Master of Swords

by Angela Knight

  With a dark smile, he settled down over her until every inch of his hard, powerful body pressed against every inch of her soft one. Taking his time, he pumped, slow and deep at first, each stroke teasing her tight, creaming channel. The fingers of one hand threaded through her hair, pulling her head back and to the side. He breathed against her neck and drove his cock a little deeper, a little harder, a little faster.

  Lark shivered, knowing what he was going to do, feeling the first hot pulses of her orgasm. She tried to wrap her arms around him, but she was still trussed and helpless.

  And he was anything but, pumping that massive cock in and out as he slowly licked the pulse in her throat.

  She was so close, she couldn’t stand it. “Gawain, oh! Please…”

  Pump. Pump. Pump. Relentless as a machine. The tips of his fangs brushed her skin as he opened his mouth.

  “Gawain!” Teetering on the edge.

  He bit deep. A sting of pain, barely felt in the hot pleasure of his surging cock. He began to drink, thrusting in short, hard digs.

  With a helpless shriek, Lark came, pleasure surging in a foaming burn over her body, making her writhe.

  He shoved his cock to the balls and stiffened, growling against her throat as he came, pumping her full of his come as he took her blood.

  SIXTEEN

  “Help,” Lark moaned sometime later, as Gawain turned her over and unlocked her cuffs. “I’ve been eaten by the Big Bad Wolf.” Her freed limbs flopped, limp as noodles. She felt way too sated to move.

  He laughed. “And a delicious meal you were, too, little pig.”

  She opened one bleary eye. “Little Red Riding Hood. I refuse to be a pig.”

  Gawain threw himself down next to her and pulled her into his arms. “Well, you do have a very nice basket of goodies.”

  “On the other hand, you don’t look like anybody’s grandma.” She worked up just enough energy to manage a slow kiss. “Though you do have really big…teeth.” Smiling lazily, she ran her tongue over one of them.

  With a mock growl, he dragged her close and kissed her thoroughly.

  Just as she put a hand down to discover whether any other parts of him had gotten big, again, Morgana’s voice breathed into their minds in a general psychic call—the last part of the assignment spell. In case you haven’t realized this yet, Arthur would like me to announce that with the war over, the apprenticeships are now officially dissolved. Good work, everyone.

  Lark froze.

  “And that couldn’t have waited for a phone call sometime tomorrow?” Gawain rolled his eyes. “That woman loves to stick her mind in other people’s heads.”

  She looked into his face, feeling stricken. He no longer had a reason to stay with her. And without the pretext of the mission, how long would it be before his attention began to wander? “I guess that’s it, then.” Lark started to pull away.

  His arms tightened, holding her in place. “Hey, wait a minute. You’re not going anywhere.” He flashed her a roguish grin. “The Big Bad Wolf ’s not finished with your goodies yet.”

  But what happens when you are?

  Gawain frowned suddenly, arching his back. “On second thought, I think I want to eat my goodies in a real bed. Preferably one that doesn’t have rocks digging into my ass.” He smiled into her eyes. “Let’s go home.”

  She stared into his face, hesitating. What should she do?

  Gawain went still. “What?” Alarm stirred in his eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” Not yet.

  He looked relieved a moment before his frown returned. “Then what’s the problem? Because you’re definitely not happy.”

  Lark sat up and started looking for her clothes, then remembered he’d shredded them. After conjuring a set of replacements, she got to her feet.

  “Would you talk to me?” He was looking irritated now. “What did I do to piss you off?”

  “Nothing.”

  He grabbed his jeans from the rosebush they lay across and began putting them on. “That sounds like one of those nothings that’s definitely a something. What is the problem?”

  Gathering her courage, she met his eyes. “Why do you want me to go home with you?”

  “What do you mean?” He looked around for his shirt, found it balled up on the grass, and put it on.

  She watched him look for his shoes and scuff his feet into them. Was there any way to ask this without sounding like an idiot? Probably not. But she had to know anyway. “Is it just for sex?”

  For an instant, she thought she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes before he grinned. “Isn’t that enough?”

  She turned away and started toward her brownstone.

