Master of Swords

by Angela Knight

  Gawain had heard of other Majae using magic like this, but none of them had ever tried it on him. Probably, he realized, because he hadn’t given them the chance. He’d kept them far too busy wondering what he’d do to them.

  But there was definitely something to be said for being on the receiving end.

  Lark watched his face, those dark eyes wicked with knowledge and arousal. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, and she loved it.

  “God,” he moaned. He was usually the one who made other people moan. “You’re good at this. Do you do it often?”

  Her lips quirked wickedly, and she bent her head down over his. “First time.”

  And then she took his mouth.

  The kiss was soft at first, gentle and questioning. Longing to taste her, he thrust his tongue into her mouth in a careful, licking stroke. She suckled it in…

  And it felt as if a wet female mouth had engulfed his cock in one hot swoop. Startled, he cried out against her mouth.

  “Like that?” Lark purred, and licked his tongue again, a stroke along its underside. A hot echo caressed his cock.

  She suckled his tongue slowly, swirling her own around it, tugging gently. And every move she made, he felt in his dick.

  Gawain had enjoyed blow jobs by very skilled partners, but none of them had ever felt like this. He was well-endowed enough that it wasn’t physically possible for a woman to suck him so fast and deep, but Lark and her magic could do just that.

  Even as she worked his tongue and cock, her slender hands stroked him, spilling exquisite sensations over every inch of his skin. It was like being taken by a harem of women, all licking and caressing and sucking at the same time.

  Gawain felt the orgasm coil tight in his balls, ready to pump him dry. “I’m coming!” he groaned. There was no way he could hold out against the pleasure.

  Lark lifted her head and breathed, “No.”

  And the rising pulse of his climax just…stopped.

  For a moment, he couldn’t believe she’d dared.

  Blazing green eyes met hers. “You little…witch.”

  Lark reached down a hand and closed it gently around the long, smooth length of his erection. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” She sent a burst of magic into her fingers and watched with satisfaction as his eyes rolled back in his head.

  She liked this.

  She’d never experienced anything so erotic in her life as having this big, delicious male animal so thoroughly at her mercy.

  And the turnabout was wickedly satisfying. Though he hadn’t treated her with condescension, he’d never let her forget which of them was the vampire knight of the Round Table.

  Now he writhed in his magical bonds, all that powerful muscle jerking under her fingertips as she stroked him, green eyes burning as he stared hungrily into her face.

  If she made the mistake of turning him loose, he’d be all over her, driving that rock-hard cock into her sex and his fangs into her throat.

  She was almost tempted….

  No. He could damn well just lie there and writhe. A little payback for Diera’s broken heart—and the one she suspected was on the way for her.

  FOURTEEN

  Lark left off kissing Gawain and began to nibble her way along that stubborn chin to the muscled column of his neck. His skin tasted salty with sweat, flavored with the rich musk of vampire.

  God, I love that taste.

  She continued down his body, licking here, biting there, hands stroking everywhere else. Several times on the way, she felt the boil of his climax on the verge of breaking free and had to stop to calm it. She really didn’t want him coming yet.

  Besides, it drove him insane when she blocked his orgasm, and she loved that, too.

  By the time she stopped off to nibble his belly button, he was grinding his hips against her in furious demand. “You’d better watch it,” he growled. “The next time I get you at my mercy, you’ll think you were thrown to the big bad wolf.”

  “What’re you going to do, wolfie?” Catching the hard length of his cock in one hand, she watched him out of the corner of one eye and opened her mouth just over the flushed head. “Huff and puff and…” A teasing tongue flick tore a gasp from his throat. “…blow my house down?”

  His green eyes glittered. “Actually, I think I’ll just fuck you.” He rolled his lips up to expose gleaming fangs. “Hard.”

  “Wicked man.” She swooped her head down over the head of his cock and sucked, simultaneously sending a wave of magic into the hot, smooth shaft.

  “Jesu!” His back arched helplessly at the blend of magic and stark carnality.

