Enchanted Warrior

by Sharon Ashwood

  He released her nipple, leaving it erect, aching, and glistening from his suckling kiss. Tamsin shivered as he turned his attention to her collarbone, his lips transforming it into an erogenous zone she didn’t know existed. She reached down, finding the thickness of his shaft. He shifted so that she could get a better grip, let her stoke the smooth length of him.

  “Are you pleased with me?” he asked in a low, husky voice.

  Tamsin groaned as his teeth grazed her throat. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

  “I want to dictate the terms of your surrender, my lady.”

  “You want a white flag?”

  “I want utter mastery. I give no quarter.”

  Despite her protest, he moved out of her reach. His fingers slid into the slickness of her cleft, massaging her in slow, tight circles. Tamsin sucked in her breath, catching her lip between her teeth to stifle any noise he might take as a sign of her defeat. She wasn’t giving up that quickly, not when she had barely mounted an assault of her own. But her traitorous body rose and angled itself to meet Gawain, giving him entry as he stroked and probed, finding her point of pleasure. A wild spiral of sensation coursed through her, making her forget anything but her need for more and more of Gawain’s expert touch. He took her to the abyss, led her right up to the edge, and then pulled her back from the brink. Tamsin cried out, but from abject frustration.

  “What are you doing?” She twisted under him, desperate for resistance, for something to ease her ache.

  “Taking you.” Angling his hips, he slid into her.

  Tamsin all but came at that single, hard thrust. Places she’d almost forgotten stretched wide, welcoming the invasion. Her vision went black, her mind a kaleidoscope of sensation. Gawain pulled back with exquisite slowness, making it feel as if she was turning inside out in the most delicious way possible, and then drove home again. Tamsin arched, hips rising to meet him. Tears slid from beneath her lids, her emotions roiling from sheer sensory overload.

  She crushed the quilt in her fingers, digging for purchase, but that wasn’t enough. She grabbed his shoulders, sinking her nails into flesh. He laughed as she raked him, leaving pink furrows behind. He pushed, and pushed again. Tamsin moaned.

  “Surrender, witch,” he whispered, grabbing her hips and driving home to find her point of pleasure.

  Tamsin’s entire body tightened, throbs of pleasure radiating through her. At that moment, Gawain’s control slipped and he abandoned his slow, deliberate rhythm for a wild, hard claiming. She cried out, a wordless sound of release and defiance. He took her mouth, silencing her cry as he gave one last, shuddering thrust. He came, hot and wet as the burst of sensation inside Tamsin overwhelmed every other thought. The world ceased.

  Tamsin came back to herself some moments after Gawain rolled onto his back, pulling her onto his chest. He was breathing deeply, the steady thunder of his heart echoing the aftershocks of desire in Tamsin’s core. She feathered her finger over his lips, studying his face. Even now, lines of tension etched his features. Gawain never quite let go of his wariness. Tamsin suddenly wanted to wrest that away from him. She would stand guard for once, so he could rest.

  I might have surrendered this time, Tamsin whispered inside her own mind, but that was only the first skirmish.

  Chapter 12

  If any woman was worth waiting centuries for, it was Tamsin.

  Gawain lay with her head tucked under his chin, her breath fanning across his bare chest. Sunlight crept around the blinds to leave stripes on the carpet. The scent of baking drifted from another apartment, reminding him it was time to eat. Gawain ignored his stomach. Their nest under the quilt was too snug to move. Instead, he let his eyes drift shut, feeling the light beat of Tamsin’s heart. Her warm, soft weight was delicious and sweet, an armful he refused to surrender. And why would he? This morning he felt as if, for the second time, he’d been awakened from that cold death of stone.

  He shifted, careful not to disturb Tamsin. She was draped across him, her hair scattered over the sheets like skeins of golden silk. Her face was soft with sleep, the rounded curve of her cheek almost girlish. He longed to run a finger over the arch of her brow, the upturned tip of her nose, but was reluctant to disturb her.

