Enchanted Guardian

by Sharon Ashwood

  “There are too many people here,” he growled.

  “There are enough people here for safety. Perhaps I don’t want to answer you.”

  His eyes held hers a moment, dark fire against the ice of her spirit. That seemed to decide him, for he pulled her close and took a better grip on her arm. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  He didn’t reply, but steered her toward the door, moving so fast she skittered on her heels. She thought about calling out—she knew people there, even if they weren’t actual friends—but it went against her instincts for secrecy. When he pushed her down the stairs and back into the night, the velvet dark seemed to muffle the sounds around them. He paused at the bottom of the steps, seeming to consider where to go next.

  She took the opportunity to pull against him, but this time he held her fast. “Don’t.”

  The threat was real. Her fighting skills were nothing compared to a knight’s. Lancelot could crush or even kill her with a single blow. Still, that didn’t make her helpless, and she would not let him forget that fact. Rising up on her toes, she put her mouth a mere whisper from his ear. “You forget what I can do. My magic is nothing less than what it was when I was the first among the fae noblewomen. I can defend myself against your brute strength.”

  Just not against what he’d done to her heart. She closed her eyes a moment, feeling his breath against her cheek and remembering the past for a long moment before she denied herself that luxury. “Let me go,” she repeated.

  In response, he pulled her to the side of the building, refusing to stop until he was deep into the shadows. The ground was little more than cracked concrete there, tufts of grass straggling between the stones. He pushed her against the siding, her back pressed to the rough wood. “Not until I’ve had my say.”

  He had both of her arms now, prisoning Nim with the hard, muscled wall of his chest. Anyone walking by might glimpse two lovers in a private tête-à-tête, but Nim drew back as far as she could, something close to anger rising to strike. No one handled her this way, especially not him.

  “Then talk,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Aren’t you even surprised to see me?” he demanded.

  “Why should I be? Your friends are awakening, why not you?” She wouldn’t tell him it was she who had traced his tomb and called his king. She needed to squash any personal connection between them. Even if she was whole and their people were not at war, he had betrayed her.

  He put a hand against her cheek, his fingers rough. She jerked her chin away, burning where his touch had grazed her.

  His expression was bitter. “You know why we wake.”

  The threat of her queen. She dropped her voice so low he had to bend to hear her. “I’m not your enemy. Not that way.”

  “Aren’t you?” The skin around his eyes and mouth grew tight. “I was told you work for Morgan LaFaye now.”

  “I did,” she confessed. “Not anymore. She does not have the interests of the fae at heart.”

  But he was relentless. “I’m told you were caught by Merlin’s spell along with the rest. I know what the fae have become.”

  Soulless. As good as dead inside. Lancelot didn’t say the words, but she heard them all the same. “It’s true,” she replied. “It’s all true.”

  His expression was stricken as if hearing it from her lips was poison. Good, she thought. Better to be honest. Better that he believe her to be the monster she was.

  “Maybe that’s true for some. I don’t believe that about you. You still have too much fire.”

  With that, he claimed her mouth in an angry kiss. Nim caught her breath, stifling a cry of true surprise. The Lancelot she’d known had been gentle and eager to please. Nothing like this. And yet the clean taste of him was everything she remembered.

  His mouth slanted, breaking past the barrier of her lips to plunder her mouth. The hunger in him was bruising, going far beyond the physical to pull at something deep in her belly. Desire, perhaps, or heartbreak. She wasn’t sure any longer, but she couldn’t stop herself from nipping at his lip, yearning to feel what she had lost. A sigh caught in her throat before she swallowed it down. Surely she was operating on reflex, the memory of kisses. Not desire she might feel now. The warmth and weight of him spoke to something older than true emotion. Even a reptile could feel comfort in the sun. Even she...

  Still, that little encouragement was all the permission he needed to slide his hand up her hip to her waist and she could feel the pressure of his fingers. Lancelot was as strong as any fae male, strong enough certainly to overpower her. That had thrilled her once, a guilty admission she’d never dared to make. She’d been so wise, so scholarly, so magical, but an earthy male had found the liquid center of heat buried under all that logic and light. They had always sparked like that, flint against steel.

