Master of Fate

by Angela Knight

  But she also saw his beautiful, crystalline memory of the moment their bodies joined, when she’d kissed and touched him for the first time. When he’d felt her touch. But most of all, Alys felt him.

  It was the first time she’d had more than brushing contact with Davon’s mind. She’d known how intelligent and driven he was, of course. Idiots didn’t become trauma surgeons. But he’d also demonstrated his character with his determination to learn every technique she’d tried to teach him. With his unceasing efforts to build his strength and speed. Despite the effort it had cost him, the pain of pulled muscles, the strain of lifting hundreds of pounds. And that was aside from his relentless efforts to learn swordplay.

  But over and above all that, Alys felt Davon’s love for her. Love he’d carefully hidden and tried to deny for the past decade. The love he’d thought she couldn’t possibly return.

  It was a good thing she’d never tried to touch his mind. If she had, there would have been no way she could have resisted the need to Truebond with him. And if she had, he would not have been able to save her. The contagion would have given Bres the means to seize control of Davon’s mind, as well. But God, the price they’d paid. The years they’d wasted…

  All that’s over now, Davon told her, joy ringing in the thought. We’re together now, and he’s not going to be able to stop us. With that, he flooded her exhausted, battered consciousness with his warm strength.

  She took what he offered with such generosity, using his power to heal her injuries, reinforce the cracks in her battered psyche, the wounds Bres had inflicted. Seeing the memory of what she’d suffered, Davon recoiled in new horror.

  No. It had to be this way, Alys told him. As painful as it was, it was better than the alternative. She showed him the image of the troll carrying his severed head. We must make sure the bastards don’t get a second chance. Bres is going to try again, and we can’t afford to let him succeed.

  Sensing what she needed without her even having to speak the words, Davon wrapped himself around her, through her, reinforcing her mind with his, despite his own exhaustion. Giving her the last full measure of himself without question. Because she needed it. And because that was just who he was.

  Alys took that power and reached into herself, seizing the magical link Bres had created between them with the virus -- with his own DNA. Then she flung them both up that dying link, hunting the king on the other end. Together, they drove like a spear into Bres’s mind -- right into the core of his brain where that magical link had been born.

  Alys and Davon found themselves looking through Bres’s eyes as he crouched in the center of the spell circle, one hand gripping the dragonet, the other holding a dagger poised to drive into the hatchling’s heart. The baby writhed and whipped under his hand, screeching in terror as Bres prepared to drink its magic.

  I don’t fucking think so! Alys snarled.

  Bres recoiled in astonishment, sensing their sudden presence. What? Where did you… Get out!

  No! Alys eyed the spell inscribed on the floor around them. The draconic symbols that had strengthened it were gone. Farek’s death must have broken his part of the spell. Which was why it was taking everything Bres had to block the hatchling’s psychic link to his mother.

  Drawing hard on Davon’s strength, Alys grabbed Bres’s magical connection to the spell that bound the baby.

  And snapped it.

  The dragonet wailed, a psychic screech of such power, Davon, Alys, and Bres shrank under its thundering blast. Every dragon for miles will hear that, Alys thought in satisfaction. Particularly its mother.

  No! Bres screamed, clawing for his magic in a frantic effort to reconstruct the spell. But Alys clamped down over his mind, blocking his brain’s access to the energies of the Mageverse.

  Simultaneously, Davon wound his consciousness around the fucker, freezing his every muscle, holding him still so he couldn’t hurt the hatchling. The problem with kidnapping people’s children, Davon snarled, is that it tends to piss them off.

  Panicked, Bres fought, his mind battering theirs with all his impressive magical power, flailing, howling in rage and terror.

  Alys realized there was no way she could have held the king by herself, even with her restored magic. She’d taken too much of a beating. But Davon bound Bres like chains to a battleship’s anchor. He might not have a witch’s power, but what he did have was will -- the will to keep Bres from using his magic and the will to help Alys use hers.

