him. He strode after his mentor. “Hey, dude, wait up.”

  Antonio and Diera rose to their feet. “We’d better follow them. I fear what he’ll do in this mood.”

  They, too, hurried after the two men.

  Feeling helpless, Lark watched them all go. Her instinct was to follow them, but she knew she didn’t dare leave Gawain.

  “Well, that was about as pleasant as gutting a man with a dull spoon,” she muttered. “And it didn’t tell me a damn thing that would help find Edge.”

  The sun was up when Lark picked up her enchanted cell and made the call she’d been craving.

  She needed to talk to her grandfather. Needed his wisdom, his common sense, but most of all, she needed to remember there was at least one thing she’d done right.

  He answered the phone on the first ring. He was probably carrying his own cell around in his pocket. “Lark? Hi, baby! How’s it going?”

  Her throat thickened at the sound of his dear, familiar voice. “It’s been a rough night, Grandpa.”

  Quickly, she filled him in on the fight with Edge and her conversation with Bors. “I spent the rest of the night searching Kel’s library for a good locator spell, but nothing I tried worked. I have no idea where Edge is. But I’m pretty sure he’s either killing somebody or planning to kill somebody. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done everything you can do, honey. Besides, by now your friend Diera’s probably got all the other Majae working on it. They’ll find him.”

  Lark sighed, feeling tired and defeated. “God, I hope so.”

  He paused. “So they paired you up with Lord Gawain, huh? How’s that going?” His attempt at a casual tone failed completely.

  “Granddad, if you’re hoping for a budding romance, don’t. Tristan says Gawain’s a great guy, but he goes through Majae like you go through your sock drawer.”

  “Hey, you’re not just any Maja, kid. And you’re sure not anybody’s sock. Unless Gawain’s a dummy—and he couldn’t be if the stories I’ve heard are true—he’s going to realize that. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. Hey, it’s nine o’clock in the morning, which makes it—what? Almost noon there. Shouldn’t you be in bed? Sounds like you’re going to need your sleep.”

  “You’re probably right.” Judging, at least, from the gritty condition of her eyes. “Hey, you have fun today, you hear? Go find yourself some more poker victims to fleece, you card shark. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. ’Bye,
honey.”

  Gently, she turned off her cell and tucked it away.

  Feeling battered, Lark walked back into Gawain’s bedroom and closed the door. With the windows heavily shielded against daylight, it was dark as a coal shaft. She conjured a dim light and made her way toward the bed.

  She paused at its massive footboard and studied Gawain’s sleeping form. Wide as the mattress was, he seemed to take up most of it as he sprawled there in all his tanned, muscular glory. His color was better than it had been after last night’s battle, and the lines of exhaustion had smoothed. His blond hair was disordered in sleep, tousled over his forehead, giving him a deceptively boyish look. Kel lay on his right side, tiny head still resting on his arm.

  She looked at him a long moment, admiring his raw masculine beauty. Then, taking a deep breath, she climbed into bed next to his big, warm body and curled up against his side.

  After a moment, she lay her head on his chest and listened to the slow, comforting beat of his heart. A smile spreading across her face, she fell asleep.

  A low, masculine growl jolted Lark awake as a heavy male body rolled on top of her like a hot blanket. Lark jerked, her heart leaping into her throat as powerful arms slid around her from behind. For a moment she froze in panic, remembering Fangface’s attack. Magic roared through her, filling her hands with force. The instant before she blasted her attacker through the nearest wall, she heard Gawain’s deep groan. “Lark…”

  Swearing, she banished the spell she’d been gathering. “Gawain, dammit, I almost fried you!”

  “Shush.” He pressed his mouth to her pulse and inhaled, breathing her scent. His cock hardened against her in a breathtaking rush. “You smell so good.” A big hand came to rest on her breast, carefully cupped and squeezed. Her nipple hardened against his palm.

  Her sense of humor surfaced. “And good morning to you, too.”

  “I need you, Lark.” His voice was low, hoarse—and unmistakably pleading. “Please.”

  She frowned, thinking he sounded a little out of it. Belatedly, she remembered Kel had told her he’d had to drain Gawain’s magical reserves dangerously low. Just let him have a pint or two from that lovely throat, and he’ll be right as rain.

  “Lark? Do you want me to go?”

  “No.” She turned her head and met his mouth with her own. “God, no.”

  He groaned in relief and kissed her, his tongue delving deep as his fingers plucked and teased her tight nipples. His mouth wasn’t quite as sweet as usual, but then, she knew her own wasn’t either. A quick spell took care of that, and she pressed closer.

  He kissed better than any man she’d ever met, slow and seductive even as hungry as he was.

  At last he pulled away from her lips and transferred his ravenous attention to the breast he’d been toying with. Lark shuttered her eyes in pleasure as his tongue swirled and his lips suckled.

  Then, abruptly, he caught her shoulders and rolled her over onto her belly.

  “Gawain?” She licked dry lips.

  He only growled as he slid a knee between hers. A second knee joined it, and he spread her thighs wide. His hands slid up, cupping both breasts to tease her aching nipples again. Lark caught her breath as pleasure began to roll through her, slow and rich as a wave of heated honey.

  She squirmed. His thick cock rested against her butt like a seductive threat. Lark panted as her arousal spiraled at the sensation. “God, I want you.”

  “Good.” Gawain nuzzled her ear, then caught the lobe between his teeth for a gentle bite. It felt so delicious, she angled her head over, letting him nibble as he pleased. With a rumble of approval, he traced his tongue down over her throat, licking at her banging pulse.

