Master of Magic

by Angela Knight

  “Thanks,” Nineva said, looking pleased. “We cheat, though. Magic makes a good substitute for sunlight, if you’re willing to pour enough power into it.” She was lovely even by Sidhe standards, with a heart-shaped face and opalescent eyes that sparked and glowed with a hundred colors. Her blond hair had been cut in a short style that revealed her pointed ears. All she’d need to pass for Tinkerbell was a pair of dragonfly wings. “I can’t really take the credit. It’s more Kel’s doing than mine.”

  “You designed it, darling,” her husband said.

  “Yes, but it’s your magic.”

  That much was obvious. The whole place practically throbbed with the deep, thrumming power Olivia associated with dragons.

  “Are you folks hungry?” Nineva asked. “I thought we’d eat in here—it’s a great place for a picnic.”

  God, yes, Rhys’s mental voice said. My stomach is about to declare a mutiny.

  When Olivia laughed, her hostess lifted an inquiring blond brow.

  “Rhys says all the flying he did today gave him an appetite.”

  Kel grinned. “By which he means, ‘I could eat a hippo with a side order of water buffalo.’ Winging it burns a hell of a lot of calories.”

  * * *

  A few spells later, they all clustered around an enormous blanket; Olivia had seen smaller sails back in her days as a merchant captain. Rhys and Kel shared immense platters of venison, a couple of whole turkeys, and two roast pigs. The knight had reassumed his dragon form, though not his full size, so he and his guest could dine more comfortably. Olivia wasn’t surprised his body’s dimensions were so flexible; when she’d known him during the war, he’d been small enough to wrap around the hilt of Gawain’s sword. Not that his size had been voluntary. He’d been under a curse cast by his dragon uncle at the time.

  Slicing a bite of the stuffed roast pheasant her hostess had conjured, Olivia almost moaned at the taste. It had been cooked in the Sidhe style, and the combination of delicate Mageverse spices, fruits, and nuts reminded her of family feast days when she was a girl. “Oh, God, I think I just had an orgasm in my mouth.”

  Kel’s laughter made the wineglasses ring. Nineva grinned in pleasure. “That’s quite the compliment.”

  “This is quite the meal. Thanks so much for putting us up tonight.”

  “You saved my husband’s life. The least I could do is feed you.”

  Olivia glanced across the blanket at their enormous companions. Rhys was staring down at the bowl of venison in front of him. Though it was impossible to read his expressions in this form—he managed to look fierce even when he was laughing—frustration boiled in his mental voice. How in the hell am I supposed to eat this? I can’t even find my mouth.

  He bent and opened his beak, but its curve blocked his view of the food when he picked up a chunk between his claws. It promptly fell out of his beak the minute he lifted his head. Goddammit!

  “Not like that,” Kel told him kindly. “Use your magic to levitate the food.” A chunk of meat rose in the air to hover above the dragon’s head, and he snapped it out of the air. “Try that.”

  Rhys nodded as a chunk of venison rose from his own plate to hang overhead. Opening his beak, he dropped it inside.

  Only to discover he’d forgotten he didn’t have teeth and couldn’t chew. He coughed and choked before discovering he could swallow it whole.

  Partly to distract her lover from his embarrassed misery, Olivia looked at Kel. “So how did you get out of Gawain’s sword?”

  “With a lot of help from Gawain and a witch named Lark, who’s now his wife.” Kel launched into a story about a demonic son of one of the Knights of the Round Table who’d formed a partnership with Kel’s uncle.

  He was such a good storyteller Rhys forgot to feel self-conscious. By the time the knight had finished his tale, Rhys was snapping bits of meat out of the air like a kid catching popcorn in his mouth. It didn’t surprise Olivia that he was a quick study; she’d noticed as much when she’d taught him those Sidhe spells the day before.

  But if he has trouble just eating, how’s he supposed to fight a pack of killers who are far more experienced at griffin combat?

  * * *

  At last their hosts headed off to bed, leaving Olivia and Rhys in possession of the cavern.