  Laughter rang from the street below, followed by a puppy’s yap. The noise made Tamsin stir, her nose wrinkling as her eyes squeezed shut. It was adorable. Gawain willed her back to sleep, and it seemed to work.

  He didn’t use magic—never that. By the time Gawain had grown tall enough to ride a horse, he’d discovered his mother’s spell cupboard and learned which potions could rot the flesh of a living man or destroy a village with a plague of boils. He’d seen her strike down a serving maid who’d dared to steal a ham from the castle pantry. The memory of the poor girl’s crippling illness still made his skin crawl.

  And yet here he was, his heart reaching for Tamsin as if she were the sun. Little by little she had been slipping past his defenses, until last night she’d broken through. And why not? She’d given him back his brother. To him, that act shone like a beacon on the dark sea of terrible deeds he had witnessed. It did not chase back all the darkness, but neither could it be ignored.

  Tamsin woke with a lazy stretch, reminding him of a contented cat. She lifted her head, strands of golden hair falling into her eyes. Gawain brushed them back, letting himself sink into the warm brown of her gaze. “Good morning,” he said.

  She squirmed delightfully until her mouth reached his. “Good morning, my good knight.”

  Her kiss was the brush of apple blossoms against his skin. Sudden hunger surged in him, demanding more bed play. “Come here.”

  “No, you come here.” Tamsin straddled him, her hair falling around them like a curtain of gold. She kissed his eyes, his nose, his chin, taking her time to find his mouth again. When she did, it was to nip and suck, drawing out the simple act of kissing into an epic poem. Gawain cupped her breasts, their velvety smooth weight enticing. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, bringing them to straining peaks. She gasped and squirmed, sparking a flood of heat to his nether regions.

  He chuckled, earning a searing glance that spoke of exquisite torments. Tamsin was an instinctive seductress.

  “Are you ready to surrender?” she said in grave tones.

  With little effort, Gawain rolled her over, tangling them both in the soft mounds of covers. He highly approved of these luxurious modern beds. “You have much to learn of warfare, Mistress Greene.”

  “Are you going to lay siege to me again?”

  “Indeed.” He dug her out of the billows of the comforter, appreciating her slender, smooth form anew. Her legs were long and lean, delicate as a doe’s. He positioned himself between them, leaning forward to run his tongue over the graceful planes of her stomach. “I intend to devour you.”

  With that he bent to her most private entry, breaching the gates with tongue and teeth. Tamsin tasted salty-sweet and pure as April sunshine, and she shivered for him as he found the secrets of her inner chambers. “Are you ready to surrender?” he growled.

  “Not so fast,” she said, though she was panting by then.

  Then Gawain found the exact spot that crumbled her defenses. She came around his fingers, muscles contracting as she cried out. But when she finally stilled, she made it clear they were not done. “I see you have a tower in need of capture and demolition.”

  Gawain let Tamsin have her way. Hot and slick, she closed around him, let her warm him with her playful teasing and the touch of her ivory skin. The sun seeped through the curtains, lighting her from behind like an angel in a church window, all gold and brightness. By the time her conquest was done, he was drunk on woman and bliss.

  She slid down beside him, one slender arm thrown over his chest. “White flag?”

  He closed one hand over her bottom. “I reserv
e the right to initiate an exchange of prisoners.”

  “I thought you said last night that you didn’t take prisoners,” she said with a sly glance. “Change your mind?”

  The moment was broken by a thump on the apartment stairs and a child’s bright laughter. The world was coming to life, however much Gawain wished to deny it. They kissed again, but soon she was sliding from his grasp and reaching for her robe. “We should see how Beaumains is faring.”

  Gawain caught her hand. “You would leave me so soon? You’re my healer.”

  “So?”

  “I’m sure I have a fever that needs tending.”

  She gave him a withering look. “I hear ice water is good for that.”