  Oh, yeah, she definitely liked this. Feeling inspired, she cast another spell, this one on herself. Scrambling onto her knees, she angled his cock up with one hand, poised her open mouth over its flushed head, and met his eyes. And watched with satisfaction as his widened in shock.

  Lark had fangs.

  The white length of them was pressed against the flesh of his cock head, not quite biting. But the threat was definitely there. After that first startled kick of adrenaline, Gawain realized she’d conjured them. “What are you going to do?” he demanded. “Bite me?” His voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.

  “Well…” She gave him a slow, contemplative lick, as if tasting him. “You certainly seem to enjoy biting me.”

  His heart was pounding. “Not using my fangs. Or at least, not on your equivalent anatomy.”

  Lark closed her lips over his cock and suckled, sending yet another wave of delight down the shaft and straight into his balls. His back arched in involuntary reaction. She lifted her head and purred, “How do you know you wouldn’t like it?” A mind-blowing lick. “I’ll bet I could make you.”

  “I’d advise against it. You have to let me go sometime. And then…” He’d intended the statement as a silken threat, but panting ruined the delivery.

  Appearing to consider the point, she gave him a long, slow lick. “On the other hand, I am the witch. How are you going to hold me? Any bonds you create…” Another lick. “…I can magically dissolve.”

  He bared his teeth. He’d never been more violently aroused in his life. “Maybe I’ll just hold you down.”

  “And maybe I’ll tie you up with another spell and…” Gently, she raked her false fangs over his cock head. This time he managed not to twist in pleasure. “…do this all over again.”

  He ached to drive his cock into that tight, creamy little body. He ached to bite her. Claim her. Make her beg the way he was so tempted to beg himself. “Remember, darling—fangs or no fangs, you’re not the vampire here.” He bared his own at her. “I am.”

  “And I’m the witch.” Suddenly she sat up, flung one long leg across his hips and planted a foot against the mattress. Angling his cock upward, she sank down as she met his gaze. “I’m the one with the power.”

  Feeling tight, wet flesh engulf his length centimeter by silken centimeter, Gawain threw back his head and surrendered. “You certainly are. Merlin’s beard!”

  “Oh, God.” She shuttered her lids, shuddering as she impaled herself. “You feel so…”

  Her satin ass came to rest on his thighs. He was buried all the way inside her, right to the balls. Unable to resist, he ground upward. “Jesu, Lark, fuck me!” It was a naked plea, but he didn’t care.

  Gasping, she rose. Slowly, so slowly, wet, snug flesh caressing him, milking the thick shaft. At the apex, she braced her hands on his belly and paused, then ground downward again.

  “Let me go,” he groaned. “I want to…”

  Dark eyes met his and narrowed. “No.”

  “Dammit, Lark…”

  She growled something defiant under her breath and went right on taking him in slow, torturous strokes that threatened to drive him out of his mind. Losing patience, he surged upward, fighting her for control.

  Suddenly he couldn’t move. “Lark, dammit!”

  Her gaze met his fiercely. “I’m doing you, remember?”


  He snarled. “I’m going to get you for this.”

  She closed her eyes and sank down over him. “I don’t care.”

  Another slow stroke and then another. He wondered if she was ever going to let him come. He wondered if he was going to go insane.

  Probably.

  But he was damn well going to get her at his mercy, if he had to have Kel put a spell on her.

  She’d picked up the pace, slick stroke following slick stroke with the weight of her body behind them, maddening and delicious. Gawain felt the pressure building in his balls again and prayed she wouldn’t stop him this time.

  Lark threw her head back so hard her long hair whipped across his thighs. Gasping, she plunged up and down, until he could feel the tiny pulses of her orgasm start to milk his cock. “Oh, I’m…aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!” She twisted.

  At last, his climax exploded out of his balls like a cork blasting from a champagne bottle. Gawain roared as he shot and shot, caught in the grip of the most savage orgasm he’d ever had in his long life. Lark’s suppression of it had intensified its fury.

