Her nipples brushed his chest, peaked and teasing. He put his hands over them, letting her feel the roughness of his palms.
Her eyes raked down him, knowledge blooming as she realized her power over his own condition. He was erect and full, throbbing with need for release. Her lashes swept down and up in an intrinsically female gesture. Nimueh liked what she saw, but wasn’t sure whether to take it.
“Trust me,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes, not quite agreement but not a refusal, either. More forceful now, he pushed her to the grass, making his own wants clear. He suckled her nipple and then blew on the wet tip, watching it harden with need. She pulled him down to the other, demanding equal treatment. He let her cradle his head as he worked, felt her nails against his scalp as waves of building desire raged through her. She moaned as he released the nipple and mounded both breasts in his broad hands, kneading until they were flushed and pink.
She fell back, stretching like a cat with speculative green eyes, and then rolled on all fours to display her gently rounded hips. It was a clear invitation. He caressed the smooth, taut muscles and spread her legs, glorying in her generous shape.
He mounted her, his concentration spinning away in the heat and wetness and tight, tight pleasure. Nimueh squirmed beneath him, uttering soft yearning cries that grew to screams as he hit his mark. Once he found her response, he was relentless, laying siege without mercy. He pushed faster and deeper, on and on, until Nimueh sent up a primal wail that wrenched a climax from his flesh.
Limb by slow limb, they collapsed into a heap, their bodies making a nest of sand and grass and sun. Dulac rolled to his back, making himself into a pillow for her head. He cupped her face and kissed her, losing track of time as they explored the moment. The sun beat down and the water lapped softly, putting all thoughts but Nimueh out of his head.
She crawled up his chest to look down into his eyes—and Lancelot had his reward. Her expression held a hint of laughter that sent explosions of joy through his soul. His Nimueh was there—shy, haughty, fiery and loving. Her full lips curved into a sly grin that held a promise of everything that was to come.
“Welcome back,” he murmured.
“I rescued you when you were locked in stone,” she said. “I think you just returned the favor.”
Maybe he had. He had called to her, and she’d come back to him. All of her was there, every emotion, every iota of her soul, and his heart pounded with the wonder of it.
* * *
“This isn’t Merlin’s kind of place,” said Nim. “For a start, the dishes are clean.”
“Too bad. I didn’t like the idea of you going to that diner he works from,” said Lancelot. “It’s in a bad part of town, and that’s just the humans. It’s not a big deal for him to come here.”
Lancelot guided her up the porch stairs, one protective hand on the small of her back. As soon as they opened the door, a heavenly aroma enveloped them.
Nim knew the place well. The Sunbeam Café shared a common wall with Mandala Books and was another heritage building with enough gingerbread trim and crown mouldings to make the house and garden types swoon. The day was still early, the temperature cool enough to indicate the heat wave had broken. Birds sang in the thick canopy of chestnut trees that lined the street, announcing all was well with the world.
Nim certainly hoped so. They’d returned from the Forest Sauvage only yesterday and she hadn’t checked in at the bookstore yet. She had to pick up the pieces of her life—the store, her condo and now her magic—but there was so much she still didn’t understand. She’d called Merlin, hoping he might have at least one of the answers.
Their feet echoed on the wooden floor of the café, cutting through the chatter of early morning customers. The interior was quaint but not frilly, boasting a glass bakery case stuffed with treats made on-site. The only jarring note was the scruffy sorcerer in the back corner.
The young barista had Nim’s coffee—large and black—ready by the time she reached the counter. However, she lingered over Lancelot’s, making sure he was aware of every possible brew and blushing at the mention of whipped cream.
The café was large enough for the back tables to be away from the foot traffic. Once Lancelot finally got his coffee, they sat down opposite Merlin, who was drinking a latte in a large blue travel mug spangled with moons and stars.
“I like this place,” Merlin said. “It makes me think of puppy dogs and fly fishing. Perhaps the odd cozy murder solved by grannies with spring-loaded knitting needles.”