  But then his hand found her breast and every muscle in her stiffened. This was too much. Memory was one thing, but she wasn’t the same now and she refused to have a physical encounter that was nothing more than a ghost of what it should be.

  Nim pushed him away. “I don’t want this.”

  Something in her look finally made him stop, but his eyes glittered with arousal. “Are you certain about that?”

  Nim went very still and cold inside. Whether it was anger or the absence of it was irrelevant. It was all she could do not to touch her powers and simply make him leave. “Be careful, mortal.”

  He put a hand on her hip again as if staking a claim. “Morgan LaFaye tricked me from your side.”

  “And Queen Guinevere tripped you into her bed?” she asked drily. “Do you think me a child to feed me such tales?”

  His eyes snapped with temper. “It’s not what you imagined. I looked for you back then. I searched for months.”

  “And now?”

  “I want you back.” His grip tightened.

  “I’m not who I was.”

  “You are. I felt your heart in your kiss. You haven’t changed.”

  That wasn’t true. This conversation had to end for both their sakes, so she aimed every word like an arrow. “This is who I am, Lancelot. Merlin’s spell tore my people apart. The fae crave the souls of mortals to fill the void where our own used to be. We are the monsters Arthur’s knights seek to destroy.”

  His lips parted as if to speak, but she pushed on.

  “We won’t stop hunting humans. We can still feel enough fear to survive the perils of the world, but nothing more. Feeding on souls makes us whole again, gives us back joy and sorrow, but the mortals die and the effect never lasts. Even so, it’s easy to become addicted, needing more and more souls to cling to some semblance of who we used to be. That’s how the queen buys our loyalty. If we invade the mortal realms there will be no end of humans to feed us. It will be our paradise.”

  She’d known herself too well to risk tasting such ambrosia, but she’d seen others fall prey to soul-thrall, living only to hunt. Once, they’d been honorable, valued friends. Now they were little more than beasts.

  Lancelot looked as if he might be ill. “I know all that.” He finally let her go.

  “Then you know why you must forget me.”

  “But you’re different.” The words were firm, but somewhere in their depths she heard a plea for reassurance.

  “Don’t be naive.” Nim turned and walked away.

  This time he let her.

  * * *

  Barely able to breathe, Dulac watched the swing of her hips as she walked away. The sight of that very female motion, combined with the lingering taste of her lips, had him aching against his jeans. He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, desperate to clear his thoughts from the fog of lust scattering his every last wit.

  Dulac had sought her for so long. He’d searched before the demon wars and then after, when he’d discovered her castle had vanished from the Forest Sauvage. That had been a sure sign she’d left for the Hollow Hills, but he hadn’t stopped even then.

  Many of
Camelot’s knights had been wary of Merlin’s sleeping spell, but Dulac had jumped at the opportunity to travel into the future. Nimueh was immortal. He was not. If Merlin’s magic worked, the knights would rise healthy and in their fighting prime when the fae returned to the mortal realms. Then, after crossing centuries, he could take up his quest anew.

  Of course there were risks—what if the spell had failed or Nimueh never came back? Still, the stone sleep was his best chance. Dulac had sacrificed all to come forward in time—his name, his lands, and his wealth. In the end, the gamble had been a success because now he’d found her.

  Except Nimueh had just walked away. Walked. Away. Not a tear. Not a word of regret after he’d spent centuries as a piece of stone for her sake. Heat crept up his body, anger mixing with incredulity. His skin prickled as if he might burst into flame.

  He watched her turn right and disappear into the night. She didn’t go back to the celebration inside, which was as clear a message as any that she didn’t want him following her for another round in the dance of emotional push and pull. Maybe she was as dead inside as she claimed.

  But Dulac wasn’t a boy or a new-fledged knight any longer, and he knew his lady. “I don’t believe you,” he said into the hot and sticky night.