  After magicking herself clean, she replaced her clothing with a pretty, white nightgown. Normally Olivia slept naked, but she suspected that would only remind Rhys of what they couldn’t do.

  As she crawled into the bed she’d conjured, he gave her a long look. Though it was almost impossible to read his expression, she could sense his pain and longing. I’m going to try that transformation spell one more time.

  When he closed his golden eyes, the familiar blast of power boiled around him, hot and bright, singeing her skin. Hair rose on the back of her neck with an emotion almost akin to religious awe.

  He should have looked unbelievable, ridiculous—a lion the size of an elephant with the head and wings of an eagle. Yet somehow his disparate parts seemed to fit as perfectly as when he’d been merely human.

  There was something so intensely regal about him. Part of it was the ruff of feathers that mantled his head and shoulders like a leonine mane, while a pair of longer feathered tufts stood on either side of his head like pointed ears.

  More feathers spread down his back to powerful wings and a fan-shaped eagle tail. Which was a good thing: if he’d had a lion’s tail like mythological griffins, he wouldn’t have been able to steer when he flew.

  The leonine part of him was lean and powerfully muscled, with paws as big around as her waist. All of his body, feathered and not, was the same golden shade as his human hair had been. The unified color scheme helped him avoid the Frankenstein appearance of griffins in medieval woodcuts.

  And Goddess, his power.

  Magic swirling around him, he mantled his enormous wings and fought to change. The sheer power of his effort made it hard for her to draw breath.

  He’s not human. It was true, and yet even as the thought flashed through her mind, Olivia knew it was wrong. No matter what exterior shape he wore, he was still the man she’d come to love so fast.

  And she did love him. How could she resist? She’d never known another man like him, not even her husband. Coln had been a wonderful man, kind, generous, and courageous, and they’d shared a deep, quiet love.

  The emotion growing between her and Rhys felt stormier than that, restless with sensual hunger. But then, she and Coln had never faced challenges as dire as the ones she and Rhys did. Not until the end, when it killed him.

  But that had been her fault, not his. She . . .

  The burning wave of magic crested and drained away, leaving Rhys standing with his head hanging, breathing hard with effort.

  And still a griffin.

  “You’ll figure it out,” Olivia told him quietly. “I have faith in you.”

  Hopefully it’s not misplaced, he replied.

  “It’s not.” She watched, heart aching, as he moved away from the bed she’d conjured and curled up on the grass beside the pool. Tucking his head under one great wing, he went still, a muscular shadow in the dimness.

  Olivia turned toward the bed and started to throw back the covers. And stopped. Dropping the comforter, she pivoted on a bare heel and walked over to him. As he pulled his head out from under his wing, she ducked beneath it and curled against his furry side.

  He poked his head under his wing to look at her. Olivia?

  “I need you tonight.”

  Why? What good am I? The question held a note of bitterness.

  “I know this will come as a shock to that male brain of yours, but there’s more to life than sex.”

  She’d surprised him—he made a clicking sound she somehow knew was a chuckle. Blasphemy.

  Laughing, Olivia nestled against his
warm side, enjoying the feel of his thick fur, the scent of him, wild and male. With a sigh, she began to run her hand back and forth over his ribs, listening to his breathing slow and deepen as he fell asleep.

  * * *

  She dreamed of a pair of griffins who occupied a huge nest built on a great wooden bowl in the branches of an enormous tree. The female griffin—though Olivia had no idea how she knew the creature’s gender—lay curled around a huge egg patterned with iridescent swirls of color, one wing draped protectively over it. Her fur and feathers were the same golden shade as Rhys’s.

  A male, an almost incandescent white with gold markings, lay on the egg’s other side. He rumbled a soft, rhythmic sound deep in his throat, almost like a lullaby as he rubbed his beak across her head.

  The female made a soft churrrring sound in return, peaceful, almost sleepy. Happy and content.