“Too bad the owner is retiring,” said Lancelot drily. The two men hadn’t met for centuries, and it was clear there was little love lost between them. “You could have made it your new headquarters for trade in illegal charms.”
“Why, Dulac,” said Merlin with equal sarcasm. “How nice to see you again. Still get up early to make sure your teeth sparkle in the sunlight?”
Nim hadn’t come to listen to them bicker. She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I asked you here for a reason, Merlin. Why do I still have my soul?”
Lancelot leaned forward as well, the heat of his body a languorous warmth along her side. She put a hand on his thigh, needing to feel his strength. He had been right—the body held memory as well as the mind. Touching him reminded her of their interlude on the lakeshore.
Merlin cast them both an amused look. “Based on what I understand of events, I could say something impossibly lewd.”
“But you won’t,” said Lancelot dangerously.
Merlin sat back, making the ancient café chair creak. “Very well. Let’s review what we know. The fae and the witches were both damaged by the final spell cast in the demon wars. Both races lost most of their power and the souls of the fae were torn out down to the stumps.”
He related the facts as if by rote, but Nim could see the guilt behind the cool facade of his eyes. Merlin had been damaged, too, in ways he wouldn’t admit.
“The witches recovered in time, and eventually the fae got back their magical power,” Merlin continued. “But instead of regaining their emotions, the fae developed a taste for eating mortal souls.”
Nim winced. “Not everyone did.”
The enchanter ignored her interruption. “By your theory, possession of magical power prevents the fae from healing.”
Nim exchanged a glance with Lancelot, suddenly feeling as if she needed reassurance. Something in Merlin’s tone said he was winding up for a curve ball. “The longer I went without using magic,” she said, “the more emotion I regained. Then, once I unbound my powers, I lost the ability to feel.”
“But you already had a soul, or at least part of one,” Lancelot put in. “Tramar tried to steal it. And I don’t think you lost your emotions. Instead they were—I don’t know—buried somehow. Once you accessed them, they came back quickly. Both times.”
Nim frowned. He was correct, of course, but she wasn’t sure how the facts were connected.
“When did you first stop using your magic?” Merlin asked.
“When I went into hiding.”
“And when was that?”
“After I ran away from LaFaye.” Then Nim began to put it together. “The longer I was absent from her court, the more I got back. In fact, I’d been away from her for a while when I turned on Mordred. Then when I bound my powers...”
“You had just reconnected with me,” said Lancelot. “Being together and reclaiming old memories accelerated your healing.”
“And when I reactivated my powers, I’d just been in contact with LaFaye again. Whenever I’m near her, my emotions go away. Whenever I’m away from her, my emotions get stronger. When I’m with you, they’re fully back.”
“We had it all wrong. Healing has nothing to do with binding your power,” said Merlin. “And it has everything to do with being free to heal. And by that I mean free from LaFaye’s interference.”
They fell silent, thinking over the implications. Customers came and went. The til
l chimed as cash went in and foamy coffees were taken away. Finally, Lancelot made a noise of anger and disgust.
“LaFaye gains great power from the soul-hunger of the fae. That’s how she controls her soldiers. If she is keeping them from healing...” He broke off, clearly too angry to say more.
Nim’s stomach churned with outrage. “How can she do that to an entire people? My people. We were everything that was bright and good.”
“Ah,” said Merlin with a slow smile. “But you’ve taken her off the board for a time. Months. Maybe a year before she can break out of that castle of yours. We have some time to figure out how she keeps the fae from regaining their souls. Then we can stop her.”
Nim caught a breath. The café smelled of yeast and coffee, but there was something else in the air she hadn’t experienced for a very long time. Hope for the fae.
Merlin must have read her expression, because his smile broadened. “Yes, indeed. We thought the fae were destroyed forever. Now we know that’s not true. That puts us miles down the road to putting things right.” He lifted his starry mug in a triumphant toast.
