Master of Swords (5 page)

The Liege of the Magi raised his voice in a parade ground bark as he reached for the sword hanging at his side. “Magi, present arms!” Drawing Excalibur from its scabbard, he lifted the great blade skyward. Next to Lark, Galahad drew his sword as the other Magi did the same.

“Majae!” Morgana shouted, raising her ringed hands. “Join with me in sending our lost heroes home!”

Lark sent a wave of magic at the biers, her spell blending with those the other women fired. The biers began to glow under the building enchantment, shining brighter and brighter until they merged into a white-hot ball of light. Abruptly the ball shot upward like a rocket to detonate far overhead in an explosion of dancing sparks.

Lark watched the magic fade with aching eyes. Beside her, Caroline sniffed loudly.

“Now, put aside your grief and listen,” Arthur said as he stepped into the vacant space where the biers had stood, broad-shouldered and grim in his embroidered black doublet and hose. His black boots rang on the stone as he slid Excalibur back into its scabbard. The other vampires followed suit, swords rattling.

Lifting his dark head, Arthur scanned the silent crowd. “Each of those we lost had been members of the Magekind less than ten years. Heed me well—I will lose no more of my children!”

He paused, letting the silence build. No one in the crowd so much as coughed. Satisfied that they were taking him seriously, Arthur continued, “The councils have met, and it is decided. The most experienced Magekind will be paired with our newest recruits. The veterans' responsibility is to assist them in combat and ensure they have the skills needed to survive while we all hunt the last grail. And lest there is any doubt—these assignments are not a topic for debate.” He looked at his half sister. “Morgana.”

“Yes, Arthur.” She threw her arms skyward and closed her eyes. Light burst from her fingertips. Far above the square, glowing slips of paper began to float downward like leaves.

By instinct, Lark put a hand out. One of the sheets landed in her palm, and she curled her fingers around it.

“Good luck,” Caroline said in her ear, as the spell took her by the hand and began gently to tug. Lark followed the magical pull as, around her, other Magekind began to mill around doing the same.

 

Arms folded, Gawain
watched as young members of the Magekind sought out their new guardians. “Great,” he said to Bors, who was also one of the original Round Table knights. “We're both going to end up baby-sitting grass-green rookies who don't know hilt from blade. Dammit, Arthur…”

“Yes, well, I'd advise you not to give him a hard time about it,” Bors drawled. “I don't think he's in the mood.”

“I noticed.” Gawain recognized the warning signs in his liege's clipped speech as well as anyone. Sometimes Arthur was open to suggestion, and sometimes you damn well took orders and kept your mouth shut. Otherwise, you caught the flaming edge of that Pendragon temper—if you were lucky. If you weren't, he carried a grudge. And Arthur could carry a grudge for a long, long time. He'd only recently forgiven Lancelot for his one night with Gwen sixteen hundred years before.

“Either way, we're going to have our work cut out for us with this lot.” Gawain's gaze lingered on a young Magus who walked through the crowd with a particularly bewildered expression. “The last couple of generations have gotten soft. Too much television and riding in cars.”

“Not all of them.” Pain tightened Bors's face.

Gawain winced, silently cursing himself for his unthinking comment. “Anything new from Richard?”

Richard Edge was Bors's son with Meredith Edge, a Maja who'd been the knight's lover. Despite the brief relationship, Bors had helped raise Richard in Avalon until the boy's growing violent streak had forced his banishment to mortal Earth.

Bors shook his dark head. “I haven't spoken to my son in twenty-six years. His mother and I were afraid he'd start killing people, but as far as I can tell, he's done nothing but study magic.”

“On mortal Earth?” Kel asked from his scabbard. “He's not going to have much luck with it there.” Magic did not work well on humanity's home, and mortals had not evolved to use it. It took intervention by someone like Merlin or Geirolf to give a human the ability to work magic.

“Maybe,” Bors said grimly. “The problem is, he disappeared a year ago. Meredith was unable to track him. After she died fighting Geirolf's cult, I had Morgana search for him, but she had no luck either. It was as if he'd vanished right off the planet.”