  This wasn’t over. When it came to bed play, Nimueh was made of fire. Dulac had felt that same spark in her now, faint but no less real. His body remembered hers, every move of their familiar dance unlocking their treasured past in his heart and flesh as much as memory. Surely it worked the same way for her—it had to.

  So why hide it from him? Had he so utterly destroyed her trust?

  Of course he had.

  A door inside him slammed shut, sealing off the pain beneath his anger. It had a poor seal, that door, and regret leaked around every edge of it. Dulac stalked back to the sidewalk in front of the hall, wishing he was still at the bar. He needed something to dull the roiling storm inside him—but he’d learned long ago there was no cure for the addiction named Nimueh.

  Wedding guests lingered on the steps of the hall, vainly seeking fresh air. Just as Dulac put one foot on the stairs, the hooded fae hurried down and disappeared in the same direction Nimueh had just gone. Dulac narrowed his eyes, aware he’d allowed himself to be distracted from his original mission. Then again, now he knew it was Nimueh the hooded figure followed. Both his missions were the same. He waited a few seconds, then glided after them.

  As if the fae sensed the knight’s interest, he turned to look over his shoulder. Dulac ducked into the shadows, swift enough to evade detection. But the fae had tricks of his own. By the time Dulac emerged from hiding, the fae had vanished.

  Cursing, Dulac searched the street but both Nimueh and her tail were lost to sight. Nevertheless, Dulac pushed forward, going on instinct alone. Within a block, the condition of the neighborhood declined. Streetlights highlighted the faces of the buildings, picking out broken windows and peeling paint—and then the lights, too, were smashed. Fierce protectiveness rose in Dulac. What business would Nimueh have walking into a place like this? She should have been somewhere safe.

  Scanning the street, and then a playground, Dulac looked around for his quarry one more time without success. Wind nudged litter down the gutters, the skittering noise loud in the darkness.

  Dulac heard a cry and scuffle coming from a building site surrounded by a chain-link fence. Holding the knife in his teeth, he quickly scaled it and dropped lightly to the ground. It was darker here, walls of the neighboring buildings blocking most of the ambient light. He rose from a crouch, knife in hand and with every sense alert. Someone was panting hard.

  The noise was coming from behind a half-built wall. Dulac approached silently, pausing every few feet to check for movement. He had hunted all manner of creatures in his time—demons, trolls and even a dragon—but modern weapons were just as deadly. He’d never had a bullet wound and had no desire for the experience.

  When he slid around the corner of the wall, he immediately saw Nimueh huddled on the ground. Above her stood the male fae, his hood thrown back to reveal long white hair. The pale color was a stark contrast to his dark skin and bright green eyes. Dulac stiffened when he saw the fae had one hand on Nimueh’s hair as if holding her in place. What chilled him most was the anticipation in the male’s expression, as if he was going to enjoy killing her the way another would enjoy a gourmet meal.

  “Hello, mortal,” said the fae. “Have you come for the show?”

  Chapter 4

  Fury rose like an incoming tide. Even in the dark, Dulac could see Nimueh’s features had gone sharp with fear. Somewhere along the line, she’d shed her high heels and her bare feet looked achingly vulnerable.

  “Let her go,” Dulac demanded.

  “No,” Nimueh cried, her voice cracking as she met his eyes. “Leave me. This is not your concern.”

  That just made him angrier. “You’ve always been my concern.” He took a step forward.

  “Don’t!” she shot back, her eyes widening until he saw white all around the iris. “It’s too dangerous. You don’t understand any of this.”

  “Who is this man?” the fae asked in a bored tone.

  Dulac took another step, calculating his odds.

  Instead of answering, she attempted to writhe out of her captor’s grip. Dulac closed the distance, but he wasn’t fast enough. In the time it took to get halfway there, the fae’s long fingers closed around Nimueh’s throat.

  Her attacker turned his head, the movement so graceful it was alien. The fae were elegant, long-boned and so slender they looked almost delicate. That was an illusion. They were tough as cockroaches.

