Master of Valor (Merlin's Legacy 2)

by Angela Knight

  “The others are chasing them, but I had a feeling you needed help.” The knight knelt on Duncan’s other side, grimacing as he got a look. “Yeah, that’s not good.” He raised his voice, trying to rouse the unconscious man. “Come on, kid. You know how to do this. I taught you myself. Shift to wolf form, Duncan. Duncan, damn it, boy…”

  His pulse was weakening under her fingers. Desperate, she grabbed for the Mageverse even as her skull screamed and sent power rolling into his poor battered head, trying to establish a psychic link she could use to drag him back to consciousness. And found nothing for so long, she wanted to scream in grief and fear. Until… There you are!

  A ghostly hint of Duncan. But weak, far too weak. Masara threw herself wide to the burning lake that was the Mageverse and pumped its power into him, spinning a web of magic around him to support and strengthen his life.

  As if from a great distance, she heard his mental voice through the link she was weaving between them. Masara? It sounded so horribly faint.

  Dragging more power from the Mageverse, she fed it to him, working to pull him to full consciousness. Duncan, come back to me! I need you! She infused the demand with every bit of power she had, showing him the truth of it, the desperation.

  Which was when she realized she meant every imploring word. When did he get to me like this? But she had no time to spare for the thought. All that mattered was saving Duncan.

  Teeth gritted, she wrapped herself around that guttering spark of him, infused his mind with her magic, her will, her spirit, ignoring the burn of pain that warned she was pushing her power too far. COME BACK!

  His eyes flew wide, and he jerked convulsively, his mind bursting through into full consciousness. Disorientation and pain triggered a flashback: Smoke whirled around him as a wall of hurricane force blasted him off his feet… “My legs!”

  “Your legs are fine,” Masara soothed. “They healed. Now you need to shift and heal this. You have severe head trauma.”

  He stared at her from eyes swollen half closed in a mask of blood, and she felt his bewilderment through their new link. “I’m… werewolf… now?” Given that he’d only recently turned into a vampire, she supposed it wasn’t a ridiculous question.

  “Different kind of wolf,” Tristan told him. “Damn, you did get your bell rung. I covered this in class, remember? We use our transformations to heal. Watch…”

  Magic exploded in a silent fireworks display, and a huge wolf sat where Tristan had been. Given his golden coat, he could have been mistaken for a dog if not for his distinctly lupine muzzle and jungle-green eyes. Not to mention the fact that he weighed every bit of two hundred pounds, though that no longer seemed quite as huge after the fight with the rogues.

  “See? All you have to do is shift and your injuries will heal,” Masara told Duncan.

  “Oh…” But he looked vague, uncomprehending. Tristan was right, he wasn’t tracking at all. She was going to have to help, though a brain injury so severe was beyond her healing abilities. Duncan had to do it himself.

  Masara reached out and caught his face between her palms, ignoring the sticky, drying blood that covered his skin. Drawing furiously on the Mageverse -- it felt like inhaling fire because she’d used so much magic today -- she sent power pouring into him, strengthening the bond. Getting too close to a Truebond… And that psychic union of souls could not be broken.

  She didn’t care. Whatever it took. “Shift!” Masara put as much battleground bark into the command as she could. He was a Marine. Maybe spinal reflex would move him if nothing else did.

  It worked. His face jerked between her hands, magic surging through him as he fought to obey… but the spell collapsed a minute later, leaving him lying there, bloody and dazed. Please, Lord God, help him… Help me. She grabbed for all the power she could command and sent it blazing into him. So much magic, it felt as if her brain would burst into flame…

  Magic exploded between her palms, and she gasped, momentarily blinded. When she could see again, a big brown wolf lay on the pavement with his furry head between her hands and all four legs in the air. He yelped and rolled to his feet, his muzzle swinging as he looked wildly around. His blue eyes looked even bluer against his dark fur.

  Where’d the werewolves go?

  She heard the thought as clearly as if he’d spoken it aloud. Yeah, she’d definitely come a little too close to creating a Truebond. But he was healed and in one piece, and that was all she really cared about. Wrapping both arms around him, Masara buried her face in his thick fur. Her head throbbed viciously with the movement, but she barely noticed in her relief. “Sweet Lord, don’t do that to me again.”

