MASTER OF THE NIGHT
By
Angela Knight
Contents
THE TRUTH IN A LEGEND
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
First contact…
She studied him over the rim of her champagne. "You sound like a gambler, Mr. Champion."
"Oh, yes. Are you?"
"Only for high stakes." Her eyes shuttered, lashes curving against her creamy skin as she sipped. "Nothing less is worth the trouble."
"Or gives the same kick." He smiled slowly. "Would you like to step out onto the balcony with me? It's a little crowded in here."
Particularly for what he had in mind…
Erin eyed him in pure admiration. "Oh, you've got talent."
He grinned. "Well, yes. But that doesn't mean I'm not sincere."
A blond brow rose. "Are you trying to get me into bed, Champion?"
"Yes." Testing, he ran his fingertips over the curve of her bare shoulder. "How am I doing?"
Berkley Sensation books by Angela Knight
Jane's Warlord
Master of the Night
MASTER
of the
NIGHT
ANGELA KNIGHT
BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
MASTER OF THE NIGHT
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation edition / October 2004
Copyright C 2004 by Angela Knight.
Cover art by Franco Accornero.
Cover design by George Long.
Interior text design by Julie Rogers.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 0-425-19880-4
BERKLEY SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION and the "B" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
THE TRUTH IN THE LEGEND
^ »
Once upon a time, there was a boy named Arthur who drew a sword from a stone and became High King of Britain, Advised by the wizard Merlin, he formed a Round Table of heroic knights—Lancelot, Galahad, and all the others—whom he sent on a quest for the Holy Grail. The king and his gallant knights were beset, as heroes always are, by beautiful and treacherous women: Arthur's faithless wife, Guinevere, and the witches Morgana and Nimue.
You'll have heard the tale. How could you not? The bards have sung of it for sixteen hundred years.
But Arthur and Merlin and all the others are more than bards' songs. They are real, though little of the legend bears any resemblance to truth. And they live still, in a form your poets and historians could never have imagined.
For Merlin was no simple sorcerer. In truth, he was not human. He was not even of Earth. He and his love Nimue were beings of the Mageverse, the universe that is twin to ours, except that there, magic is as much a law of nature as gravity.
Merlin's starfaring people, the Fae, had seen how often intelligent races destroy themselves in infancy. Far too many, the Fae found, become extinct in the wars they fight or the ecological disasters they bring down on themselves.
The Fae loved life, and such extinctions struck them as a great waste. Yet they were wise, and they knew aid with a heavy hand could be as destructive as doing nothing at all.
Instead they thought to create guardians among each young race they encountered, champions who could guide and nurture their people into maturity. The Fae decided to give these guardians the ability to use the magic of the Mageverse and the knowledge to do so wisely. So they sent out teams of Teachers to find new races and create the champions who would protect them.
Thus Merlin and Nimue came to Earth, where they discovered two native peoples: The humans of Realspace Earth and the fairy Sidhe, an advanced race who occupied the Earth of the Mageverse. Merlin and Nimue decided the Sidhe were in need of no magical assistance, but humanity was more vulnerable.
So it was that the two set about testing men and women from every land. The bravest, most intelligent, and most skilled were allowed to drink from Merlin's Grail. Among them were Arthur and his knights, as well as Guinevere and her ladies, but there were many others, too.
The grail's magic changed the genetic structure of all who drank from it, granting immortality and power. The males who took that fateful sip became Magi, or vampires, while the females became Majae, or witches. The vampires could use the energy of the Mageverse only within their own bodies in feats of great strength or shapeshifting. The witches, however, could use that power in feats of magic.
In time, Merlin and Nimue left Earth for the next world in need of their guidance. But that was not the end of Merlin's Gift.
For the children of the Magekind are born mortal, but with the potential to become vampires and witches themselves. These Latents transform only if one of the Magekind makes love to them in adulthood. Repeated exposure to the Maja or Magus's passion triggers Merlin's Gift within them, making them powerful and immortal. Then it becomes their duty to join the Great Mission, guiding and protecting humanity.
But always from behind a cloak of secrecy.
For Magekind well knows if humanity ever discovers their existence, fear and politics may motivate mortals to war against them, thus triggering the very catastrophe they were created to prevent. To avoid that danger, the Magekind live on Mageverse Earth in the mystical city of Avalon, forever hidden and unknown to those they protect.