Gawain frowned. “He could be dead.”

“Maybe.” Bors expression was grim. “But I don't like it at all.”

As his friend brooded, Gawain rocked back on his heels to watch the new Magekind wander around with their enchanted slips of paper.

A slim brunette attracted his attention. She was petite, nearly a foot shorter than he was, but her body was lushly curved. Her dark hair slid to the small of her back in a fall of silk, and her eyes were huge and brown.

“Look, somebody's gone and recruited a Playboy bunny,” he joked, hoping to distract Bors from painful memories. He slipped into a mocking singsong. “‘Hi, my name is Bambi, and I'm barely legal. I love puppies and kitties and throwing flaming balls of death at my enemies.'”

Bors chuckled.

Kel spoke from his scabbard. “She's also Tristan's great-granddaughter.” He always knew those things.

“Yeah? Wonder if he's protective?” Gawain eyed her, still tempted. She might be worth getting on Tristan's bad side…

Bors snorted. “We're talking about Tristan here. He thinks women are only good for one thing, and since she's his lineage, this one wouldn't even be good for that.” He looked skyward, attention caught by the slip of paper whirling toward them as if laser-guided. “Hell. I knew this was coming.”

Sure enough, the slip disappeared right into the center of Bors's chest. He grimaced. “Ah, shit. I was hoping for some pretty Maja.”

Sure enough, a tattooed young male stepped out of the crowd with a noticeable swagger. “Sir Bors?”

“That's me, kid,” Bors looked him over. “Come on. I don't suppose you know how to fight?”

“Well, yeah. Like, you bet your ass.”

“Uh huh.” The knight sounded resigned. “Let's go.”

Poor Bors,
Kel said in their link.
Not only does he not get free pussy, he has to ride herd on a cocky little schmuck.
Like Arthur, the dragon loved using mortal slang.

Gawain chuckled as the two men walked off. His attention returned to the pretty brunette. She paused a few feet away, apparently too focused on her task to realize she was being watched. He inhaled, trying to sample her scent without being too obvious about it. She smelled richly sexy to his vampire senses, but there was no male scent lingering on her skin. Probably unattached then.

Just the way he liked them.

As he'd known it would, the Desire woke, sending a wave of hunger through his blood. His fangs began to ache, and an urgent heat spun into his balls. He wasn't surprised. He hadn't fed in a couple of days—he'd been busy helping Gwen and Arthur find the second grail last night, and he'd spent the night before that rescuing the girl. Between them, he and Kel had used a great deal of magic. His body needed a woman, needed her blood and the sweet, erotic burn of her climax pumping magic back into him. Now.

Unfortunately, the one he had his eye on now would probably end up with whoever her assignment was.

As if on cue, her dark eyes widened, startled, as the piece of paper suddenly flew from her hand. Before Gawain could react, it zipped toward him and disappeared right into the center of his chest.

This one's yours, Gawain,
Morgana's voice said clearly in his mind.
Don't get her killed, and try not to inflict more psychological damage than you can help.

The girl blinked those doe eyes up at him.

“Umm. Hello.” She paused and cleared her throat. “I'm Lark McGuin.” Her voice held a hint of a sexy drawl, rich and smoky and as southern as Kentucky bourbon. She offered her hand for a handshake, and he took it. Her long fingers felt fragile and warm in his. “I guess you'll be my…mentor?”

“Apparently. I'm Gawain.” She looked startled—at least she'd heard of him. He reached up to tap the hilt of the dragon sword sheathed across his back. “This is my partner, Kel.”

The dragon extended his long neck and cocked his head, studying Lark with jeweled eyes. “My pleasure.”

“It's an honor.” To her credit, she spoke directly to Kel. New Maja tended to ignore him as if he were nothing but the sword he appeared to be. “Lord Tristan is my great-grandfather, and my grandfather loved telling stories about the Round Table.” Turning her attention to Gawain again, she cleared her throat, visibly uncomfortable. “So what do we do now?”

Gawain suspected his smile was more than a little suggestive. “What would you like to do?”

Unease flickered in that chocolate gaze, and she shrugged. “Whatever you think best.”