A purposeful tread sounded on the floorboards behind Nim. She turned to see it was King Arthur, casually dressed and looking much recovered. They all rose to greet him, which drew a few curious stares. None of them cared. They might have been in a modern café, but he was still the King of Camelot.
He gestured for them to sit. The only seat left open was next to Merlin and, after a hesitation, Arthur took it. He looked from Nim to Lancelot, ignoring the sorcerer for a moment as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go of his dislike.
“I’m glad to see you well, my lord,” said Lancelot. “What brings you here?”
“Gawain told me to come,” Arthur said, sounding slightly annoyed. “It seems there was a great deal going on behind my back the last few days, although nobody seems able to find that demon. He still has my sword.”
“All the backroom chatter was necessary,” said Nim. “There were details around LaFaye’s contest that needed to be tied up while you were recovering.”
It occurred to her that, since Camelot had won, Arthur got to pick a prize. She wanted to ask what that would be, but didn’t get the chance.
“Yes, yes, tying up details. Like Morgan herself.” Arthur chuckled at that. “That was positively brilliant.”
“I hope now you approve of the Lady of the Lake,” Lancelot said, arching an eyebrow. “You’re not regretting the opportunity to hand her over to the Queen of Faery.”
“That’s not a jesting matter.” The words were grave, but Arthur’s face lit up as he reached across the table, slapping Lancelot’s shoulder. “By the way, I’m sorry for fighting you in a death match. By all the saints, no one swings a blade like you.”
“Thanks for sparing my life,” Lancelot said drily.
“Don’t make me regret it.”
They laughed, and everything was fine between him and the king. Nim knew it was sincerely meant, and also knew families were bound to argue and mend fences over and over again. The important point was to keep the fight their own and not the tool of troublemakers like LaFaye.
“I was the one who asked Gawain to ask you to come here,” said Merlin, breaking into the moment. He didn’t need to say that if he’d asked directly, there was a good chance Arthur wouldn’t come.
Arthur turned to face him. The gesture was stiff, as if it was the last thing he wanted to do. Nevertheless, his words were polite. “What can I do for you, Merlin?”
“I got in touch with Tenebrius.” Merlin reached under the table and slid something from the floor.
Nim felt her heart skip as he set Excalibur on the table. Without thinking, she reached for it, wrapping her fingers around the hilt. She’d enchanted the sword and given it to Arthur long ago, so long that she barely remembered the event. And yet she recalled Excalibur’s essence—the coolness of the lake and the purity of her solitary, scholarly magic. It was a razor, neat and deadly. And yet, as her magic probed the weapon, she could tell there were changes, too. The boisterous, colorful chaos of Camelot had left its mark, and its thirst for justice. Arthur had made Excalibur his own, and that was how it should be. She withdrew her hand, letting it go.
Arthur was staring at the sword, a stricken expression in his eyes. The look was over in a moment, the regal mask back in place almost before Nim had seen it slip. Arthur slid the sword to his side as if reclaiming a child. “I owe you my thanks,” he said to Merlin.
“It was the least I could do,” said the enchanter.
“I had an inkling that you were still alive, but I wondered if our paths would cross. I wondered also whether I wanted them to.”
Merlin listened without any change in expression. “And now?”
“I’m glad of it,” said Arthur.
“Consider this my down payment on earning forgiveness,” said Merlin. “Then perhaps you will see me again someday in Camelot.”
Chapter 30
It was some time before Nim saw either Merlin or the king again. She’d spent most of her days at Mandala Books, picking up the threads of her business and planning what to do next. Although she’d decided to sell the condo and move in with Lancelot, she still had the store to consider. She loved the customers, the staff and the place itself. If Camelot was a family, so was Mandala.
And Nim wanted it to thrive. When Antonia returned from her honeymoon, Nim was going to ask her to take charge of the store itself, just as Nim had planned when she’d meant to leave town. Nim would remain the principal investor, but she knew that Camelot would inevitably take up most of her attention.