  He sank back into the pillow. “You are a cruel woman.”

  She knotted the tie of her robe, but sat on the bed beside him. Her fingers trailed along the scar that slashed his ribs. It was an unconscious gesture, but it pleased him. He liked that she was comfortable with his body, content to curl against him for comfort.

  “Finding your brother was a victory, but there is so much to do yet.” She sighed, breath warm against the skin of his chest.

  Gawain understood. “None of this will be easy, but I’ll be at your side.”

  “You are my knight in shining armor,” she murmured, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. A smile lurked behind her soft brown eyes.

  He couldn’t stifle a grin. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not in armor. I’m not wearing anything at all.”

  She gave him a kiss that said she had noticed and approved. Gawain smiled against her lips, feeling like a man reborn.

  * * *

  Tamsin held on to her joy while she dressed and made breakfast, fed her ravenous warriors and then erased any signs of intrusion from the vacant apartment next door. She wasn’t sure how to solve the problem of housing extra knights, but at least now she had a whole day to figure out what to do with Beaumains. Meanwhile, Gawain took his brother off to find modern clothes and acquaint him with the basics of the twenty-first century. Gawain had been reluctant to leave Tamsin alone, but she refused to be afraid on a sunny Saturday morning. Besides, she needed some peace and quiet. She had sleuthing to do.

  Tamsin began by phoning Stacy.

  “What’s up?” Stacy asked. “You have that take-charge tone in your voice.”

  “I’m hot on the trail of those books I’m looking for.”

  “You found a clue to their location?”

  “Better than that. I found a set of car keys.” Tamsin fished in her backpack and pulled out the set Nimueh had dropped at the church. “I need a favor.”

  “Is it legal?” Stacy asked.

  “Probably not,” Tamsin said with a sigh. “The car keys have one of those tags where you can return lost keys through the mail. The code on the tag doesn’t give me the address where the vehicle belongs, but the charity who sells the tags has a registry that does. Can you get our little sister to work her computer magic and find that address?”

  “You want Clary to hack into a charity’s database?” Stacy asked incredulously.

  Although it wasn’t common among the coven families, their father had insisted his children receive an education in a human university. Where Stacy had studied law and Tamsin history, Clarissa had gone into computer science.

  “It’s for a good cause,” Tamsin pleaded. “I don’t want to do a seeking spell. I think the, uh, person with the library is a wee bit dangerous, and the more I stay off his radar, the better.”

  Tamsin finished on a grimace. It must have communicated itself, because Stacy made a noise of assent. “I’ll ask her. I know the Elders want those books. I’ll call you back when we find something.”

  Tamsin put the phone down and began washing up the breakfast dishes in her tiny sink. She was putting away the last freshly dried plate a half hour later when the phone rang. She picked it up, wondering if Clary could have found an answer already.

  “Hello, Ms. Greene. This is Benjamin Waller.”

  Tamsin nearly dropped the phone The crisp, dry voice belonged to the Chief Elder of the Shadowring Coven. “H-hello, sir. To what do I owe the honor of your call?”

  “Your request for information on the owner of a late-model Lexus SUV. Your younger sister alerted me to the fact that you asked for her assistance with this unorthodox search.”

  Tamsin cursed Clary. She had counted on her little sister’s rebel streak to keep this quiet. That had been a mistake.

  “Oh, don’t blame her,” Waller said smoothly, as if reading Tamsin’s thoughts. “There have been a few indiscretions on Clarissa’s part that convinced me to shorten her leash. She does nothing without keeping me informed.”

  Tamsin’s mouth went dry. “How much trouble is she in?”

  “Not enough for you to worry about,” Waller replied. His tone all but patted her on the head. “This is just a course correction for the moment. She is still painfully young, after all. Plenty of time for her to settle down and form more acceptable habits.”

  Tamsin drew in a shaking breath. Waller’s words were innocent enough, but she could hear something nasty behind them. With a sick feeling, she realized he was enjoying this.