He frowned. Was there a hint of fear in her scent? No, he must be mistaken. Why would she fear him?

Lark followed Gawain's
broad back through the crowd. He was almost as outrageously handsome as Tristan, though his face was a bit more rough-hewn and angular. Blond brows matched the neat Van Dyke beard framing his mouth and the thick blond hair that lay around his broad shoulders. An embroidered tunic covered the kind of muscular chest that was only built by swinging a broadsword, and his dark hose clung to a pair of powerful horseman's thighs. Gleaming black boots sheathed his legs to the shin, adorned by a pair of golden spurs—the symbol of knighthood.

Lark would have thoroughly enjoyed the view, if not for the sensual hunger glinting in Gawain's green eyes. After her run-in with Fangface the Sorcerer, she wanted to avoid vampires for a while.

That, however, wasn't really possible. Thanks to Merlin, Magi and Majae enjoyed a symbiotic relationship—the vampires needed to drink the witches' blood, and the witches needed to donate it. Otherwise, a Magus would starve, while a Maja's blood pressure could spike so high, she'd suffer a stroke.

Fortunately, you could bottle your donations, which is what Lark had been doing. She hadn't had time to look for a lover since becoming a Maja, since she'd either been out on missions or training with Diera and Tristan.

Come to think of it, Fangface had been only the second vampire who'd ever bitten her.

Lark's hands curled into fists. Presumably Gawain wouldn't tear into her with Fangface's viciousness—she'd actually enjoyed Dominic Bonnhome's vampire lovemaking, after all. Still, just the thought of it made her break out in a cold sweat.

I'm so not ready for this
.

But if she admitted she was afraid, Gawain would think her a coward. She'd grown up listening to firefighters joke about gutless rookies. She was damned if she was going to become the butt of that kind of joke.

John would be mortified.

Daytona Beach, Florida

Richard Edge had
a hard-on. Cloaked in an invisibility spell, he leaned against the cream break face of the Breakers Shopping Mall and watched a slender, dark-haired woman walk through the automatic doors. It was late, after eleven. She must have caught the late movie at the mall cinema.

She was pretty enough, he decided, with big dark eyes and a full mouth, but she was older than he liked them. Richard's taste ran to coeds, preferably blondes or redheads.

Apparently, though, she was perfect for Jimmy Jones.

He could smell Jimmy's arousal, could sense the vicious anticipation radiating from the sorcerer as he waited a few feet away, cloaked in an invisibility spell of his own. Unlike Richard, he hadn't attempted to conceal himself from magical senses.

But then, he hadn't known anyone with magical senses was on his trail.

As the woman started across the parking lot toward her car, Richard felt Jimmy trail after her. Inhaling, he detected the metallic tang of a weapon on the wind. No scent of gunpowder, though. Probably a knife.

Jimmy liked to do his killing the old-fashioned way.

Richard licked his lips and felt his erection stiffen even more as he watched her walk away. The mall doors opened again, releasing a trio of teenager boys whooping about the movie they'd just seen, but he ignored them, completely focused on the woman and her invisible stalker.

For a moment, he imagined what his father would do if he were here. Bors would take the little fuck's head before he even knew what hit him. Personally, Richard favored cutting out the heart. Slowly. Gave him more time to enjoy it.

Smiling darkly, he started after the two. As the woman reached her Windstar, he broke into a run, his spell-silenced feet making no sound on the parking lot blacktop.

The woman walked around the van to the passenger door, one hand dipping into her purse for her keys. Apparently unable to find them, she paused to dig around, her attention on the handbag's contents.

Just as she looked down, Jimmy dropped the invisibility spell. He was a skinny little bastard, dressed in the gaudy crimson robes Geirolf's followers favored. The knife he held in one fist gleamed almost as cold as his soulless blue eyes. A lunatic grin of anticipation curved his narrow mouth.

The woman looked up from her purse, saw him, and screamed, the sound so pure and piercing with terror, Richard's cock twitched against the fly of his jeans.

Jimmy lunged for her, wrapping one wiry arm around her throat as he pressed the knife between her ribs. “Shut up, bitch!”