  He drew back, and she could feel how stripped naked and raw he felt. She suddenly realized the cocky persona that often irritated the daylights out of her was nothing but a mask. I’m sorry I messed up.

  “You’re still alive. That’s all that matters.”

  He examined her, seeing more than she was entirely comfortable with. You didn’t mess up either.

  I almost got you killed, she argued.

  I almost got me killed.

  Which amounts to the same thing, since it’s my job to keep you alive. Aloud she said, “Shift back. You need opposable thumbs and a larynx. I hear the Knights of the Round Table coming back.”

  She felt him reach for his magic, felt the strain of his effort… And nothing happened. Oh God, am I stuck this way?

  She sighed and buried her fingers in his thick fur. “Don’t let it bother you. It’s never easy to work magic on Mortal Earth, and we’ve been doing a lot of it tonight. We’ll gate back to the Mageverse and you can shift there.”

  “Hey, are you okay?” Walker padded toward them at Belle’s side, still in Dire Wolf form and wearing the armor she’d created for him. He’d gotten almost as beaten up as Duncan, based on the gashes cutting across the blood-spattered scale.

  “Fine, now.” It wasn’t quite a lie. “Are you all right?”

  “Thanks to your armor. Without it, I’d have been meaty chunks. Thanks.” He grinned, flashing more teeth than a sea monster.

  Masara smiled wearily. “You’re welcome.”

  “But, ah… can we get rid of it now? Because I’m not sure how to take it off, and whatever you’re wearing when you shift, you’ll wear when you change to that form the next time. And, well…”

  Masara winced as her head gave a warning throb. “Ah.”

  Apparently reading her expression, Belle flicked her fingers and the werewolf’s armor vanished. He gave her a very toothy smile. “Thanks.” His own magic flared around him in a rain of sparks, and he was back in human form. Eyeing Duncan, Walker sniffed the air and blinked in startled recognition at his scent. “Wow, you really can shift.”

  Duncan barked -- and instantly looked so confused, Walker laughed. “Dude, no human vocal cords in that form.”

  Masara gave his thick fur a stroke and climbed to her feet, wincing as strained muscles protested. “I gather the werewolves got away.”

  “Unfortunately.” Walker grimaced.

  “One minute they were crashing through the woods ahead of us,” Belle said. “The next they were just gone. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they cast a dimensional gate.”

  Masara frowned. “Could they have cast a dimensional gate?”

  “We don’t work magic,” Walker reminded her.

  “Warlock did,” she said, referring to the Direkind’s immortal sorcerer. “So do his daughter Miranda and her husband Justice. It’s possible, it just takes a lot of genetic tinkering.”

  Belle shook her head. “I didn’t sense any magic. At all.”

  Walker grunted. “Thank God for small favors. There’s something seriously wrong with that pair. I’ve never seen Direkind that size, and they sliced into armor my claws wouldn’t have been able to cut. I think it’s time for a long talk with the Wolf Sheriff. He’d know about this crap if anybody does.” He looked around, spotted the pack of evidence lying on the ground next t
o his car, and ran to recover it. Anxiously, he unzipped it and sighed in relief. “Ah, good. Still got the evidence. I was afraid I’d lost it when that big bastard hit me.”

  Masara frowned. The Wolf Sheriff was the enforcer for the Council of Clans, the werewolf governing body. Walker was probably right. “When will you be able to talk to him?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s hunting a werewolf serial killer in California right now, which is why he isn’t here running this case.”

  “If you need me to talk to him about what I found, I’ll be happy to,” Masara told him.

  “I’ll probably take you up on that.” He thumbed his key fob, and the SUV’s headlights flashed.

  As he got in, Masara turned to Belle and Tristan. “What’s the plan?”

  “I think Arthur and Morgana intend to search for our furry friends a little longer.” Belle gave her a long look. “As for you two, you need to get back to the Mageverse. You’re running on fumes.”

  Masara sighed. “Yes, that would probably be best.” Duncan looked up at her, and she realized she was resting one hand on the top of his big head. I’m treating him like a dog. She lifted her hand, but he settled one furry shoulder against her thigh. And for a moment, she felt his mind through the link. Felt the loneliness he was so damned good at hiding, the pain he worked so hard to ignore. She found herself stroking his thick fur again.

