Master of Valor (Merlin's Legacy 2)

by Angela Knight

  “You’ve got your kids to worry about, and your kids are more important than your pride.”

  “Yes. If something happened to Gemma and Liam…” She shook her head. “I can’t let that happen.”

  “Of course not. And we’re going to do everything we possibly can to make sure you’re all safe.”

  Here’s hoping we don’t get killed doing it, Duncan thought grimly.

  * * *

  “The wards come first,” Masara told Duncan as they headed outside. “I need to make sure the werewolves don’t hit us while we’re dealing with the other issues.” Her voice dropped to a mutter. “While I’m at it, I should add something to the spell to make sure none of the humans shoot cell phone video of us fighting eight-foot werewolves.”

  Duncan followed as she began walking a circle around the house. Every few feet, she paused, conjured a metal stake, and sank it into the ground. “These will sense werewolf intruders and zap them with an electrical charge.” It took her another twenty minutes to close the circle. Finally, she stepped back, gesturing Duncan to come with her. Closing her eyes, she murmured a soft chant. Through their bond, he felt the surge of effort and concentration…

  A glowing blue hemisphere sprang up silently around them, encircling the house like something from a science fiction movie. “Good thing ordinary humans can’t see that,” he told her. “Because Morgana would kick our asses.”

  “With the spells I’ve cast, we could stage the climax of Lord of the Rings in the front yard, and no one would see or hear a thing.” Next, she conjured a dome-shaped tent off to one side of the spell circle, so it had a good view of both the back and the front of the house. No sooner had she created it than she gestured again. It vanished.

  Duncan frowned. “Did you change your mind about the tent?”

  “No, just rendered it invisible.”

  “But won’t the werewolves be able to see through the spell?”

  “The spell isn’t on them. It bends the light around the tent, which makes it invisible.”

  He frowned. “They’ll still be able to smell us, though.”

  “Yes, and since they’re able to sense magic, they’ll be able to figure out where we are. But by the time they have a chance to do all that, they’ll have tripped the wards. We’ll be awake and waiting for them. Point is, they’re not going to be able to sneak up on us.” Masara gestured again with a weary wave of one hand and their armor disappeared, replaced by jeans and knit shirts, both in black. At the same time, a dark opening appeared in the air -- the open tent flap.

  Duncan watched as she dropped to her knees and crawled in. The delicious, rounded curve of her ass sent his mind wandering into territory he needed to avoid if he didn’t want to spend the night acutely frustrated.

  Putting a chokehold on his libido, he dropped to his knees and followed her into the tent. A thick pad of what felt like gel gave beneath his hands and knees. When he looked upward, he didn’t see the dome of the tent at all. The starry sky sprawled overhead, the moon hanging full and white over the tree line.

  “Now let’s tackle the communication problem,” she told him. “Fortunately, this isn’t the first time we’ve run into some variation of this issue, though we usually encounter it with Mageverse enemies rather than the ones here.” She held up one hand, and light flared. When it faded, a golden globe the size of a tennis ball rested on her palm.

  As Duncan’s brows lifted, she began talking to it like someone recording a livestream video, laying out all the information they’d collected over the past couple of days. Her voice as she spoke was brisk and stripped of emotion. And she spoke in such detail, he realized she was making sure the Magekind would know everything in case Masara, Duncan, Walker, and even the Harringtons ended up dead.

  “I think we must consider the possibility this is some kind of attack by the Fomorians, possibly intended to out us all to the mortals. I’m requesting that you send as many teams as you can as quickly as possible, so we can contain this before it gets worse. Otherwise I’m afraid the situation will spiral completely out of control. Not only could this blow the collective cover of the Magekind and the Direkind, a great many people could end up dead.”

  He felt her magic crest, and the orb vanished in a flare of light. Masara sighed in relief. “That’s done.”

  “What if the Fomorians intercept it?”