  Olivia’s eyes slid open, and she stared out into the dark, conscious of Rhys’s deep rumble as he lay next to her. It was just a dream. Though he cuddled against her in almost exactly the same pose as the male griffin had around his mate . . .

  Which was when noticed the green sparks orbiting her head like a halo. Then again, maybe it was more than a dream.

  Chapter Eleven

  Flying lessons the next day were almost as frustrating and painful as Rhys’s failed attempts to transform. He had trouble projecting his thoughts, too, though at least Olivia could translate his questions.

  “I don’t understand why you can’t understand what he’s saying,” she told Smoke. The cat perched on the shoulder of a dark-haired woman he’d introduced as his wife, Eva. “I don’t have any problem.”

  “The rest of us don’t have the advantage of a griffin elemental in our heads,” he told her dryly. “We pick up some of the images he transmits, but they come fast, and the ideas he’s trying to convey aren’t always apparent.”

  She had to admit that made sense.

  Massive wings beat overhead, sounding a little frantic. Olivia jerked her head back, instinctively ducking, to see Rhys fighting to pull out of a dive.

  He’d left it a little too late. He slammed into the ground a hundred yards away, throwing up a storm of dirt and stones that rained down around them. Fortunately, the shield Smoke maintained as a safety measure protected them from the debris.

  Which was no comfort to Olivia whatsoever. “Rhys!” Leaping to her feet, she ran to him, barely noticing when Smoke cursed and dropped the shield to keep her from slamming into it face-first.

  Rhys was already on his feet, shaking his head so hard, feathers flew.

  “Is he all right?” Kel called, peering down as he circled above them.

  Tell him I’m fine, Rhys growled as he gathered himself to leap skyward again.

  She lunged to plant a hand on his flank, stopping him. “Are you sure? That’s the third time you hit the ground in the last hour.”

  Big gold eyes glowed as he radiated offended dignity. I’m fine, dammit. I’m not going to give up until I get this. He threw himself into the air, forcing her to duck out of the way of his great wings.

  “Men,” she growled under her breath.

  “They all suffer from testosterone poisoning,” Nineva agreed cheerfully, wandering over to join her., Smoke’s wife strolled along in her wake, the cat on her shoulder.

  “It does tend to drop their IQ by good fifteen or twenty points,” Eva agreed. A tall, slender woman with shoulder-length hair the rich brown of dark chocolate, she was dressed in jeans and a Deadpool t-shirt. There was no sign of the ghostly antlers that had appeared over her head when Smoke had been hurt the day before. Like her husband, she was a shapeshifter, though she’d said her other form was a werewolf.

  “I wonder what the griffin equivalent of testosterone is?” Olivia tilted her head back to watch Rhys wheel around Kel as the dragon demonstrated various maneuvers. “He’s definitely got it in spades.”

  “I think he’s making real progress though,” Nineva said thoughtfully. “It took me days to get a handle on that banking maneuver.”

  “It’s a lot easier to do when you only weigh a little over a hundred pounds.”

  “Oh, I’m not talking about levitation. I mean when I’m in dragon form.”

  Olivia looked around in interest. “You turn into a dragon?”

  “More or less. I’m not a very big dragon.”

  “How the hell did you learn to do that?”

  “Cachamwri gave me the power.”

  Olivia’s jaw dropped. “Cachamwri? The Dragon God?” Who was also worshipped by the Cachamwri Sidhe, if not in Ansgar’s Morven kingdom.

  “Kel and I rescued his wife from a sword, so he gave me the ability as a wedding gift.”

  “Beats the hell out of a toaster,” Eva observed.

  “I wonder if I could transform into a griffin?” If Rhys couldn’t return to human shape, maybe they could do it the other way around . . . though she wasn’t sure how she’d feel about griffin sex.

  “It’s possible,” Smoke said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have that much juice on your own—it would take a ridiculous amount of power to become a griffin—but your elemental might be able to do it if you talked him into it.”

  “Smoke, I can’t even talk to him, much less talk him into anything.”

