She held her ground. She pulled free, shaking her head to clear the fuzziness from the fall. She hoped it stemmed from the fall and not from Merle meddling in her life. She loved him dearly, but her grandfather lived in a magical world too crazy for her to deal with.
Frank grabbed her arm once more. Gennie wrestled free, shoving her shocked co-worker back. “No, Frank. Leave him alone.” The words fell out of her mouth of their own volition, while the need to protect this stranger seized her. “This isn't for you."
With an almost animal sound of frustration, the stranger turned on his heel, giving her a first class view of his perfectly sculpted back. His shoulders tapered to a masculine waist. He nearly lost his footing with the abrupt movement, showing some amazing flex-and-bunch muscle action as he regained his balance. He stalked into the garage, around the side of the van and out of sight.
Gennie felt the magical tug. He couldn't leave. He had to stay with her. “Wait!” Gennie dodged around the van.
Too late Gennie remembered that a cornered creature will defend itself. She stopped, her neck trapped in the vice of his hand. He let go just as fast. His brows drew together in a painful mask of regret. Instinct made her throw her hands out, the desperate spell spilling past her lips.
Watts and volts.
Charge me up.
Zip and shock.
On his ass.
Knock him back.
Calling the magic, she shoved it at him, heedless of the spell's control.
"Ahhh!” The man convulsed as untamed magical current hit his body with the force of a high-voltage fence. He crumbled to the ground.
"Wow, Gennie!” The missing Rory poked his head around the van. He grinned from ear to ear. “That's neat. Can you make sparks like that again?"
Gennie tiptoed forward, drawn to the unconscious mystery man. His chest rose and fell in a reassuring pattern. Her shoulders sagged as a breath of relief escaped her lips. If he was breathing, he couldn't be too hurt by her blast.
"I'm calling the police."
Jolted out of her daze, Gennie looked up. The fear in Frank's gaze said that he'd heard and seen her spell. His reaction emphasised reason number one to downplay her ‘gifts'. Human fear of the unknown could be vicious.
"No.” She reached out, pretending not to notice as Frank took a careful step back from her. A fine sheen of perspiration gleamed on his dark skin. Gennie bit her lip. “Frank. It was an accident. A freak accident.” She winced at the sharp look he gave her at the word freak. “Help me get him inside."
Frank backed up another step, his hands in the air.
"No way, girl. This is beyond weird. I can overlook a lot of the stuff that goes on around here.” He pointed one long fingered digit at the downed stranger. “But, lookit him! He probably escaped from prison.” Frank sent his hand in a sweeping north-astern direction where the prisons were maybe an hour and half's drive. The whites of his eyes shone, slightly panicked from her magical display, in the dim garage lighting. Frank disbelieved magic, UFOs, and Elvis sightings with fervour. The more visible the proof, the more fervent he became. “Take your pick! There's four or five he could have escaped from."
Hands on hips, she gave her co-worker a deadpan stare. "Frank."
He pinched the thick bridge of his nose. Thick lashes covered his eyes as he dragged in a ragged breath. “Okay. Fine.” Frank took another calming breath. The muscles under his shirt bunched and released with the effort. “For the record though, there are reasonable explanations for all of this. One, we are calling the power company to report a random electrical problem in the garage. Two, I am contacting the hospitals about any missing psychiatric patients.” He pinned her with a dark look, quelling her protest. “I can't believe I'm falling for this again.” His grumbled complaint deflated the rest of his agitation. He stared first at Gennie, then at the naked stranger sprawled on the concrete floor.
"We're takin’ him in the house?” Stevie circled the unconscious man. He bent, almost touching the dragon tattoo before thinking better of it. Drawing his hands into fists in his lap, he glanced up at Gennie with excitement. She could only imagine what the guys were going to say at their next psychologist appointment or what the repercussions would be.
Ben crossed his hands over his chest. His chin stuck out at a mulish angle. “He's not staying in my room. I don't want him touching my stuff.” The residents of Camelot House did not like change.
Gennie rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Exhaustion from a full day of babysitting three grown men, dragged at her. If Ben worked up to a tantrum, Frank could deal with it. He was the one on the clock. “We'll take him to the spare room.” There, Gennie could doze in the chair while she waited for her mystery man to wake up.
* * * *
Cal woke to the comfortable enfolding sensation reminiscent of being tucked away safe in his original companion scabbard, another magical construct that had been sold to a collector by one idiot wielder down on his luck.
The dimly lit bedchamber comprised of a nearly perfect square, furnished in drab browns and plain uninspired furniture. Aside from the soft mattress, the only other comfort of the room was the swish-swish and quiet murmurs of the pacing woman.. His human body ached from the force of her magic. Memory, followed fast by shame, cut deep into him. Cal struggled against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
Generation after generation of Pendragon heirs trained with Excalibur. The code of honour drilled into those young knights in training was the oil that kept his blade clean.
True, a magical construct felt the pale shadows that told him of his human counterpart's state of mind. This chaos inside him, originated from him. It fed on itself, stirring more emotions. Still, disorientation and an emotional upheaval were no excuse for lashing out at an unarmed female.
The thought brought another emotion bubbling up, even as he watched her make another swishing turn around the foot of the bed. She, a woman, had defeated him, Excalibur, sword of legend. In his experience, the human female tended to be soft, frail creatures terrified of rodents. Women didn't train for knighthood and they certainly did not engage in battle.