  At last she collapsed on top of him, sweating and limp. Even if he hadn’t been bound, he realized he couldn’t have moved if his life depended on it. She’d drained him dry.

  “That was…” He had to stop, unable to find a word to do it justice.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “But I’m still going to get you.”

  Lark lifted her head and gave him a cheeky grin. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  An hour later, they attended Avalon’s second funeral in a week. Diera and Antonio lay on the flower-decked biers Lark had created for them, the Maja in an elaborate white velvet gown, a bouquet of white roses in her folded hands. Antonio, his body whole again thanks to Lark’s magic, wore white hose and boots, and a white velvet doublet that emphasized the width of his shoulders. His hands were folded around the hilt of the sword that lay over his body. Mounds of flowers surrounded them, along with tall candelabra in gleaming gold. Just as Lark intended, the effect suggested a wedding as much as a funeral.

  When her time came to speak, she stepped forward and told the Magekind what her magic had discovered about the couple’s deaths. Her voice broke only once, and it was only as she returned to Gawain’s side that the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder before walking out to the center of the square to speak.

  They weren’t the only ones. It seemed everyone had something to say about the lovers.

  Finally, Lark joined the other Majae in shooting her magic into the biers. She watched the fountain of light explode upward in their final tribute to burst against the stars.

  We’ll get him, she told her friend’s memory. Richard Edge is a dead man.

  After the ceremony, the knights and selected Majae adjourned to the Round Table chamber to plan their next move. Lark and Gawain entered just behind Soren and Morgana, who were locked in a fierce, low-voiced argument. The dragon had attended the funeral in his human form—a regally handsome man dressed like a medieval courtier in a black tunic and hose. The faint blue tint to his skin was most noticeable on his smoothly shaved head.

  “I spent the day arguing with members of the council,” Soren said. “They adamantly refuse to drop the wards around the Dragon Lands long enough to let you scan for Edge.”

  “Then you tell those scaly bastards that we’re holding them personally responsible for the next one of our people Edge kills!” Morgana snarled.

  “Does she seriously think they’d care?” Kel murmured to Gawain.

  “She’s always been an optimist,” Gawain told him dryly.

  Arthur and Guinevere had already seated themselves at the Round Table next to King Llyr Galatyn and his werewolf wife, Diana, who was visibly pregnant. Llyr was a tall, leanly muscled man whose blond hair fell in a silken stream to his hips. Like the others, he was dressed in full court mourning, the black providing a dramatic contrast to his glorious hair. The tips of his pointed ears protruded through the pale strands, making him look even more elegantly alien. “I’ve been attempting to call Cachamwri, but he refuses to respond,” the king said. “He hasn’t cut me off like this since before he helped me defeat Ansgar.”

  “Well, he is the Dragon God,” Diana pointed out. “Maybe he doesn’t want to take our side against his people.” She was lovely, with her short dark hair and gray eyes so pale they looked silver. Athletic and tall in a black and silver gown that draped over her pregnant curves, she was surrounded by a fierce, restless energy.

  “Or maybe he’s playing some game we can’t even comprehend,” Kel pointed out. “You can never tell with Cachamwri.”

  “Very true.” Llyr nodded a greeting. “It’s good to see you again, Kel. Gawain.”

  “Your Majesties.” Like the courtier he’d once been, Gawain made a graceful bow, then extended a hand to Lark. “May I present Lark McGuin, my apprentice?”

  The Sidhe king turned an iridescent gaze her way and gave her a regal nod. “It’s always a pleasure to meet one of Arthur’s Majae.”

  His wife’s smile was wide and genuine. “Hi.”

  Lark blinked at the queen’s American manners and managed a curtsey without falling on her face. “Your Majesties.”

  She listened to Gawain exchange small talk with the royal couple for a few more moments. It was difficult to concentrate on the pleasantries, given how grief-blasted and exhausted she felt.

  Though Lark had briefly escaped the reality of Diera’s death in Gawain’s arms earlier that night, the funeral had brought it all home. Now all she wanted was to escape somewhere and have a good cry.