  Gawain cursed, looked around for Kel, snatched the sword up off the grass, and hurried after her as he looped the scabbard over his shoulder. “I was kidding. Look, you took me off-guard. If this is one of those do-you-love-me things…”

  “I’m not looking for a declaration of love.” She’d have to be an idiot.

  “Then what are you looking for?”

  Lark stopped and turned to face him. “I don’t know.” She sighed and raked her hands through her hair. “Everybody says you’re going to break my heart. As long as we were together because of the assignment, I didn’t have to worry about it. But if we’re going to be together together…that’s another thing.”

  “Lark, we’ve only known each other a week.”

  “Which means I can still cut my losses.” She turned away again.

  “So you’re just going to walk off because of something I might do?” He glared, temper steaming off him in waves that were almost visible. “I didn’t think you were a fucking coward, Lark!”

  That stopped her in her tracks. For a moment, she looked down at her feet, searching for the words to make him understand. “It’s like Tristan said. You’ve had some of the most beautiful, powerful women in Avalon. What am I?”

  “A hell of a lot more than you realize, apparently. I think I’m falling in love with you.” He said the last quietly, so quietly she almost believed him.

  She met his demanding gaze. “See, that’s the thing. If you were in love with me, you’d know it.”

  Gawain watched as she turned and walked away again. “Dammit, Lark!” He started to charge after her.

  Give her a minute, Kel said.

  She’s doing the exact same shit she always does—convincing herself she’s not good enough!

  And just like all the other battles she’s fought, this is one she’s going to have to win on her own. You need to give her time.

  Fuck that. He wanted her. He wanted to hold her and take that pretty mouth and shake some sense into that stubborn head.

  The dragon craned his head around until he could look up at him. Are you in love with her?

  He sighed. Just how much of the conversation did you hear?

  Morgana woke me.

  In other words, all of it. Yeah. Yeah, I am. Though he hadn’t realized it until the words came out of his mouth. And yes, I know it’s only been a week. Doesn’t seem to matter.

  You’ve never had a problem recognizing what you want.

  No. He sighed. Wish I’d handled it better, though. Maybe if I’d done the hearts and flowers thing when I saw where the conversation was going, I could have headed her off. Instead I panicked. Dammit.

  So give her a day to think about it and try again. Flowers. Boxes of candy. All the human mating rituals.

  Gawain snorted. In my day, the human mating ritual was to give her father a cow.

  Perhaps…something a little less old-fashioned.

  “Damn it, Bors, would you at least try being reasonable?” It was Arthur’s deep voice, rumbling somewhere behind him. “The man is dead.”

  Merlin’s Beard, what now? For a moment Gawain considered going after Lark anyway before reluctantly turning and heading for the sound of his liege’s voice.

  “I’m telling you. He’s. Not. Dead!” Bors gritted. He, Arthur, and Guinevere stood
in the light of a street lamp a block or so back. The royal couple looked frustrated. Bors stood with his arms folded, a stubborn expression on his face. “This is not over,” he told them.

  With a sigh, Gawain broke into a trot.

  “Bors, when that last black grail blew, it killed everyone,” Gwen said patiently. “Arthur and I were there when it took out the nest in Dallas, and I sensed the amount of power it generated. Every vampire there died instantly. You heard the reports—the same thing happened everywhere. Nobody survived, including Richard.”

  “He did it, Gwen. I can feel it in my bones. He’s responsible for this, and he’s still alive.”

  “Bors…” She broke off, stiffening, her eyes going wide.

  “Gotta admit, Dad,” a deep voice rumbled from behind her, “when you’re right, you’re right.”

  A monster materialized right behind Guinevere, one huge crimson hand wrapped around her head. Fingers the size of cucumbers opened, and she dropped in a heap. The thing grinned. “I’d have killed her, but you know, that Truebond thing…can’t have you dying, Arthur. Yet.”

  “Fuck!” Gawain broke into a run. “Kel!”

  “On it.”

  The Dragon armor materialized around him between one racing step and the next.

  “Guinevere!” It was a roar of agony. Arthur grabbed for the sword he always wore sheathed at a blue-jeaned hip.