  “They’d have to know it’s coming to intercept it. Why do you think I recorded it in here? Even if Bres has someone watching this house, we couldn’t be seen in here. Anyway, we’ve used those messengers on Mageverse battlefields for centuries. They’re fast, surrounded by an invisibility spell, and they find whoever they’re sent after. Which in this case is Belle, Tristan, Morgana, or Arthur. We’ll get our backup.”

  “What leads you to believe the Fomorians are behind this?” He frowned. “What the hell are they trying to accomplish? I thought they wanted us off Mageverse Earth. Why infect a couple of werewolves and kill a jogger here, for God’s sake?”

  Masara collapsed back on the mat and sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know. I do know that rabid zombie rats don’t own stock in Verizon. On the other hand, Bres is fully capable of creating rabid zombie rats -- and blocking our communications. He’s the simplest explanation for this tangle.”

  “Nothing about this is simple.”

  “Which is probably why it feels as if someone is beating my temples with hammers.”

  “No wonder, considering all the magic you did today. Why don’t you get some sleep?” he suggested. “You really do look fried. And I’m good for the rest of the night.” As a vampire, he wouldn’t get sleepy until he passed out at dawn.

  Masara gave him a stern look. “If you see anything suspicious, wake me. Do not go out there to fight whatever it is by yourself.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “That’s ‘yes, instructor,’ to you, apprentice.”

  “Yes, Master Masara. Your Padawan hears and obeys.”

  Her lips twitched, but she pretended to glare. “See that you do.” She rolled over on her side, back to him, conjured a pillow, and curled into a ball.

  Duncan folded his legs to sit tailor fashion, braced his elbows on his knees, and scanned the darkness around them. This wasn’t the first time he’d stood watch in hostile territory. But though the walls of the tent were invisible, the air inside was warm and close. And entirely too full of the delicious female scent of Masara. He found himself growing sharply aware of her heartbeat, which showed no sign of slowing into sleep as the minutes passed. As worn out as she looked, she should have dropped off almost immediately.

  Gazing down at her elegant profile, he saw the gleam of her dark eyes staring into the woods. There was something grim in the set of her soft, tempting mouth. And God, he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to taste the salt on her skin, breathe deep of that intoxicating Maja scent. And yet…

  Duncan remembered that searing moment when she worked the scrying spell and he’d touched the core of her. He’d thought their link had been deep before, but now he realized it had barely scratched the surface. He knew exactly how it felt when Robert had attacked her, not to mention that Christ-awful whipping at Emily’s hands…

  Masara lifted her head and glowered over her shoulder at him. “Would you quit thinking so loud?”

  Heat flooded his cheeks. “I thought you’d blocked me out.”

  Masara was silent for a long moment. “I can’t,” she growled at last. “That circle I worked strengthened the bond even more.” She groaned. “I can’t believe I Truebonded us.”

  “What’s a Truebond?”

  “A very deep mental link, usually forged between people who are married.” She scrubbed at her eyes with one hand. “Most people have better sense than to form one by accident.”

  Duncan frowned. Concentrating, he realized he could indeed sense her in the depths of his mind. “Can’t you break it?”

  She sighed. “Yes, but it would take a full circle. Besides, we
may need it. We’re just going to have to ignore it.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

  He sat still and stared into the dark, trying not to think. Waiting for her heartbeat to slow. It didn’t. In fact, he thought it might be speeding up a little. So was his. Even though he could see the moonlit darkness all around them, the air in the invisible tent felt warm and close, and full of the scent of her. That wonderful fragrance that was Maja, a combination of woman and magic and sex. And the faintest tang of blood.

  His fangs gave a warning twinge. Don’t start, he told them.

  They didn’t seem to be listening. Neither was his dick. It was lengthening, pressing against his fly. Damn it, stop that. She needs to sleep. She’ll be all by herself tomorrow, and I won’t be there to help her. The least I can do is not lust at her.

  “Or maybe lusting at me is exactly what I need.” She rolled on her back and looked up at him, her eyes glittering in the moonlit dark. “Maybe what both of us need is to burn some of this off.”

  Duncan started to lick his lips and stopped when he hit a fang. “But the wolves --”

  “-- are on the other side of that ward, and they can’t get in.” She gave him a slow, sensual smile. “I, on the other hand, am right here. And so are you.”