  A thought winged through her consciousness. I never realized just how strong Davon is. She’d been blinded by his doctor’s compassion, by his loyalty and willingness to follow her. But he’d never obeyed out of weakness. Partnering Mad Alys had taken incredible strength. Never more so than today.

  The white-hot point burst above Bres’s broken spell circle, widening into a dimensional gate. A seven-foot-long head thrust through the opening, frantic red eyes sweeping the room.

  The hatchling made a desperate little cry.

  The mother dragon’s eyes widened in unmistakable joy. Her magic flashed out to scoop up her baby like a cradling hand. She lifted the child and wafted it through the dimensional gate. All the while, the great beast stared at Bres, her eyes burning crimson in her great white head.

  Let me go, damn you! the Fomorian king shrieked at Davon and Alys, writhing in animal panic as he fought to break their hold.

  How do you like being helpless, motherfucker? They clung to him grimly as his mind battered theirs in a frenzy.

  I’ll give you anything, just…

  The only thing we want from you is your death. They held him right up until the moment the mother dragon opened her jaws and screamed in flame. Howling in agony, the king began to burn.

  * * *

  Alys damn near died with Bres, but at the last moment Davon’s mind clamped around hers and dragged her away. They fell into their bodies with Bres’s screams ringing in their minds.

  For a moment, Alys thought she herself was on fire -- that the magic of the dragon’s breath had somehow spread her body.

  “It’s all right,” Davon murmured. “It’s all right, we’re alive, we’re safe…”

  Alys sucked in a breath, realizing that her mouth still pressed against his in that kiss they’d begun when they Truebonded. With a moan of relief, she kissed him hard, letting him feel her humble gratitude.

  “And look at that. You were right, Gwen. That spell was hiding our missing lovebirds.” Something cold and bright touched Alys’s jaw. “Would you like to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Arthur Pendragon asked coldly.

  Alys and Davon jerked apart to find Excalibur’s point pressing against her throat as the once and future king glared at them.

  He was in full King Arthur mode, black brows lowered over furious eyes, the corner of his mouth twisted in the frame of his beard.

  The memory of a vision flashed through Alys’s consciousness: Excalibur’s swing taking her head…

  A gauntleted hand reached up and closed around the great sword’s point, pushing it away. “You may want to hold off on the execution,” Davon said coolly. “She just killed Bres.”

  Alys shot him a look. “We just killed Bres.” Then she shrugged. “Actually, we held him still so a mother dragon could fry him for kidnapping her hatchling. But the end effect is the same. The son of a bitch is dead.”

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he studied them for a long, cold moment. Alys’s heart thundered like a bass drum by the time he finally spoke. “Where is Bres?”

  Oh, thank God. He believes us. “At his palace,” Alys said, and described how he’d used the virus to turn her into his puppet -- and how they had turned his spell against him.

  “That was cleverly done,” Morgana Le Fay observed. She’d evidently walked up in time to hear the conversation. Then she frowned. “Though it doesn’t explain how he was able to use that kind of spell on those werewolves, given their immunity to magic.”

  “No, think about it,” Alys expl
ained. “If Direwolves were truly immune to magic, they wouldn’t be able to shift forms. What they’re immune to is magic coming from outside their bodies. Once Bres got the virus inside them, he bypassed that protection.”

  Morgana nodded slowly. “I suppose that makes sense, but I still don’t understand how he overcame the werewolf immune system.”

  “He overwhelmed it,” Alys said. “At least, according to what I saw when he was occupying my head.”

  “That must be why the infected carriers had to bite their victim so many times,” Davon suggested thoughtfully. “It had to be a massive infection to overpower the werewolves’s natural immunity long enough for his magic to get a foothold. That’s why it took so much less to infect Alys.”

  Arthur studied them, some of the suspicion gone from his dark eyes. “How did you manage to break his control?”

  “Once Davon administered the cure --” Alys began.

  Morgana’s eyes widened. “Wait, you have a cure? How the hell did you do that? And why didn’t you mention it before now?”