  His right hand was just as busy, stroking and tugging one nipple into sweet little jolts of delight.

  His left hand slid down her body, finding the juncture of her thighs. Lark caught her breath as he delved between her vaginal lips and slid one strong finger into her. Pumped. Once, twice, as he tormented her nipple skillfully, magnifying the rough pleasure. “Your breasts are so beautiful,” he rasped. “All of you is so beautiful.”

  She rolled her face against the tangled curtain of his hair and grinned. “You have such a way with words.”

  As if in retaliation for her quip, the points of his fangs scraped gently across her skin. Lark moaned, loving the sensation. Gawain growled a deliciously predatory reply against her throat.

  Suddenly he slid his knees under them both, braced a hand, and raised off her, then drew her into his arms until she was sitting astride his thighs, her back against his chest. With a flash of hunger, she realized the pose made her completely available to anything he wanted to do to her.

  Despite the lust she could feel thrumming through his big body, he patiently returned to his stroking, teasing nipples and sex until she found herself hunching against his hand. His cock lay between her labia, not entering, just tantalizing her with its hard, erotic promise. Lark panted, maddened.

  She couldn’t see a damned thing. All she could do was feel—the heat and muscled contours of his body, the hands that tormented and aroused, the rigid cock that jerked between her thighs.

  At the same time, he teased her throat in preparation for his bite. Delicate little licks and taunting scrapes of his fangs sent her arousal spiraling. She rolled her hips harder, deliberately forcing his cock against her clit, feeling the first building pulses of her climax.

  “You’re wet,” he growled in her ear, his fingers making liquid sounds as he stroked her.

  “And you’re hard,” she panted, wanting all that ravenous hunger inside her.

  “Yeah. I’m going to fuck you.”

  She gasped at the stark, carnal phrase, the anticipation in his voice, the dark note of triumph. Somehow it all turned her on even more. Then he circled her clit with a forefinger, jerking her need another notch tighter. Lark moaned and rolled back at him, shivering. He made a purring sound in his throat and went on teasing her.

  Just when she thought she’d go insane, he pushed her off his lap and onto her belly, then lifted her hips until her backside thrust into the air.

  Ready to be mounted.

  The round, smooth head of his cock brushed her slick labia. Then, slowly, he began to enter her, working his width inside. Lark groaned at the fierce pleasure and tossed her head back, loving the way he felt.

  With a growl, he came down over her, pushing more and more of that big cock deeper and deeper. Until, finally, he was seated to the balls.

  To her shock, he reached up under her body, found her wrists, and wrapped one hand around them, shackling them with his long fingers. As she gasped, he reached up with the other hand and swept her hair aside to bare her neck. Readying her for his bite.

  “Now,” Gawain breathed. “Now we fuck.”

  His hips began to roll against her ass, pushing his big cock in and out with such power, each thrust ground against her clit. He started out slow and almost brutally deep, so much so that she twisted in his grip, instinctively trying to pull away. But though his hold on her wrists didn’t hurt, it was also unbreakable. He controlled her halfhearted struggles without effort and went right on with those deep, inexorable thrusts.

  “Gawain…” She shuttered her eyes, on the edge of pain from the feel of that big cock probing so deep, yet at the same time teased by the wicked climax hovering just beyond her grip. “Please, it’s too much….”

  “Not yet.” He leaned down and pressed his open mouth to her pulse, the tips of his fangs resting against the throb, almost biting. They scraped her skin as he whispered, “But it’s about to be.”

  Lark gasped. She felt overwhelmed, helpless, twisting on the end of that massive cock, surrounded by his powerful arms and big, brawny body, the cool points of his fangs pressing her skin. Arousal shivered through her in a river of heat.

  Gawain picked up the pace, grinding his hips a little faster, fucking her a little harder. The pleasure grew, hot and dark, spurring her wi
th wicked little pinpricks of heat. Lark rolled her hips back at him, wanting more. Craving it.

  He growled like a hungry cat and bit, sinking his fangs into her throat. She cried out in pleasure-pain, arching. His hips slapped hard against her backside, driving his cock to the hilt.

  Then he began to feed in long, hungry swallows. Holding her like this, he couldn’t manage long strokes, so he ground his cock in tight circles until it seemed to corkscrew her creamy flesh.

  All the while, he fed, drinking from her throat, his fangs burning her skin, that one hand holding her wrists pinned. Helpless, moaning, she could only writhe.

  Lark’s climax surged out of nowhere like a glowing tsunami, swamping her with blinding pleasure. She cried out as it raced through her body, each ripple of pleasure stronger than the last, jerking against his grinding hips.

  He pulled free of her throat and roared, shoving his cock to its full length as he came. Lark screamed in echo, twisting against him like a woman in torment, completely overwhelmed.

  And loving every moment of it.

  NINE

  Breathing hard, Gawain bent over Lark, listening to the galloping thunder of her heart. His own was beating pretty hard, too. She lay limp under him, panting into her pillow. Carefully, he tugged his softened cock from her sex, released her wrists, and rolled over onto his back with a groan.

  Her muffled voice emerged from the depths of the pillow. “I think you killed me.”

  He lifted his head sharply. “Lights!” As the bedside lamp came on, he examined her in its illumination. She looked sleepy and sated, but he asked anyway. “Did I hurt you?”

  She snorted. “I was kidding. I’m just kind of pleasantly sore and wrung out.”