  He stared at her as his heart began to hammer. “Are you sure?”

  “What do you think?” Masara dropped all her mental barriers, and let him see her, feel her.

  She needed him. Needed to burn off her clawing feeling of being so utterly alone for the first time since Belle had found her, feverish and sick, in those South Carolina woods. In all these years since, in all the battles, all the wars, she’d known she had the Magekind at her back. All she had to do was call, and they’d be there for her. Now they might not be. The messenger might fail to find them in time. She might die tomorrow. Or far worse to her, he might.

  But he was here now. A memory flashed through her mind -- the feel of him sliding into her, the glory of his pleasure feeding her own, the frantic gallop to completion. He caught his breath as her emotions stormed over his mind. The desperation, the need to forget, if only for a few moments. The pain on Amy’s face, her children’s fear and bewilderment, her husband’s frustrated helplessness. The face of the girl on the autopsy table. What if I can’t do it? The thought rang in the bond. Belle should’ve assigned this case to someone who could do the job.

  Duncan had heard enough. “You helped kill American slavery, for God’s sake -- something that had infected this country since the sixteenth century. A couple of Dire Wolves don’t stand a chance. Even if Bres is pulling the strings, we’ve got this.”

  Masara stared at him. “You believe that.”

  “Well, yeah. It’s true.”

  She reached out, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and dragged him forward with that astounding Maja strength. Then her mouth was on his, hot and desperate and devouring. The smell of her filled his senses, as his fangs instantly lengthened. He groaned in hot need against her mouth. Her tongue thrust deep, licking the sharp tips of his fangs in a sweet, erotic promise. He shuddered as a wave of lust rolled over him.

  * * *

  Masara felt his hunger explode, rolling over her with a startling intensity. Hunger not just for her body, not just for the flashing release of orgasm, but for her. For everything she was.

  She also felt him grappling for self-control, afraid to trigger memories of Robert.

  Pulling back a fraction, she tightened her grip on his hair. “Don’t hold back. Let go. Make us both forget.” With that, she threw open the link completely, dropping all her defenses. They snapped together like two magnets, gasping as the link amplified even the simple kiss into deep, spinning pleasure.

  Duncan stared into her face, eyes wide. She realized that regardless of color, they were nothing at all like Robert’s. That man had never seen her as anything but a sheath for his cock.

  “Screw Robert. He was an asshole, and he’s dead,” Duncan growled. “And he deserves to be.” His hands wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her onto his lap. She saw what he wanted in his mind, and she flicked her fingers. Their clothes vanished in a swirl of hungry magic.

  He angled an arm behind her back, lifting her so his mouth could cover one breast. His teeth closed around her nipple, not quite biting as he suckled. Every long pull shot pleasure into her brain as his fingers caressed and explored. This wasn’t going to be slow or sweet. And that was good, because hot and fast was exactly what she wanted.

  Masara had never really considered herself beautiful. Her body had been shaped by grinding work as a child, and as an adult, by war. Yet to him, she was beautiful. He loved even the dark skin she’d been told was ugly, the nose that was too wide, the mouth that was too full.

  He released her breast. “You could never be anything but beautiful to anyone with eyes.” It wasn’t just empty flattery. She could see the stark honesty in his mind.

  Just as she saw his doubt. Not doubt of her, of himself. His worst fear was that he would fail her when she needed him most. That his courage would fail at the next IED, figurative or literal. You won’t. You saved Farijaad the second time even knowing what would happen.

  That wasn’t real.

  It was to you. And so is this. She dragged his head down for a ferocious, biting kiss, sucking his lower lip hard. He groaned, and his hands skimmed down her body, tracing the line of her ribcage and the curve of her hip. She released his hair and he drew back, breathing hard, trying to control his need. His parted lips showed the tips of his fangs, and she remembered the hot pleasure-pain of his bite.

  He groaned and grabbed a fistful of her dreads, pulling her head back, arching her body upward. His lips tasted the line of her jaw, nibbled and sucked, exploring the muscles and veins and tendons under her skin.