  “Unicorn Dagger,” Davon explained. “I cut her with it, and while I fought her, it created the cure in a magical reservoir. Then I broke it under her nose to administer it.”

  Morgana stared at Alys. “You altered the unicorn spell and put it on a dagger? That enchantment normally takes an hour. How the hell did you get it to work fast enough?”

  “Naked desperation. I knew what was coming.”

  Arthur’s head rocked back, his eyes narrowing. “And you didn’t fucking warn us?”

  “I couldn’t,” she snapped, out of patience. “If I could have, I would have. Every other alternative future I saw resulted in Bres invading Avalon during the day and killing absolutely everyone.”

  “What about Maeve’s spell?” Morgana demanded.

  “It didn’t work -- because you were the one he gained control of so he could invade.”

  “Shit.” Arthur rubbed his forehead as if it ached. “And Bres? The mother fried him?”

  “Like a bucket of chicken,” Davon said with satisfaction.

  “I predict the palace won’t be standing in an hour,” Alys said with a certain grim satisfaction. “Not once mama dragon gets through with it.”

  “Chances are good that entire city won’t be standing in an hour,” Morgana said. “The Dragonkind do not like death magic, especially not when one of their young is the intended sacrifice.”

  Arthur squared his broad shoulders. “But meanwhile we’ve got to finish dealing with all these fucking Fomorians.”

  “The Fomorians are not going to be a problem,” Lancelot announced, striding up, Galahad at his side, along with their wives, Grace and Caroline. “They’ve all gated away. Every last one of them is gone, including the trolls, centaurs, and giants they brought with them.”

  “They didn’t retreat in good order either,” Galahad added. “More like stark panic.”

  “No wonder, if a dragon just fried their king.” Arthur scanned the square. “Unfortunately, that still leaves us with one hell of a mess to clean up down here.”

  Alys looked around, and her heart sank. Buildings burned on either side of the street. Teams of Majae worked frantically to extinguish the magical blazes as their vampire partners carried mortals to safety. Other witches were busy healing the injured and comforting the grieving.

  “This is a mass casualty event,” Arthur said. “We have just been catapulted out of the closet, boys and girls. There’s no way in hell we can stuff it all back in.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Morgana argued. “We could restore the buildings, then clean up the memories of any bystanders. We’ve done it before.”

  “Yeah, right.” Arthur jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Morg, look over there.”

  A cluster of videographers, photographers, and reporters stood looking at them, their expressions a blend of avid curiosity and anxiety, as if they were trying to figure out whether they dared approach and try to get an interview.

  Beyond them, a mob of bloody, filthy, soot-covered cops stared at the Magekind with grim expressions and more than a little hostility. Probably trying to decide whether to arrest them or just open fire and pray.

  “Oh, shit,” Davon muttered.

  “We’re surrounded by a dozen live news trucks, “Arthur said, “not to mention New Yorkers with cell phones making live Facebook posts. And that doesn’t even count the cop body cam footage and the helicopters I can hear circling overhead. There is no way we’re going to be able to cover this up.” He sighed and scratched his beard. “I’m not even sure it’s worth the effort. Merlin warned me one day humanity would find out about us -- that we wouldn’t be able to remain a secret forever. And it looks like that day has come.”

  They all exchanged dark looks.

  “Oh, here we go,” Guinevere muttered, nodding toward the journalists.

  A tall, dark-haired woman in a wrinkled, sooty blouse and dirty slacks started toward them, a microphone in her hand. The mic bore a Donovan Cable News logo. A brawny blond man with a camera balanced on one shoulder followed her. He had a kind of battered good looks, along with the haunted, wary eyes of a man who had seen the edge of hell a few too many times.

  Alys, looking at him, felt that too-familiar sense of knowing. “Oh hell,” she muttered. “That blond photog’s a Latent.”

  Arthur stared at her, appalled. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “I can believe it,” Galahad said. “I saw that suicidal fucker escape death half a dozen times tonight. He’s got big brass balls and the luck of Satan.”