  After that, she’d like to hunt Edge down and gut him with a dull melon baller.

  Social amenities finally concluded, Lark and Gawain dipped bows to the couple and headed for the other side of the Round Table. They found empty seats next to Tristan, who was holding a low-voiced conversation with Bors while the knights’ respective apprentices flirted.

  Not surprisingly, Bors looked even more haggard.

  “How long has it been since you had anything to eat?” Gawain asked his friend in a low voice.

  Bors shrugged his broad shoulders. “Discovering my son murdered one of my dearest friends seems to have stolen my appetite.”

  “Merlin’s balls, Bors,” Tristan said, “you’re not responsible for what that vile little creature does.”

  The knight’s eyes glittered. “I raised him. I taught him the blade skills he used to butcher Diera and Antonio. If it’s not my fault, who the hell’s is it?”

  “His, maybe?” Regretting the irritated growl in her voice, Lark rubbed a hand over her forehead and reached for patience.

  “We all have regrets.” Tristan rested a soothing hand on Lark’s shoulder. “I regret not spending more time with my son. If I had, I would have met Lark much sooner, and I could have saved both her and John a great deal of suffering.”

  “Perhaps it’s just as well you didn’t,” Bors said. “She seems to have turned out well enough.”

  Lark suddenly discovered she just didn’t have the patience for this. “You know, for a guy not much younger than Jesus, you’re kind of dumb.”

  Gawain’s eyes widened. “Lark…”

  She turned on Tristan. “And for the record, you might not have been there the past few years, but you were there long enough to teach Granddad to be a hero.” She jerked a thumb at Morgana, who was staring at her in amazement. “That lot might not have thought he was good enough to be a Magus, but by God, he charged those Nazi machine guns on D-Day. And he’s still got the barbed wire scars to prove it. Once he pulled an eight-year-old girl out of a burning house and chopped open a blazing roof to save his trapped men. He did that because of you, Tristan. And you.” Her eyes went to Bors, then to Gawain. “And you.”

  She rose to her feet in the ringing silence, breathing hard, suspecting she was making an idiot of herself. And not caring. “You know what? He raised me to b
e a hero, too. He raised my mom the exact same way, only she decided to become a drunk instead. She decided. Not him.” Lark gave Bors a burning look. “Just the way Richard Edge decided he wanted to become a monster when he grew up.”

  Bors stared back. “Lark, I…”

  Her eyes stung. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see my grandfather.” With a gesture, she opened a dimensional gate and stepped through.

  For a moment Gawain stared at Lark’s retreating back, caught somewhere between shock and a desire to cheer. “I’d better not let her go alone.” He jumped up and hurried through the gate after her.

  He found her standing in a small living room where a tall, elderly man sat in front of a television set. The man, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Tristan, stared up at them in surprise.

  “Lark, honey!” He rose to his feet and stepped toward her.

  “Granddad…” Her breath hitched.

  “What’s the matter, honey?”

  “Diera’s dead!” She threw herself into his arms and began to sob.

  “Ahhh, honey,” the old man said, and stroked her hair, crooning to her as she cried.

  Aching to comfort her himself, Gawain instead stepped back to give them privacy. His own eyes stinging, he watched as her grandfather rocked her in his arms.

  The following night

  Sweat rolled down Richard’s naked chest, burning the cuts that marked his flesh. He barely noticed, intent on watching the dragon use a single claw to trace glowing runes into the magical shield that covered him. The pain of sweat salt in his wounds was nothing compared to the sensation of that claw biting deep, carving the intricate pattern of protection directly into the flesh.

  Intricate, bloody shapes now covered every inch of his body. Whenever he looked at them, they seemed to writhe. Carving them had taken endless hours of torment.

  Richard had the distinct impression the dragon had enjoyed each second of his pain.

  Sadistic fuck.

  The two of them had worked for two days to create the spell. It was the most complex piece of sorcery Richard had ever participated in, since it was designed to protect him from the grail’s destruction, collect the energies liberated in the process, and funnel them into him.