In return, Antonia promised to keep what she knew of their involvement in Susan’s rescue a secret. There had been an investigation of the fire, but no traces of the fae had been found. For all her faults, Morgan had tidied up any clues that the police might have found. As for Susan, she remembered nothing but waking in the hospital, though Nim suspected she had memories buried deep inside. Those would take time to resolve, and Nim would keep an eye on the girl to help however she could. On the positive side, Susan was physically well.
Nim was expecting her when the front door swung open. Susan’s red hair was loose and her violin case dangled from one hand. The young woman got halfway across the room before she stopped cold. “Goodness, I can’t get over how amazing your hair looks now.”
Self-conscious, Nim touched the coiled braid she had pinned to the crown of her head. She was still getting used to showing the world her true face. “Just trying something new.”
Susan came to the counter for a hug. “There are lots of new things going on. What’s this I hear about an expansion?”
“It’s happening.”
The conversation paused while they surveyed the store. It was closed for the week, the stock moved out of the main room and all the shelves pushed aside and covered with builder’s plastic. There was no question something was afoot.
Nim nodded to the case in Susan’s hand. “You brought your instrument. Good. There are workers coming in today who will appreciate some musical encouragement.”
Susan leaned against the counter, interest lightening the haunted look that still shadowed her eyes. “Encouragement how?”
“We’re about to become a combination bookstore and café. I thought we could have a bit of a demolition party for the back wall of the store.”
“You want me to play for a bunch of construction guys?”
“They’re very special guys.”
“Are you trying to set me up?”
“Do you want to be set up?”
Susan gave a lopsided smile. “Let’s see what you have on offer.”
Nim grinned. “You won’t be disappointed.”
It wasn’t long before they arrived. Beaumains, Percival, Owen and Palomedes came with tool kits and lumber. Gawain came with snacks and Tamsin with a first aid kit. Arthur drove up a few minutes later, wisely bringing a contractor who actually knew how to open a doorway between th
e coffee shop and the bookstore without making either place fall down. Within minutes, there was noisy, happy mayhem as everyone gave advice.
Lancelot arrived last. “I stopped by Merlin’s old haunt to let him know this project is going ahead. He already knew, of course. I think he’s pleased.”
It was hard to tell with Merlin. He never had told Nim what he wanted as a future favor for restoring her magic. Nor had he told her what he meant to do with the jewel she’d taken from LaFaye’s assassin. All he would say was that he had a personal project on the go. For some reason, that made Nim nervous. “Well, it’s up to him if he’s pleased or not. I just wanted to extend a welcome to hang out next door instead of that disgusting diner.”
Lancelot slid his arm around her, pulling her close. They stood behind the service desk, crowded out by the sheer number of willing helpers. The contractor was doing a fine job of channeling the testosterone-laden energy into useful channels. Knocking out the wall would take no time at all.
On the other hand, Susan hadn’t had a chance to play a single tune yet. Too many of the knights had discovered the pretty redhead in their midst—and that had been Nim’s plan from the start. The knights were under strict orders to be perfect gentlemen, and if an afternoon of harmless fun could lift the shadows from Susan’s spirit, they would make it happen.
Someone set down a stack of lumber with a rattling crash.
“How does it feel to be part of the Round Table?” said Lancelot, raising his voice to be heard. “You won their hearts at the contest. Now they’ll be underfoot forever.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “Also, noisy.”
But it was more than wonderful. Once admitted to the fold, she had inherited a herd of fractious, argumentative, back-slapping, puppylike brothers. She adored every one of them.
“What’s your contribution to the afternoon’s work?” Nim asked him with a sidelong look.
“They don’t need one more man with a sledgehammer,” said Lancelot. “And I seem to remember your manager’s new husband is a carpenter with a knack for building shelves, so I don’t need to do that, either.”
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