  “Terrific.” Arthur sighed. “And we’re going to need this lunatic?”

  “Yep,” Alys said, and shook her head. “Not exactly sure how or why, but we will.”

  “Fuck me,” Arthur muttered, then squared his broad, armored shoulders and gave Morgana and his wife a look. “We’ll deal with him later. Right now, we’ve got our first press conference to give, God help us. The rest of you lot, help our people put out those fires and heal the mortals.”

  As the three started toward the reporter and the Latent, the rest of the press surged toward them, mics extended, already beginning to shout questions, eyes gleaming in crazed excitement.

  * * *

  The rest of the night was an exhausting blur, between the press conference, healing injured innocent bystanders, answering uncomfortable questions from mortal authorities, and making magical repairs to half-demolished buildings.

  And someone still had to figure out what to do about Adam Parker, DCN cameraman, Latent, and potential vampire recruit they were going to need for some unspecified reason.

  Fortunately, that was a problem for a Court Seducer, not Alys.

  The only bright spot in the entire mess was Kel’s report from the Dragonlands. The dragon knight had gated there to learn that sure enough, his fellow giant lizards were justifiably pissed at the Fomorians.

  The mother dragon and her hatchling were home and safe. She had indeed torched Bres’s palace, and her outraged relatives had gated in after her to make sure the lesson stuck. By the time they were through, they’d made it abundantly clear that kidnapping dragonets was not acceptable behavior. And would be punished.

  After gating back from the Dragonlands, Kel informed Arthur and Morgana that the mother dragon had confirmed Alys’s account. She’d sensed the presence of the two Magekind as they’d worked to keep Bres from killing her daughter or escaping her vengeance. As far as she was concerned, she owed them her child’s life.

  “So our alliance with the Dragonkind is now doubly secure,” Kel reported.

  Arthur turned to Alys and Davon, who were taking a break from rescuing mortals. “Good work,” he said, giving them a genuine smile. “We’ll talk more after you’ve had enough time to recover.” Pausing, he gave Alys a significant look. “Or to put it another way, get lost. You look like shit.”

  Dismissed, Alys attempted to open a gate home -- only to wince as agony stabbed her
in the temples. “Oww.”

  Davon glanced around. “Could someone open a gate? Alys is pretty well drained.”

  “Of course,” said Morgana, much to Alys’s surprise. Generally, the liege of the Majae did not coddle her agents. But she gestured and a gate bloomed.

  With a sigh of relief, Alys stepped through it, Davon at her heels.

  She expected to end up back in Avalon’s central square, so she was surprised to find they’d returned to her bedroom. “Thank God. I was not up to that walk.” With a groan, she collapsed on the bed and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees.

  “I’d have carried you.” Davon knelt at her feet, taking one of her boots in his hands. His fingers brushed the magical contact, and the scale mail retracted down her leg into the boot. He eased it off and went to work on its mate.

  Alys watched him, thinking she really should help, but it seemed like too much effort. At least returning to the Mageverse was already beginning to refill her magical tank. When she reached for her power, the thunderous banging in her temples quieted. She sighed in relief.

  Still on his knees, Davon removed her gloves, then pulled off the chest plate. Alys let him do it, admiring the strong lines of his handsome face, the swoop of his broad nose, and the sensual, intent line of his mouth. Remembering of the feel of those lips on hers, she felt a slow smile grow.

  “We survived.” She blinked at the note of wonder in her own voice. “And it’s all because of you.” She remembered the sight of him battling Bres and the dragon in Times Square. The fluid power and speed, the elegance in every attack and parry.

  Her eyes widened as she remembered the vision that had landed them in this situation. “Did you… did you really jump off the roof of the hotel?” An image spun through her mind with sickening clarity -- Davon missing the dragon by a fraction of an inch to splatter on the pavement…

  Davon shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

  “What if you’d missed?” And why the hell did I push him to do it? Actually, she knew the answer to that. She’d been driven half insane by the future she’d foreseen. Willing to do absolutely anything to avoid it.