Master of Valor (Merlin's Legacy 2)

by Angela Knight

  The climax hit like an explosion in her brain, and she shrieked, her body writhing in his ruthless grip. Helpless and overwhelmed and lost. Her body was still twitching when he spilled her off him onto the gel mat. Her elbow hit the fabric of the tent, but she didn’t care. He reared up and jerked her beneath him. His head smacked the top of the tent, but he didn’t even pause, rolling her facedown and lifting her hips high.

  His cock slid into her, and she squealed in delight, a sound she couldn’t remember ever making before. His reply was a growl as he pushed, shoving all the way to the balls. Thick, so deliciously thick… And she could feel how wet she felt to him, how perfectly she gripped him. The bond let her experience the penetration from his angle, the pleasure so deliciously, erotically alien.

  He pumped, deep, in and out and…

  Masara yowled her pleasure into the tent pad as she felt the climax building. Before it could crash over her, Duncan pulled out and sat back. Ignoring her moan of protest, he wrapped his sweat-slicked arms around her and pulled her astride his lap. One big hand closed around her jaw, tilting her head to the side. Then his fangs sank deep. She cried out as he drank in hard, deep swallows. And drove into her again, impaled her on his cock. Held her there, deliciously trapped.

  Masara wanted to buck against him, but his free hand gripped her hip, holding her still. No, he growled in her mind, and she froze. He wanted to drink from her like this, joined but unmoving, in some kind of vampire version of Tantric sex.

  One hand slid between her thighs, found her clit, and stroked it. Maddening. She couldn’t move -- he wouldn’t let her -- so instead she tightened her muscles on him, gripping hard, then releasing, gripping and releasing, until he groaned against her skin. He fed as he stroked her pleasure to blinding heights with ruthless fingers. Until he slid his fangs free with delicate care. Duncan wrapped one arm around her torso and lifted her off his cock, just far enough that he could grind up into her. Thrusting hard, he growled in her ear, his free hand riding her clit.

  Her throat stung from his bite, and his cock felt huge, bucking in and out. She came, screaming, high and helpless, sweet pulses blazing through her. Her climax fed his, his fed hers… And she screamed until her throat hurt.

  * * *

  Masara hung limp in his arms in the aftermath, deliciously wrung out and exhausted as he licked her, tonguing the tiny wounds left by his fangs, healing them with his saliva. Encircled by his body, she floated in peace. It felt as if all her haunting grief and loss had been driven into the distance by his ferocious passion.

  And he felt that peace, took pride in giving it to her, because as far as he was concerned she deserved it. In his eyes, she was powerful, competent, and professional. A hero.

  “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known,” he told her softly, running his fingers through her dreads. “And if you knew my mother, you’d know what a compliment that is.”

  “I do know your mother.” Knew her from his memories, from his love for both his parents. It made her remember her own mother, long dead. The two women had been nothing alike in many ways. Duncan’s mother was a librarian, a thoroughly twenty-first century woman who considered herself the equal of anyone and never backed down from a fight. Masara’s mother had been a slave who’d never been permitted to learn to read, whose life had been marked with tragedy and injustice. And yet both women had been fiercely dedicated to nurturing and protecting those they loved.

  Funny how so much could change over fifteen decades, yet love was the same.

  Chapter Eight

  Duncan held her as Masara slipped toward sleep, her head resting on his chest as he stroked the silken curve of one shoulder. He tried to remember the last time he’d felt such sweet peace. And couldn’t think of a thing.

  Masara spoke, her voice a little slurred and sated. “I need to move. You’ve got to…” She yawned. “Keep watch.” She rolled off him.

  He wanted to pull her back, but instead he sighed and sat up. “I’m also going to need armor.”

  She lifted her head and frowned, flicking her fingers. Sparks flowed over him, leaving scale mail behind. She nestled down again, and he listened as her heartbeat evened out and slowed into sleep.

  He felt… happy. So happy his heart seemed to float in his chest. Happier than he’d imagined he could be since that day in Afghanistan. Even after he’d received Merlin’s Gift and learned he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life as a double amputee, he’d been relieved, but not happy. Certainly not Masara happy.