  WHOOOOM!

  As if in slow motion, Gawain saw the blast hit Arthur and Bors, picking them up and throwing them like poker chips in a hurricane. Arthur crashed backward into a tree. Gawain didn’t see where Bors went.

  He didn’t break stride as he reached his foe, swinging Kel with all his strength right at the monster’s gut.

  A sword materialized in one big red hand, and the thing parried his blow as it backhanded him with the other.

  It was like being hit by a train. The world went white in an explosion of pain.

  Get up! Kel howled in Gawain’s head.

  He lay on the ground. He didn’t even remember falling. Despite his helm, the side of his head throbbed viciously. Somewhere close by, he could hear the clash of swords and shouted curses. “Arthur?” Gawain scrambled to his feet, swaying, and looked around.

  The liege of the Magi sagged in the cradling limbs of a nearby downed tree, limp as a broken doll. The jagged butt of a tree branch protruded from one thigh, and his body was covered in blood. Apparently the branch had punctured the something critical.

  Looking beyond him, Gawain could see Bors and the monster battling each other, their swords ringing with every blow. He needed to help his fellow knight, but first he had to tend Arthur, who was in no shape to transform and heal. He staggered toward his liege.

  We’ve got to make this quick, Kel told him. I armored Bors and gave him a sword, but Edge is kicking his ass. Let’s heal Arthur and help.

  Edge? That monster is Edge?

  ’Fraid so. Kel beamed a spell at the branch, which flared white and vanished. Another spell stopped the scarlet flow. Gawain sheathed Kel and gingerly lifted his liege in his arms, ignoring the copper reek of blood.

  As he lay Arthur on the grass, the Magus stirred and moaned. Dazed eyes opened and promptly filled with fear. “Guinevere! Where’s Gwen? I can’t feel her!”

  “Comatose but alive. She’s still lying in the street where we left her, but I can’t seem to snap her out of it,” Kel told him. “Edge took her out with some kind of spell. She’ll be fine if we can kill him and break it, but I doubt we’ll be able to wake her in the meantime.”

  Arthur’s eyes snapped wide. “That was Edge?” With a grunt of effort, he sat up and looked at Kel. “Have you called for reinforcements?”

  “Can’t get through. He’s got some kind of barrier spell up. The bastard must have power to burn.”

  A voice spoked from behind them. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  Still supporting Arthur, Gawain turned.

  The towering monster that had been Richard Edge gave them a mocking little bow. Behind him, Bors sprawled on the grass, dead or unconscious.

  “What the hell did you do to yourself, boy?” Arthur growled.

  Edge grinned, revealing a mouthful of razored teeth. “Just a little spell. Or two.”

  He was more than seven feet tall, his body heavily muscled. Black horns curved to either side of his head, massive as those of a water buffalo. His feet had become cloven hooves, and his hands ended in long, knife-like claws. He wore only a black loincloth that revealed a great deal of crimson skin, every inch of which seemed to be covered with Draconian runes that looked as if they’d been burned into his flesh.

  “Tegid,” Kel snarled. “I recognize his marks. My uncle is your partner, isn’t he, you bastard? I can smell him on you, underneath the stench of rot.”

  Edge tilted his horned head, looking interested. Then he shrugged. “Actually, he never mentioned his name.” He grinned, flashing those horrific teeth again. “I do know he doesn’t much care for you, though. You don’t suppose he’s the one who put you in that sword?”

  Quick as a fastball pitcher, he hurled a spell blast that blazed at it struck Kel’s shield. To Gawain’s horror, it started sinking inside, slowly penetrating.

  “Richard!” Bors’s voice was a raw howl of rage.

  Edge spun as the knight raced toward him, his sword drawn back. “Ooops. Daddy’s up, and he’s pissed.” He ducked as Bors swung at him.

  As the two began to fight again, Gawain threw another glance at the death spell that was still trying to eat through Kel’s shield.

  “Damn, this bastard’s powerful,” Kel growled. Gawain felt him pour more magic into the shield until the spell finally winked out. “He’s almost as strong as Geirolf.”