  When she looked up, Belle and Tristan were watching her. The Knight’s expression was knowing, while Belle looked weirdly pleased. “You did a good job today,” her friend said.

  “Thank you.” The words sounded more clipped than she’d intended.

  Belle must’ve read something she didn’t like in Masara’s expression, because she frowned. “Nobody died, Masara.”

  “And that includes the people we wanted to kill.”

  “There are two of them and ten thousand of us, plus a whole lot of werewolves,” Tristan told her. “We’ll get them.”

  “In the meantime, go feed your apprentice,” Belle suggested. “He looks dead on his feet.”

  She glanced down to see Duncan staring up at her, his eyes longing. She could feel his craving vibrating through the link -- a need not only for her blood, but for her body. Her touch.

  And all he expected to get was a glass.

  I want him. The thought hit her like a thunderclap. She’d resisted that sensual hunger for months, wary of stirring old, bleak memories. But that was before she’d touched Duncan’s mind, felt his courage and determination to be worthy of his miraculous second chance. I’m tired of denying us both.

  His eyes widened as he read the thought through the link. Which was, she realized, entirely too active right now. His plumed tail wagged back and forth once, then stopped when he saw her looking at it.

  “Debrief in the morning,” Belle said.

  “Yes, of course.” As Masara started to reach for the dregs of her magic, the hot pinpoint of a gate appeared and dilated. She shot Belle a grateful smile over her shoulder, knowing her friend was responsible. “Thanks for the ride home.”

  “Go,” Belle said firmly. “Sleep.”

  Smiling a little, Masara stepped through the gate, Duncan by her side, still four-legged. The minute they crossed over into the living room, magic flooded through her. She blew out a relieved breath and fell onto the couch. Thick padding gave under her back, and tight muscles began to loosen.

  Light exploded. When the magic of the shift faded, Duncan was back in human form. He still wore his armor and the remains of his helmet -- not to mention the crust of dried blood that covered his features. The reminder of just how close she’d come to losing him made Masara’s stomach clench. I’m sick of regrets, she thought suddenly. And he was almost one of them. There’d been so many things she’d wanted so desperately and feared to let herself have. He’s not going to be one of them anymore.

  She remembered the way he’d looked during combat practice that evening -- gloriously bare-chested, his cock hard and tempting, barely concealed by his thin shorts. Remembered how beautiful he’d been as he’d fought, muscle rippling along his chest and powerful arms. And during tonight’s battle, his grace and power as he’d thrown himself at the werewolf in that ten-foot leap. So seductive.

  Despite her exhaustion and throbbing head, magic came a lot easier here. The cleansing spell wiped away the blood and sweat of the fight, and left Duncan in a soft cotton tee and loose pants. On sheer impulse, she’d dressed herself in a crop top and shorts that were just a little tight.

  Duncan sighed in relief and collapsed on the sofa beside her. She was instantly aware of his sheer muscled heat. “Thanks. Not to be greedy, but I hope you can spare a couple bottles of a nice Masara. I feel like hammered…” Pausing to censor the word, he finished… “Crap.” He was always keenly aware of his language with her.

  “Sorry, no bottles for you.” When his eyes widened with a hint of hurt, Masara hooked a hand behind his neck and met his eyes. “But I do have some on tap.”

  Leaning forward, she took his mouth in a kiss as hot and wet as she could make it.

  He made a muffled, confused sound against her lips, part moan, part growl of sheer need. Do you mean that?

  In answer, she swirled her tongue between his parted lips, thrust slowly, deeply. What do you think?

  I think… I want everything you want to give me. With a rumbling sound of gratitude, he kissed her back.

  Duncan knew his way around a kiss. His tongue circled and licked at hers in a sweetly erotic duel, before taking her lower lip between his teeth for a tender, teasing bite. His hand came up to cradle her face in a big, warm palm, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, the gesture tender. Wondering.

  She could feel that wonder in his mind. Feel how much he wanted her, and how convinced he’d been that he would never have her. Could never have her.