  He’d been too damn busy trying to earn the blessings he’d been given, too deeply aware of all the other wounded warriors who weren’t blessed with Merlin’s Gift in their DNA. He’d known he had to deserve that gift. Later, he’d been driven by the compulsion to earn Masara’s approval. Her love hadn’t even been on his horizon.

  Suddenly he could see a faint outline glowing against the shadowed woods -- the shape of the tent opening. It hadn’t been there before. Evidently, he sensed it with Masara’s magic.

  Carefully he eased away from her, pushed the tent flap aside, and crawled out. Straightening, he scanned the darkness around him, breathing deep as he parsed the air for scents. There was no trace of werewolf on the evening breeze.

  For the next few hours, Duncan alternated between walking the perimeter of the ward and retreating into the tent with Masara, to breathe her scent and bask in the peace, while the night remained stubbornly werewolfless.

  Meanwhile the sun edged closer to the horizon. At last, he knew he could wait no longer and leaned over to touch the curve of Masara’s delicate shoulder. “The sun’s coming up.”

  Dark eyes flew wide, and she jerked upright, looking around wildly. Her gaze fell on the pinkening sky through the invisible tent roof. “Why did you let me sleep so long? I need to get you out of here.” She gestured, conjuring clothing for herself and banishing the tent.

  He longed to stay with her, but a glance at the sky told him they’d just run out of time. Again, he felt the pressure of her will as she drew on the burning power of the Mageverse. She gestured, and a gate bloomed open.

  He grabbed her and pulled her into a ferocious kiss, letting her feel his need, his love. She kissed him back, just as fierce, until he forced himself to pull away. “Damn it, Masara, stay alive for me!”

  She gave him a brilliant smile and a little push toward the gate. “I will. Now get your tempting backside to bed before the sun knocks you out cold.”

  With a muttered curse, Duncan turned away and stepped through. And found himself in his bedroom. Since he had no desire to wake up with his face in a puddle of blood from another split lip, he stomped to the bed and threw himself down on the mattress fully dressed. And prayed for the first time since he’d regained consciousness to find his legs and cock gone. “Please, Lord God, keep her alive until I can…”

  The sun cut off the rest of the sentence.

  * * *

  The Harringtons left for the airport, leaving Masara alone behind the wards, watching the house.

  Of course, there was no guarantee Jack and Ellie would take the bait and show up here. They could be anywhere, attacking anyone. Unfortunately, this was the only hunch she had to play. She had to hope she’d get lucky.

  Or very, very unlucky. What was she going to do if they showed up before Walker returned for his watch, or before Duncan woke? What if Belle didn’t get her message? She’d hoped her friend would have arrived by now.

  But there were things Masara could do while she waited. Things she was going to do now that everyone was gone. She’d better prepare in case she did end up fighting them single-handedly. But she’d rather they came after her than some poor mortal who wouldn’t have a prayer. At least she had some hope of defending herself. But what if she failed?

  Her sister’s voice hissed from the depths of her mind, You’re nothing! You’re a stupid, ugly little slut!

  Shut. Up. I’m not going to fail. I will not.

  Well, she knew how she
needed to spend the next few hours while she waited. She had to make sure that the next time the wolves attacked, they’d find it a lot harder to get their claws through that magical armor. She definitely did not want to get bitten. Were the claws infectious too? Probably not -- both she and Duncan had gotten scratched up through the armor. They’d have been infected by now if that was a vector. All of which meant she needed to reinforce their armor to make sure the werewolves’ fangs didn’t pierce skin.

  She also needed a more effective weapon. The Direkind were immune to direct magic, but not natural forces like electricity or fire. Fire was a possibility, but a fireball needed a magical fuel source to keep it burning in flight. That was probably why fireballs hadn’t been effective during the Werewolf War.