  And Geirolf had nearly destroyed them all.

  Arthur’s face went cold and blank behind its mask of drying blood. “Well, we killed Geirolf, and we’ll get this bastard, too. Can you armor me?”

  “Yes, but can you fight?”

  “I can always fight.”

  Armor materialized around Arthur as Gawain spotted Excalibur and dragged it out of the wreckage of the tree. He handed it to his liege, one eye on Edge and Bors, whose battle had carried them farther into the garden. They circled one another, snarling insults as they searched for an opening to attack.

  Arthur roared his battle cry and charged toward the combatants. Gawain leaped in his wake.

  They’d fought together for sixteen hundred years in battles with everyone from Modred to Al Qaeda. As if the move were choreographed, the three knights split to encircle Edge like a trio of wolves, settling into the cold clarity of combat.

  Edge pivoted, more bullfighter than bull, the biggest damn sword Gawain had ever seen in one hand. Gawain and Bors shot a glance at one another and went for him. With one hard sweep of his blade, he parried their simultaneous attacks, then whirled aside as Arthur tried to take his head from behind. His sword licked out and sliced into the knight’s right shoulder, cutting deep. Arthur reeled backward, struggling to hold on to Excalibur.

  “Traitor!” Bors swung at Edge’s gut, but missed when the creature leaped aside. “I’m glad your mother didn’t live to see what you’ve become!”

  “I’m exactly what you made me, Dad.” Edge dropped to one knee, grabbed Bors’s sword hand, and jerked him forward, right onto those waiting horns. Twisting his head like a bull, he threw the knight across the clearing with a splatter of blood. He hit the ground and didn’t move.

  “Bors!” Gawain stepped in with a hard, flat sword stroke, only to be deflected by another teeth-rattling parry. Before he could sweep in again, Edge reversed his stroke and caught him hard across the ribs.

  With a strangled cry of agony, he staggered, fighting to keep his feet.

  The killer bared his teeth in a grin. “Bet that stings.”

  And it did. Cold fire burned along his side, so vicious he barely managed to duck Edge’s next swing.

  Excalibur flashed as Arthur mo
ved in, hacking at Edge with the sword in his left hand. His right arm hung, blood rolling down it to drip on the grass. The killer parried with no apparent effort.

  Spotting an opening, Gawain struck out at Edge’s thigh, forcing him to leap back. Daring a quick look, he saw that Bors still wasn’t moving.

  Is he dead?

  No, but Edge gored him badly. And he’s bloodied you, too, the dragon told him. He cut right through your cuirass.

  Kel was right. Something hot rolled down his side from the source of the cold pain.

  Grimly, he parried three teeth-rattling sword blows, aware of Arthur circling, limping on his wounded leg as he looked for an opening. The blood was flowing faster now, pouring from his injured arm.

  Realization hit Gawain, cold and sickening: they were losing. Retreat was their only chance. They’d have to gather reinforcements and come back for the bastard. Can you cast a gate?

  I’ve tried. The same shield that’s keeping me from calling out is blocking that, too.

  The two knights engaged Edge grimly, trying to break through his guard. He parried every attack almost casually. The creature was fast—much faster than either of them. And worse, he was even stronger; it was all Gawain could do to block his attacks.

  Then, abruptly, Edge lowered his weapon and straightened from his fighting crouch. “I think it’s time to wrap this up. I’ve got a busy night planned.”

  Gawain opened his mouth to sneer a retort, but before he could speak, Edge lashed out, hitting Arthur in the helm with a blurring backhand that sent him flying.

  With a roar of rage, Gawain charged in, bringing his blade up and around in a scything blow intended to decapitate.

  Edge parried, stepped inside his guard, and buried his hand in Gawain’s gut so hard, it lifted him off his feet.

  Hot agony stabbed into him, and he lost his grip on Kel. The dragon’s wings slipped from around his hand and the sword tumbled to the ground. Gagging, Gawain clawed at the hand that held him off the ground.

  With a sense of horror, he saw blood dripping from around the creature’s fingers. Edge had impaled him on those knife-like claws, punching right through his armor.