  Masara sensed his fierce need to sink his fangs into her throbbing pulse, yet he squelched it. He wanted this to be for her, to show her she mattered, that she came first. Would come first. The unintentional pun made her smile.

  Duncan lifted her off his lap and laid her down on the thick mattress. And began to feast. His hands and mouth explored her, seeking out the sensitive places, the ones that would make her pleasure spike. The hollow between her collarbones, the bend of her elbow. He located a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves under her armpit and licked and suckled it, drawing the scent of her deeply into his lungs.

  That would’ve made her feel self-conscious -- it had been hours since her last shower -- if it hadn’t been clear how much he loved that scent, that taste. How he wanted to roll in it like a cat in catnip.

  “Charmer.” Masara laughed, threading her hands into his curls as he nibbled his way to the rise of her hipbone, then sought out her belly button. His tongue thrust in and out of it, flickering until she giggled.

  I didn’t even think you could make that sound, he told her, a smile in his mind. Let’s see what other sounds I can make you make… Long fingers found her ribs and dug in, tickling ruthlessly. She squirmed, laughing as she slapped at his chest. “Quit that… Or I’ll… turn you into a frog!”

  As long as you’re my lily pad… He went right on tickling her until, with a mock growl, she grabbed his hands and jerked them away from her hapless ribs, then muscled him onto his back. Pinning his hands to the mattress over his head, Masara grinned down at him. “My turn.”

  He tilted up his chin, seeing what she wanted in the bond. She dipped her head to nibble, stringing tiny bites along the angle of his stubborn jaw and along his throat. Duncan pulled his hands free -- there was no way she could really hold him -- and traced the long line of her spine down to the dimple over her buttocks. The whole time, he kept his head tilted back, enjoying her mouth as shamelessly as a cat enjoying a stroking hand.

  Masara explored the broad plates of his pecs, suckled small male nipples, tasted and savored the sweat on his skin, that dark scent that was vampire and Duncan. God, how she loved that smell. Loved… she cut the thought off.

 
Duncan’s eyes went wide, and he jerked his head up to stare at her, stunned. What did you say?

  She froze, knowing precisely what word he wanted her to repeat. The one she wanted to say, would have said if she hadn’t been afraid to lay herself so open. Loving anyone had never brought her anything but pain. Her mother had died a slave, her brother vanished, sold down the river. Emily had beaten her so badly she’d lost the baby she hadn’t dared even want. I can’t.

  For an instant anger and frustration flashed through him, so hot it was almost frightening. But before she could pull away in alarm, Duncan’s big hands caught her hips and lifted her off him.

  What are… Then he sat her down astride his face. Duncan’s tongue flicked hot across her clit. Masara stiffened, startled, as a hot, stark pleasure she wasn’t expecting stabbed into her brain. I think… you skipped a step… Or twelve.

  His only answer was a growl against her soft, wet flesh, as his tongue swirled over her clit, dancing hot patterns. He reached one long, muscled arm up, caught her breast with his fingertips, and began to pinch and tug as his mouth fed on her pussy.

  Masara jerked in his grip at the erotic assault on her nerves. He held her still with effortless strength. She felt no fear at all. He wouldn’t hurt her. Wouldn’t…

  Before she could track the implications of that thought, his lips engulfed her clit and sucked, fierce and merciless. His tongue lashed the nubbin in burning flicks that shot bolts of pleasure from her groin to her brain. Masara stiffened at the sudden pounding delight. His free hand clamped on her hip, holding her in place, refusing to let her retreat from the overwhelming sensations.

  She heard herself gasping, high, desperate little sounds, hips dancing against his mouth. Grinding as if she had no self-control whatsoever. His fingers tugged her nipple harder as he ate, sending the delight to blazing new peaks. She could feel him struggling to concentrate through the waves of her pleasure pounding his mind. Duncan was determined to drive her into a fierce climax. Suckling, stroking, the curve of his fangs pressing against her delicate flesh…