  Besides, there was too great a chance any fire would spread and destroy the house. Which made throwing actual lightning around problematic, since it could easily start a fire. A better bet would be a weapon that generated electricity along a metal surface like a blade. Stalking into the living room, Masara gestured. A wave of force pushed the furniture aside, clearing a space. She had a lot to get done.

  * * *

  It was almost six o’clock before Masara got the call. “I am outside the ward,” Walker said, his deep voice rasping, with a strained note that made her wonder if he’d gotten any sleep. “Let me in.”

  “Give me a minute.” She’d spent the day designing armor, and she felt blasted. Thank God it was almost sunset. She hung up and tucked the phone back into her pants’ pocket. Wearily, she contemplated the two suits of armor in the living room. As massive as they were, they were going to be a bitch to fight in, but at least they should prevent any of them from being bitten.

  She’d taken the scale mail she’d already created and added a cuirass -- a heavy chest plate -- pauldrons to protect the shoulders, gauntlets, cuisses to protect the thighs, and armored boots with knee plates, all engraved with protective spells. She just hoped they’d be enough.

  With a sigh, she headed out to the driveway. The deputy sat in a blue Toyota just outside the wards. She sensed no one else inside his car.

  Masara gestured, and the wards dropped. Walker parked behind the Harringtons’ vehicle. He got out, moving a little stiffly, as if sore. His face was drawn, and his eyes looked hollow. For once he wore jeans and a sweater instead of his uniform. He must have gone home to change and get his personal vehicle.

  Masara studied him. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  She sighed. “There’s a lot of that going around. Come on, let me show you the armor I’ve been working on. It should do a better job of protecting us from bites.” She led the way into the living room, where the two armored suits stood waiting in the magic circle she’d used to amplify her magic while conjuring. Duncan already had his. Masara had gated to the Mageverse to conjure the suit around the comatose vampire, in case everything went sideways and she didn’t get the chance to do it later.

  “I want to try it out, see if you can get your claws through it,” she told Walker. “I hate going into combat in armor I haven’t worn, at least in practice.”

  In the back of the house, something screeched, sounding like a window sliding up. Masara’s head jerked toward the sound, her body tensing. Magic exploded directly behind her, accompanied by a greasy, sickly reek.

  And she knew.

  Masara threw herself forward, heard the snap of jaws, felt whiskers brush the side of her cheek as Walker’s bite missed by inches. She twisted aside, narrowly avoiding the Dire Wolf’s second lunge. Oh, Lord, they got him!

  “You will not escape me this time, prey!” Claws raked across her shoulder as she dove over the coffee table and sent her power shooting toward the two suits.

  Magic surrounded hers like a cloud, disassembled it, and materialized it around her. She grimaced as its weight crushed down on her. Blood poured down her left arm as the battle-axe filled her hands. She grimaced as she tightened her grip on the weapon.

  Claws raked the floor. Masara ducked, whirling aside as something huge and golden flashed past. The house shook as Walker hit the ground and spun toward her.

  She recoiled in horror. Where before his Dire Wolf head had been sleek and wolfish, now Walker had the misshapen face of a nightmare. His teeth were long and jagged, curving outward, so even when his jaws were closed they protruded on either side of his muzzle. If anything, he was even bigger than the infected Jack, muscle bulging obscenely from a body well over eight feet tall. His snarl revealed an inner row of teeth lining his gums, like those of a shark’s.

  I should have known they’d target him, Masara thought, feeling sick. But no, I was focused on the Harringtons, convinced they’d come after the kids because that was my personal nightmare. And Walker had paid the price for her arrogance.

  “I am so sorry.” Sorry she’d failed him. Sorry she had to kill him now or die herself.

  “Save your pity for yourself,” he rumbled, stalking her, his eyes gone rat red.

  Retreating, she rotated her wrist, feeling the axe’s charge activate, crackling softly. Normally, she’d worry about frying herself, but the spell on the weapon would kill the charge when it sensed the blade was in contact with her flesh.

  Heavy clawed feet hit the hallway floor running from the rear of the house. Jack and Ellie must have slipped past the ward when she dropped it to let Walker in.