  Above them, Rhys lost control and tumbled. Olivia tensed, instinctively drawing magic to catch him with a levitation spell, but he righted himself and spiraled skyward again. Which was just as well; he probably weighed ten or fifteen tons. She wouldn’t have a prayer of levitating him, but her hindbrain insisted otherwise.

  “One thing about that boy,” Smoke observed. “He doesn’t give up.”

  * * *

  The afternoon was taken up by combat practice with Smoke. This time the cat transformed into a tiger roughly the same size as Rhys, and the two fought on the ground.

  Olivia watched with her heart in her throat as the griffin and the Mageverse tiger circled, ears back. Rhys threw himself forward, striking out with sheathed claws. Smoke leaped upward, avoiding the blow, and attempted to drop on top of him.

  Rhys twisted away, rearing with that harsh, shrieking roar he gave in battle. The two tangled, dancing on rear legs and striking at each other with claws sheathed. Finally they leaped apart to circle again.

  “You’re thinking too much,” Smoke called. “You’re not a human. Your body knows what to do if you’d just quit fighting it.”

  Rhys hissed in frustration. He leaped, trying to pounce on the great cat. Smoke ducked aside, one paw slamming across Rhys’s beak hard enough to rock his head.

  The griffin retreated, hissing, his eyes blazing.

  “You’ve got wings, Rhys!” Kel yelled. “Use them!” The dragon was in human form, which made it easier for Olivia to read his expression. He looked more than a little grim.

  She didn’t feel all that optimistic herself. Rhys was no stranger to combat—he’d fought well against the werewolves. But now he had twice his usual number of legs, not to mention a pair of wings and a beak.

  Training and experience made a big difference in combat. To really know what to do with a weapon when someone was trying to kill you, you had to drill with it until its use became second nature. That took years of practice Rhys wouldn’t get if the griffins came after them in the next few days.

  “You really care about that kid, don’t you?” Kel said.

  She looked over at her friend, frowning. “He’s not a kid.”

  The dragon knight gave Olivia a sardonic smile. “He’s what, thirty-three? You’re almost ten times older than he is.”

  “So?” Eva put in, indignant. “I’m about the same age as Rhys, and I took on Warlock.”

  “You had more experience being a werewolf than he has being a griffin.” As they watched, Rhys opened his beak and blew a gust of magic at Smoke, who ducked. K
el made an approving sound. “Still, the boy may be young, but he does have real power. Power and guts can make up for a lot.”

  “It would help if we knew what was going on,” Olivia growled. “And I’d bet money this elemental of mine knows exactly what’s happening and why, if I could just get him, her, or it to tell us.”

  “Maybe I could help with that,” Eva suggested thoughtfully. “Zephyr and I could try to open communications with him.” When Olivia looked confused, she explained, “My elemental.”

  Olivia looked at her with interest. “You’ve got one too?”

  She snorted. “Or the ghost of one, anyway.” Evidently reading Olivia’s confusion, she explained, “Zephyr’s actually dead.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. How does that work?”

  “He used to inhabit the body of a stag. One of our enemies killed and ate most of him, including his elemental powers. What remained of Zephyr offered me a bargain: the ability to work magic in exchange for helping him seek revenge on his killer.” Her lips twitched. “Now he’s kind of my personal Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

  “Eva is our resident geek,” Kel explained dryly.

  The werewolf stuck her tongue out at him before turning to Olivia again. “If you’re willing to take another shot at contacting your elemental, I’d be happy to give you a hand.”

  Olivia hesitated, remembering the last time the thing knocked her on her ass. On the other hand, if there was any chance at all it could tell them something useful, it was worth the risk. “I’d appreciate any help you could give us.”

  As the group around them called comments and suggestions to Rhys, Eva gestured off to the side. “Let’s take a walk. We’re not going to be able to concentrate in the middle of the Magekind cheering section.”

  Reluctantly, Olivia rose and walked after her as she strode toward a stand of nearby trees. Smoke roared, and she threw a glance over her shoulder. He and Rhys were balanced on their hind legs again, punching one another like a pair of boxers.