  Tonight you can. Masara lost herself in the kiss, one hand stroking through the rich, curling chestnut of Duncan’s shoulder-length hair. By the time they both had to come up for breath, arousal curled hot in the pit of her belly, twin to the desire she could feel growing in his mind.

  “This would probably be a lot easier without the clothes,” he murmured, lust making his voice sound a little ragged.

  “Not sure I’m up to another spell,” she admitted.

  “That’s okay.” He smiled, revealing the length of the fangs, which, like his impressive erection, showed just how hungry he really was. “I think we can manage.”

  “I think we can too.” She rose to her feet, reaching down to take his hand. “Come on. I feel the need for a bed. We’ve got ninety minutes until dawn, and I’ve got a long list of things I want to do to you before then.”

  * * *

  This was another one of those moments when Duncan wondered if he was hallucinating in his Bethesda hospital bed. Or hell, maybe he’d died and gone to heaven, and St. Peter had simply neglected to inform him. If so, he liked this version of heaven a lot more than the clouds and harps they’d talked about in Sunday school.

  His eyes lingered on Masara’s beauty as she preceded him down the hall. Her crop top showed several inches of smooth brown skin and the dip of her spine. Muscles worked in that perfect ass under those tight shorts as she sauntered along. Her legs looked longer than her long, long life, and her dreads swung with every step, the metal bands brushing her rump. His erection gave an approving little buck.

  Duncan’s mind drifted to the sight of her fighting the werewolf, a real-life Wonder Woman swinging a battle-axe as if it weighed no more than a feather. Her helmet’s visor had framed a face both beautiful and merciless. His upper jaw ached ferociously, and he explored the length of his fangs with his tongue. She keeps giving me a fang-on, he thought, and grinned in giddy anticipation.

  She looked back at him. Eyes twinkling, she said, her voice mock-stern, “I trust you’re not laughing at me.”

  “You make me feel a lot of things, but an urge to laugh at you is not one of them.”
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  “Then let’s see what else I can make you feel.” Reaching the end of the hall, she turned. Her hand wrapped around his cock, and he sucked in a startled breath as she towed him into her bedroom.

  Though his room was located right across the hall from hers, he’d never been inside it. Now he realized he’d missed out. The entire room was curved, and so huge it must take up half this end of the house. But what really amazed him was the fact that both the curved right wall and the ceiling overhead were one enormous stained-glass window.

  “Damn,” Duncan murmured, gaping shamelessly as he turned, staring at his surroundings in awe. The massive window depicted the African savanna at sunrise -- giraffes, elephants, and zebra roaming under a sky blazing in shades of violet, rose, and orange as the huge golden ball of the sun rose over the distant trees. A lion crouched at the edge of the waterhole, eyes gleaming as he drank. A series of lights illuminated the glass from somewhere outside, making it glow against the darkness. “This is incredible,” he breathed in awe.

  “Glad you like it.” Her face lighting up in a smile, Masara towed him toward a big circular bed in the middle of the room, piled high with pillows. The only other furnishings were a series of low chests that stood around the room. One ebony mannequin stood dressed in the same suit of scale mail she’d worn in combat, now repaired, the fine metal reflecting the light blazing from the windows.

  He opened his mouth to ask her about it, but she turned to face him and pulled off her top, baring her lovely breasts as she tossed it aside and reached for the hem of his tee. Suddenly his entire consciousness was swamped with the sight of lovely muscle working as she tugged his shirt up. With a groan of raw need, he reached for the zipper of her shorts.

  Chapter Four

  They fumbled as they undressed each other, tossing clothes aside in impatient haste, pausing only to kiss some tempting bit of anatomy -- her hard, dark nipple, his muscled biceps as they brushed her face.

  Groaning around his aching fangs, Duncan cupped her cheek in one hand and used the other to do something he’d wanted to do since he met her -- he caught hold of a handful of her dreads. They felt cool and soft in his fingers. He savored the sensation as he kissed her, drinking in the intoxicating taste of her mouth. His fangs ached ferociously, shooting stabbing pains into his upper jaw, but he ignored the ache. All his focus was on her. He was damn well going to prove that while he might be a hundred and fifty years younger, he still knew how to make it good for her.