As she froze in terror, Jimmy lifted his head and chanted a quick spell. A dimensional gate popped into existence, and he began dragging the woman toward it. At that, she screamed again and tried to pull back, but he lifted her right off her feet and stepped through.

The instant before the gate vanished, Richard sent a spell of his own into it. As his magic showed him the killer's destination, he smiled in pleasure. They wouldn't be hard to follow at all.

Running footsteps snapped his head around. The three teenage boys who raced up, their eyes wide and white in dark faces. “Where'd she go, man?” the taller of the trio asked the others. The van had apparently blocked their view of the abduction.

“He must have dragged her off. I'm calling nine-one-one.” The heavyset one pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

Waste of time, boys,
Richard thought, as he turned away, still comfortably invisible.

Spotting a bar across the street, he strolled toward it. He figured he had a couple of hours to kill before Jimmy would be ready for him.

 

By the time
they arrived at Gawain's home, Lark was pretty sure she was going to have her hands full.

He was, without question, the most seductive man she'd ever met. Even her vampire lover Dominic hadn't projected raw sex the way Gawain did.

He wasn't overt about it. No oily winks or leers or “You know you want it, baby” double-entendres. He just…looked at her. Not lecherously, as if picturing her naked, but with a steady, focused interest in those leaf-green eyes.

He asked her about her life and how she'd become a Maja, and he listened to the answers as if he actually cared what she had to say. Too many of the men she'd dated had made conversation as if just killing time until they could get her into bed.

Then again, they hadn't spent the past sixteen hundred years seducing women for a living.

Even the man's house was sensual. Three stories of elegant white stone, with high, curving walls and wrought-iron balconies, it was somehow medieval and modern at once. An interior courtyard hosted a tinkling fountain surrounded by a lush jungle of flowers, ornamental bushes, and cherry trees. Roses and orchids bloomed side by side—a neat bit of magic, that—scenting the air with their lush perfume.

The house's decor was just as striking. The furniture was starkly masculine, running toward big, sturdy pieces in cherry or walnut. No fussy French antiques for Gawain; he was definitely a massive leather couch kind of guy. Tapestries and paintings with medieval themes kept the place from looking too grim, providing splashes of bright color, while suits of ornate armor gleamed in corners.

Two of the three stories hosted fieldstone fireplaces big enough to barbecue an ox. The ground floor was a single huge room obviously designed for combat practice, while the second floor held a living room, a library, and a well-equipped kitchen. Four bedrooms and a modern office complete with computer occupied the third floor.

By the time they'd finished the tour, Lark was feeling completely out of her depth. She kept picturing her grandparents' home, with its kitschy firefighter figurines.

She was definitely not in Georgia anymore.

“Hey,” Gawain said, interrupting her attack of insecurity, “you hungry?”

As if responding to the suggestion, her stomach growled.

Gawain gave her a cheerful grin. “I'll take that as a yes.”

 

“
You put too
much garlic in that.” Kel had partially un-curled himself from the sword in order to brace his forelegs on Gawain's shoulder. Tiny head cocked, he watched his partner minister to the pot of spaghetti sauce that bubbled on the gleaming stainless-steel stove.

“I did not. Emeril called for a teaspoon and a half of garlic, and that's exactly how much I added.” He gave the pot a stir, tendons shifting in his brawny forearm.

Kel had transformed Gawain's court mourning outfit into a navy blue T-shirt that clung to his powerful chest, and a pair of well-worn jeans that hugged his butt each time he shifted his weight.

Fangface was becoming a distant memory.

“I'm telling you, it's got too much garlic.”

“How the hell would you know?” Gawain stopped stirring to glare down at his tiny partner. “You don't eat.”

“No, but I can smell just fine. And it needs more oregano.”

“It does
not
need any more oregano.”

“Ask Lark. She's the one who has to eat it.”

“You're a pain in the ass, you know that?” Shaking his head, he turned to Lark and presented the spoon to her lips. “Tell Geico here he's nuts.”