  “Use your magic!” Dulac demanded. She should have reduced her attacker to a grease spot.

  She shook her head, struggling against her attacker’s grip.

  “She can’t use her power,” the fae said, sounding almost apologetic. “I bear the faery queen’s amulet.”

  Dulac caught sight of a star-shaped medallion at the fae’s throat. The last time he’d seen it, Morgan LaFaye herself had worn it, the ruby gem brilliant against her creamy white throat. LaFaye never bothered with mere trinkets, so no doubt the gem had magical properties.

  “Leave us, boy,” said the fae. “I am on the queen’s work.”

  He gathered up a fistful of Nimueh’s dyed black hair and used it to give her a cruel shake. She gave a moan of pain. The sound was too much. Dulac sprang forward, every instinct honed to protect.

  “Don’t be a fool!” Nimueh cried, her voice half-strangled.

  The fae raised a hand, releasing a thread of magic. Light twisted through the air, gone in a blink, but it hit Dulac squarely in the chest. A white-hot sunburst of pain dropped him to one knee. Every nerve blazed with electricity, numb and raging by turns. Dulac tried to stand, but nothing would obey. Still, he got his feet under him, forcing his muscles to push through agony.

  The creature’s lips drew back. It was impossible to say what the expression meant—it wasn’t laughter or fear or even contempt at Dulac’s struggle. Nevertheless, he let go of Nimueh. She shot forward, diving under her attacker’s arm.

  “Go!” Dulac ordered. “Get out of here.”

  But the fae was too quick, grabbing Nimueh’s ankle to trip her. As she stumbled, the fae grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her in a brutal grip. She lurched to her knees with a shriek of pain. The fae dug his other hand in her hair once more, wrenching her head back to expose her throat. “Make another move, and I will punish her. She’s already escaped me once, and I’m tired of hunting. I won’t let her go again.”

  Dulac pulled himself to his hands and knees, every limb trembling with the shock of magic. He had a sudden memory of deep green silk bedding, Nimueh’s long white hair spread across it, across his chest. He wanted that moment back so badly it hurt worse than anything the fae could conjure.

  “What shall I do with you, mortal?” asked the fae.

  In another being, the words might have
been sarcasm, but the fae made it a problem of logic. Dulac studied him as he dragged one knee forward, setting off a fresh burst of pain along his limbs. If he could just get to his feet—the fae seemed to favor his right side, as if his hip had been hurt. That meant vulnerability. He could use it.

  But the fae spotted his motion and flicked another spell his way. Dulac doubled over, too blinded by the hot fire in his core to even cry out—but his fingers clenched around the handle of the knife hidden beneath his coat.

  Dulac lifted his head, ignoring the sweat drenching his body. Despite the sensation of claws tearing his flesh, he staggered to his feet. “You will leave her in peace.”

  The fae’s expression hardened. “Don’t presume to order me, human. I am something new in your world.”

  Dulac’s vision swam, but he stood firm. “Where I’m from, the fae are old news.” The words nearly choked him when an unbidden rush of memory constricted his chest. The first fae he’d met had been Nimueh. She had made everything new. “The Lady of the Lake is mine.”

  “You, a mere human, know the lady’s true name?” A blink of those cat-green eyes—as close to surprise as the creature could likely get. “So who are you?”

  Dulac ignored the question, watching the enemy’s every breath. It would be like their kind to toy with a mortal only to crush them when they tired of the game. Still, neither fae looked away from Dulac, as if he was the one factor that could tip the balance of fate.

  “You must be one of Arthur’s knights,” the fae said slowly as he worked it out. “Are you the one called Lancelot? I heard the king has his champion wolf again.”

  Dulac frowned at the description. “And I heard your kind is skulking in the shadows. It seems our informants are correct.”

  “Not quite,” returned the fae. “I do not skulk. Tramar Lightborn simply takes what he wants.”

  Dulac had heard the name before. Before Merlin’s spell, Tramar had been a lord among the fae, famed for his wisdom and depth of learning. Was it possible this was the same man?