Yet because it is sometimes necessary to work more openly with mortal governments, each nation is assigned a vampire Champion. It's the Champions' task to work in secret with certain trustworthy mortal leaders, while keeping t
heir allies in ignorance of the Magekind. 'Tis no easy path to walk, and it takes a special man to walk it.
This is the story of one such Champion, and the Latent he came to love.
—Merlin's Grimoire
PROLOGUE
«^ »
Charles Town, South Carolina
September 10, 1780
Candlelight from the massive chandelier overhead shimmered over satin, brocade, and the brilliant scarlet of British regimentals. Somebody played a violin with more vigor than skill, competing with the sound of dancing feet in the ballroom across the hall. Laughter rang out, a little too heartily from Loyalist planters, a little too smugly from the Redcoat conquerors who now occupied Charles Town.
Reece Champion sipped his wine and smiled down at the pretty Tory who was under the delusion he'd make a good husband. The square-cut décolletage of her brocade gown framed a pair of lovely breasts that would have claimed his full attention under different circumstances. As it was, though, Reece was far more interested in a conversation between two British lieutenants who stood nearby.
"By fall, Tarleton will have that Fox's tail," one of them said, his voice slurring slightly.
God, Reece loved a drunk. They made a spy's job so much easier.
He'd come to Charles Town three months ago, not long after the port had fallen to a six-week British siege. Since then, Reece had managed to establish himself as a rabid Loyalist bitter about abuses he'd suffered at the hands of his Patriot neighbors. It was a believable cover: In the Southern colonies, the campaign for independence had taken on all the viciousness of a civil war.
His pose had been convincing enough to win Reece acceptance among a few Tory hostesses eager to curry favor with the invaders. Most of the city was less enthusiastic about the occupation, so the British welcomed the distraction of whatever dinners and balls the Loyalists cared to host.
Reece made himself equally popular, largely by way of deep pockets and a feigned willingness to let the Redcoats fleece him over cards. Even as he smiled and lost, he collected a steady stream of useful intelligence he could pass on to his Patriot contacts.
And he wasn't the only one taking advantage of Redcoat gullibility. Reece had assembled a ring of Patriot agents who circulated among the British and Tory militia. Any information they collected, he sent to Patriot commanders like Francis Marion, whom the British had christened the Swamp Fox.
There was a certain irony to the whole thing, of course. Magekind vampires like Reece had served British interests for centuries, yet now they were helping England's rebellious colonies break that country's yoke.
It had not been a popular decision among the Magekind.
High Council, at least not at first. Luckily, enough of the Majae had experienced enough visions to convince them the fledgling United States needed her independence.
So now Reece spent his evenings playing a lethal game of lies and eavesdropping. These two drunken lieutenants were just the sort of source he loved to plunder. But did the British really have a plan to capture Francis Marion, or was the officer just bragging in his cups?
To cover his interest, Reece leaned down to whisper something flattering to the little Tory, who simpered in response. Her pulse fluttered temptingly in her long, slender throat, and he felt his fangs twinge. None of that, he told himself sternly. Keep your mind on the job. Still, he was unable to resist a quick sniff of her deliciously tempting skin. She wasn't a Maja—or, for that matter, even a Latent—yet the rich femininity in her scent brought the Desire to quivering alert.
Until, as he breathed in, a sudden draft delivered a scent that definitely wasn't female. He lifted his head sharply. Another vampire? Here?
Reece looked up to see Thomas Westlake working through the crowd toward him. Westlake's gray wig was askew over wide, desperate eyes. And unless Reece was very much mistaken, there was blood on his friend's collar.
"Pardon me, sweet," Reece said to the Tory as he shot a regretful look at the two lieutenants. Judging from the expression on Westlake's face, something had gone very wrong, something he didn't dare ignore. He left the Tory pouting and started working his way through the crowd.
"What's the—?" Reece began, but didn't even get the question out of his mouth before Westlake's hand clamped down on his forearm with strength enough to make him wince.
"I need help," Tom hissed.
"Yes, I thought as much from the wild light in your eyes," Reece said dryly, catching his friend's shoulder and turning him smoothly toward the door. "Let's step outside, shall we?" This was not a conversation for mortal ears. Intercepting an interested glance from a Loyalist, Reece added more loudly, "What were you thinking, coming to Mrs. Mason's home in this condition? Shame, boy."
"Shorry." Westlake added an artistically drunken stagger to his step and allowed himself to be hustled outside.