  “Clarissa found the address you asked for, but I wanted to take the opportunity to deliver a warning. When we sent you to Carlyle, we did so with a degree of hesitation. Not because of your credentials, which are impeccable, or your commitment, which is clearly of the highest order.”

  “Then why, sir?” Tamsin sat down at the table, her legs suddenly unreliable. The air around the phone buzzed with a dark, stormy energy that said Waller was deadly serious.

  “Because Carlyle is dangerous, particularly for you. The address you found led to a name that caught our interest. It also ignited our fears for your safety. There is little we can do for you as a coven from this distance, but at the very least we can arm you with what information we have.”

  Tamsin swallowed. The Elders were strict to the point of repression, but they did take their job of protecting the coven to heart. “What information would that be, sir?”

  The coven Elder continued. “The owner of those car keys was an extremely powerful solitary practitioner by the name of Henderson. As far as the human authorities know, he is still alive, but no one has heard from him or his wife in months.”

  Which was no surprise, since Mordred’s lackey was driving his car. Tamsin swallowed. “Do you believe Henderson had Merlin’s books?”

  “Your father believed the books were there. That was why he made the trip to Carlyle in the last year of his life.”

  Tamsin’s scalp prickled. “He was following the same trail.” She’d known that, but suddenly the fact held fresh significance.

  “Yes, he was. And he disappeared in Carlyle, never to be heard from again.”

  Tamsin rose to her feet, utterly stunned. “My father died in a car crash! He was on his way home when it happened.”

  “Yes, your father died ten years ago.” Waller sounded almost kindly now, all too aware of how their family life had changed. “But there never was a body.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Waller’s voice sank low, as if trying not to be overheard. “He is unquestionably dead, make no mistake, but the car accident was a, um, piece of theater created for the benefit of his friends and family. Your father was a man who inspired much loyalty among our people. We were better served by putting a final chapter to his story than by entertaining endless conspiracy theories and romance tales.”

  Tamsin was stunned. “I don’t believe this!” She remembered the funeral with painful clarity—the ritual, the burial, the guests in their living room, with her mother weeping upstairs where no one could see. “We deserved the truth.”

  “Child, the Elders did what was best. There were a lot
of brave Shadowring members who would have tried to find your father if they imagined he still lived. We believed they would die just like he did if they charged off to Carlyle in search of explanations. The same thing would happen now, so think about that before you repeat what I just said. I’m taking you into my confidence and expect you to respect my secrets.”

  “But...if Carlyle is so dangerous, why did you let me come here?”

  He chuckled. “Tamsin, we never expected your inquiries to get far enough to put you in danger. We—the Elders, your mother—we know you’re restless. We thought if you tried to find the books and failed you would find it easier to forget being a loremaster and settle down.”

  Tamsin’s mouth dropped open. By letting her take this mission, Waller and the rest had been humoring her!

  “You exceeded our expectations.” Waller cleared his throat, as if banishing amusement. “Congratulations are in order.”

  Tamsin tried to say something—she knew she was expected to be grateful for his compliment—but words failed. Instead, unease crept over her. There was something intensely wrong with everything Waller was saying.

  After a long moment, she managed the one question that bothered her most. “Why are you telling me the truth now? About Dad? About what I’m doing here?” In other words, what sort of a game was the all-powerful Chief Elder playing?

  “Child,” Waller said kindly, “never mind all that. You underestimate the danger in Carlyle. Come home and tell us what you’ve found out. We’ll take over from there.”

  “No,” Tamsin said, dragging the word out of her parched throat, aware she ran the risk of Waller’s wrath. She’d never live with herself if she gave in. “I’m too close to getting the books, and if I don’t act now, they’ll slip out of our hands.”

  “Are you sure?” Greed tinged Waller’s voice. He wanted Merlin’s grimoires—but was that enough for him to gamble on her? “How close?”

  “A whisker,” she said. “I just need a bit more time.”