  Walker leaped at her, so she ducked and ran. Claws raked over her armor as she passed him, but she kept going, sprinting across the kitchen for the far wall. There was no way she could fight in here. There wasn’t room to swing the axe.

  Desperately, Masara sprang for the window over the kitchen sink, knowing it was far too narrow for her armored shoulders.

  A blast of magic vaporized the window and a chunk of the wall around it, creating a perfectly round hole just as she dove through headfirst. She hit the ground hard, gritting her teeth against the weight of the armor slamming into shoulders and arms as she tucked and rolled to her feet.

  The Dire Wolf roared as his massive shoulders rammed into the edge of the hole -- and didn’t quite break through. Mortar cracked, broken bricks pelting the ground around her. “You die this night, prey!”

  “Hardly.” Masara took a running step forward and whirled her axe at his head. He ducked back with something that sounded like a curse in some unfamiliar language. She spun and raced off again, aiming for the wards. If she could just get through them, she could feed them enough power to trap the werewolves inside.

  Behind her, Walker hit the wall again. Bricks rained to the grass as the werewolf broke through and thudded to the ground, roaring. The other infected wolves howled from the inside the house. They’d be out in a heartbeat.

  Masara poured on the speed, though the armor felt like lead weight. She’d been afraid she’d made the suit too bloody heavy, but she couldn’t risk infection. God forbid she lose control and carry whatever this was to Avalon.

  Behind her, the werewolves roared, massive paws hitting the ground.

  Twenty yards to the ward. Ten. Five. She shot a magical order to the nearest generator spike, and the ward vanished. If she could get through and trap the werewolves inside the ward, she’d have all the time in the world to wait for Belle. They could figure out how to do to cure the captive wolves at their…

  Walker hit her like a subway train. They went down in a rolling tumble of armor and hair-covered brawn. The impact jolted the axe from her hand, and it spun into the gathering twilight. Get up get up get up! She squirmed free of raking claws and scrambled over the ground, looking for the ward so she cross it and could bring it up again… Where the devil are the spikes?

  Walker’s jaws clamped over her forearm, the pressure agonizing even with the armor. Masara turned and hammered her free fist into his muzzle. He let go with a vicious alien curse. She surged to her feet, back-peddling desperately as she looked around…

  And spotted the ward -- be
tween them and the oncoming werewolves. He knocked me right past the spikes!

  She lifted her hand, but before she could throw the spell to reactivate the ward, a clawed fist slammed into her helmeted head, sending her staggering. Catching herself, she blasted power into the ward, reactivating it and increasing its power even more. If one of the wolves hit it now, the barrier would damn near fry them.

  But even as the ward activated in a cold blue flare, Masara realized she’d been too slow. Ellie and Jack were already past it and heading right for her. She turned to run, but Walker pounced on her like a wolf on a rabbit, knocking her on her back. Flattened under his massive bulk, she stared up into gaping jaws and double rows of jagged teeth.

  “You gave me a good chase, but the outcome was fated.” A fist slammed into her visor, and she tasted blood in a blinding burst of pain and light as her head jolted inside her helmet. Something seized both her legs and jerked viciously. She caught a glimpse of Jack and Ellie, hands clamped around her ankles, heaving as Walker knelt astride her chest.

  Christ, Our Lord and Savior! They were trying to rip her legs out of their sockets! Masara threw out an arm, reaching desperately for the axe that lay on the grass a few feet away. She hissed a spell, and it flew toward her hand…

  Walker hit her so hard, she missed the catch. He started punching her like somebody working a speed bag, bouncing her helmeted head on the ground. Each blow snapped her teeth together. She threw up both arms to block, screaming as Jack and Ellie heaved at her ankles again. Flame licked the length of her legs from foot to hip, bones and muscles howling in protest.

  “Belle!” she yelled into her helmet. The communication spell activated…

  The only reply was the discordant shriek of magical interference. Damn it, where are you, Belle!

  A hissed spell popped razor-sharp claws from her gauntlets, and she slashed upward at her captor as he leaned down to hit her again. The blades raked across Walker’s muzzle.