"All right, Tom. What is it?" Reece demanded softly as soon as they were safely outside on the street. All around them the homes of wealthy merchants blazed with candlelight as people made the best of the British occupation. Wheels rumbled over the cobbles, and a dog barked frantically nearby, driven to a frenzy by the scent of vampire on the wind.
Westlake lost his drunken smile. "I've signed my own death warrant. And Lizzie's, too."
Reece stopped in his tracks, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach. "God, Tom, tell me you didn't." When his friend looked away, miserable, he exploded. "Have you taken leave of your senses? What possessed you to do something so asinine?"
"Reece, I love her. It was the only way we could stay together. Besides, I thought… I thought we could use her. You know what a fine agent she is—"
"Keep your voice down!" Reece snarled as he grabbed Westlake's shoulder to manhandle him further from a passing Hessian. Dropping his own voice to a whisper no human could overhear, he said, "You know the Council expressly forbade you from Changing her. You know that. Why did you disobey?"
"God, I don't know! I just thought… after she came through the Change all right, I'd go before the Majae and argue how much we need her." Westlake's face twisted and his shoulders began to shake.
If anything, the chill in Reece's gut deepened. "Oh, God. She didn't make it."
His eyes squeezed shut, Westlake shook his head, unable to speak.
Reece swore. "And you left her alone! For God's sake, where is she?"
"At the house," Westlake said. "My servants are watching her."
"You'll be lucky if she hasn't killed them all!" Cursing all disobedient romantics straight to hell, he pushed his friend into the thick shadows of a nearby wall. "Come on," Reece growled. "We'd better get to her before she turns the house into a crater."
"Lizzie wouldn't do that!" Westlake objected.
"Normally, no, but if she's got Mageverse Fever, the situation is far from normal." After a quick glance around to check for observers, Reece leaped, caught the top of the fifteen-foot wall, and boosted himself over into the garden beyond it. Westlake hit the ground beside him an instant later, and the two men took off for the next street at a hard run. Good thing there's no moon, he thought as they shot around trees and over bushes at a speed no human could match. We can move a little faster.
Not that it mattered. Saving Lizzie had become impossible the moment Tom climaxed inside her for the third time.
Like Reece and Thomas, Lizzie was one of the descendants of the original Lords and Ladies of Camelot. As such, she carried Merlin's Gift in her blood, just waiting for some Magus to trigger it with his passion, bringing her to her full power and immortality.
Thomas would have been safe if he'd taken her only once or pulled out before climaxing. Or simply refrained from taking her that third, lethal time. But he hadn't. And he'd Changed her.
It wasn't as if he hadn't been warned. Back when Lizzie and Tom had first met, he'd asked permission of the Majae's Council, the body of witches who decided who could safely receive the Gift. The Council had examined Lizzie—and determined that her mind cou
ld not withstand the strain of gaining the almost godlike power that is a Maja's birthright.
But Thomas hadn't believed them. Reece had begged him to stay away from her, had reminded him that both he and Lizzie faced the possibility of execution if they flouted the Council.
The stubborn bastard had done it anyway. And now…
They plunged together out of an alley across the street from Westlake's townhouse just in time to see the top story light up as though from a lightning strike—from inside the house. The boom made the ground shake.
Reece's heart sank. "Now that," he said, "is just not a good sign at all."
"No," Tom agreed grimly, "it's not."
Westlake's valet swung the door wide as they trotted up the walk. "Thank the good Lord you're back, Mr. Thomas." The tall, lean black man wore an expression of deep worry. "Miss Elizabeth has been raving since you left. The threats she's made…" Benjamin shook his graying head.
"We'll take care of it," Westlake told him shortly.
If they could. Lizzie was fully capable of carrying out any horror she cared to commit.
"What's gotten into her?" Benjamin asked with the boldness of a trusted servant as they strode past. "She's always been a lady down to the toes of her slippers, but the language she's used tonight would make a drunken wagoneer blush. You'd think she's possessed."
Reece heard his friend make a choked, agonized sound, but neither man replied.
There was really nothing to say.
As they strode across the foyer and up the narrow wooden stairs to the second floor, waves of magical force began ruffling over Reece's skin. He winced. The strength of the backwash told him the new Maja had a hell of a lot of power. Which was very bad news under the circumstances.
As if to confirm his fears, he heard a low female voice hissing something incomprehensible from the master bedroom at the end of the hall. As they approached, the words became all too clear. "Kill them," Elizabeth said. "I've got to kill them all. Wipe them off the face of the world before they get me. They're after me. They—" A sharp crack rattled the house, another lightning strike. Something shattered.
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