Battling a giggle, she leaned forward, blew on the spoon, and took a bite. Her eyes widened as the taste exploded on her tongue. “Damn, that's good! Rich, meaty…” She broke off, abruptly conscious of the heated green eyes staring down into hers.

“Let me see.” Gawain lowered his head and gently took her mouth.

For an ambush kiss, it was astonishingly sweet. His tongue slid between her lips just once in a slow, seductive stroke. He tasted like wintergreen toothpaste and masculinity.

Lark gasped, forgetting her unease as she let herself lean into him. He felt as delicious as he tasted, all intriguing muscle and delightful vampire warmth.

Seconds spun dizzily by before he lifted his head. His gaze on her mouth, he licked his lips and gave her a slow smile. “Needs oregano.”

“Told you!” the dragon crowed as Gawain turned back to the pot.

Lark leaned a hip against the counter and tried to catch her breath. “Damn,” she muttered, “you're good.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. There it was again—that flashing, breathtaking male smile. “I've had a very long time to practice.”

And you can practice on me anytime,
purred her libido. Her new vampire phobia squeaked a protest.

She tried to ignore it.

 

At Gawain's urging,
Lark carried her plate into the living room. He followed with a pair of wineglasses and a bottle of a very fine red wine. Blood, apparently, was not all vampires drank.

As she sat down, he shrugged off Kel's scabbard and laid it across the stone coffee table before settling down next to her. Close, but not too much so.

Yep, this was definitely the setup for a seduction, she thought, eyeing the leaping fire. Which would be just fine—if she hadn't known he intended to bite her.

Fangface's ghost was back again, bloody canines and all.

Restlessly, Lark scooped up the roll he'd made and bit into it. It was crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, buttery, flavored with just enough garlic.

And she damned near didn't get it down.

Everything about this scene is perfect.
Grimly, she forced another mouthful.
Except me.
She made herself take a bite of the spaghetti—again, delicious, if only she could swallow past the knot in her throat—and chased it with the wine.

“I told you, you put too much garlic,” Kel announced from the table. “She's just playing with it.”

“Maybe I did at that.” Gawain studied her, a faint frown between his blond brows.

“No, really, it's wonderful,” Lark protested. “I'm just…not that hungry.”

His eyes shuttered. “Ah.”

Bloody hell. Suddenly she remembered her grandfather tossing her into the deep end of the pool when she was thirteen.
Kid, you think too much
, he'd told her.
Sometimes it's better if you just jump in.

Suddenly determined, Lark put the glass down on the table with a clink. “But now that you mention it, there's something else I am hungry for.”

 

One minute, Gawain
was watching his new apprentice pick at her dinner. The next, he had a lapful of warm woman sitting right on top of his erection. His cock, though frustrated by a zipper and two layers of denim, took this as a good sign. He'd been hard since he'd kissed her.

Lark's mouth swooped down over his for a kiss that made his toes curl in his cowboy boots.

And we have liftoff!
Kel made the hissing sound Gawain had come to translate as a Draconian snicker.
And on that note, I'm going to bed. Looks like you've got it all well in hand
.

The sizzle of background magic that was Kel's consciousness went silent. The dragon never liked sharing minds while Gawain made love; it reminded him of how much he'd lost.

Lark, meanwhile, seemed intent on probing Gawain's mouth with her clever little tongue. Her lips moved over his, sweet and soft and demanding. Every nerve ending he had hummed approval.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice asked,
Where the hell did this come from?

He told it to shut up. This was one gift horse he had no intention of looking in the mouth.

His hands discovered her little backside and found it perfect in those snug black jeans. Rounded cheeks just wide enough to comfortably fill his grip, long legs gripping his thighs with promising enthusiasm.

And Merlin's balls, that mouth. Tasting faintly of Emeril's spaghetti sauce, soft and teasing and just skilled enough. His cock throbbed longingly behind his zipper. His fangs twinged.

Her stroking tongue discovered one of the sharp points, hesitated, then thrust past it. Gawain groaned into her mouth.

The Desire roared to full force, demanding he sink himself into her and drive her to a white-hot orgasm. He slid a hand under the hem of her silky top, touched warm skin, and groaned in need.