Warmth stole into his chest as she bit out an epithet into the small object pressed so tight against her ear, hidden by a halo of golden curls. Her bow shaped mouth pressed in a hard line. His woman defended herself like a Valkyrie and knocked him on his backside.
His wielder was unconventional in his experience. Her full, soft curves under her thin tunic and breeches fascinated him. Her breasts floated under her tunic, defying gravity. His blood heated, pounding in his veins as his human body hardened to the point of pain. Blood of ages, the women in Arthur Pendragon's or any of his past owners’ lives were never put together in such a way!
A hiss of sound escaped his lips. She turned. The measuring weight of her velvet brown eyes heated him further. “Good. You're awake. How do you feel?” He detected patient amusement in the one golden brown eyebrow arching high at his silent stare. Realising that the woman addressed him, he blinked in surprise. And she expected an answer.
As a sword, no one had ever spoken to him directly. Except for Merlin, and that did not count. Throughout the years, the wizard often chattered at inanimate objects to fill the quiet solitude, shortening their names. For a strange, surreal moment, he wanted to be truly human. A man of action. One to which men gave their trust and allegiance. Not a symbol, but a participant.
"I..."
"Okay.” She crossed her arms under her full breasts. The fingers of one delicate hand tapped an impatient beat on her bare upper arm. “How about we start with an easy question? Who are you?"
He sat up, struggled with the bedding. Finally, he got to his feet and assessed the body he now inhabited. He was dressed in the manner of humans, by someone, he imagined, with an odd sense of humour. Soft leggings, as green as a leaf, covered his lower body. A loose tunic covered his torso. Adorning the tunic, the strange likeness of a red-nosed deer danced in blue snow. Ca
l ran a hand over the fabrics, as strange as the garments, the smooth, fine texture of fabric felt comfortable against his skin.
An impatient sigh pulled him back to the present, reminding him that he'd yet to answer. Cal dropped his hand. He lifted his chin, stiffening his spine. “I am Excalibur. Kingmaker for the Pendragon line.” Undeniably, the magic inside him recognised her as the wielder, even as the part of him objected. Long days at Arthur's side, of serving his Pendragon masters, conditioned him to the ideal of a lady of her lineage. And a lady did not take up the sword for battle.
Gennie snorted, fisting the object in one small hand, to rest on a saucy hip. With her other hand, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, Lord. Why me?” Shaking her head, she approached him, expression caught between aggravation and humour.
"My name is Gen ... uh ... Genevieve Pendragon.” The slight tremble in her voice gave lie to her bravado. “You can use my phone to call a cab."
At first he wasn't sure what to do with the black object she held out with stiff fingers. Cell phone, the magic whispered, a mode of communication. He ignored the cell phone, since this minx was the only one he wanted to talk to. Connected to his wielder, he felt the trepidation that she controlled with a core of iron. He wanted to talk, not scare her into running screaming out of the room.
For centuries, Cal silently berated his wielders for participating in the foolish custom of bowing. What better way to offer your neck to your enemy than to stick it out? Yet, Arthur's charm held both the ladies of the court and the peasantry in thrall. Before his marriage, the king certainly never wanted for a cold bed. “My lady Pendragon, I am at your service.” He bent from the waist, as his neck prickled at the vulnerability. Slowly Cal straightened, distracted by the bounce and sway of her breasts as she backed up few paces without showing intimidation. Oh, he felt the caution inside her. The agitation she felt covered ... female interest? For him?
Thrill of the discovery shot through him. He felt alive and it wasn't enough. There was more. His fledgling human instinct screamed through his veins. This time, Excalibur would not be the one possessed.
* * * *
Faster than thought, huge masculine arms wrapped around her. He pulled her close to the hard warmth of his body. While his arms were like bands of steel, keeping her from escape, his touch remained gentle enough not to crush the breath from her.
"Let go! You big...” Gennie squeaked. She squirmed, working her hands up to push against the hard swells of his chest. “How dare you!"
Aware she was getting nowhere, she stilled. She flashed a glare she hoped could melt rock at the arrogant ape. Their eyes met and Gennie's breath caught. Dormant magic buried deep inside her woke and recognised its missing puzzle piece. The magic stretched inside her, filling the empty corners of her body, before reaching out to touch him. Need washed over her. Not so much lust as the simple desire for human contact. She felt as if she were drowning in a fathomless ocean of loneliness. Every line of his body pressed against hers as if absorbing her very essence.
Gennie whimpered as her self-preservation surfaced. She slammed shut the doors on the magic spilling out of her and severed the connection. Shaken, she closed her eyes away, not noticing that his hold had relaxed. She stood in the tender circle of his embrace. My God. What possessed her to blurt out her real name? She may not practice the arts, but darn it, she knew that names held a certain power. The fact of that left her shaking, and still wanting to wrap her arms around his torso to lay her head against that massive chest.
"My lady Genevieve.” The words feathered in her ear, soft and full of emotion. Gentle fingers explored her back, sending shivers of sensation everywhere. “Do not dismiss me."
Relaxing into the embrace, she returned her gaze to his amazing expressive blue eyes. Magic swirled possessively inside her, still under lock and key, reading him as other, and yet still human. Very much something that should be kept as close to her side as possible. “Who ... what are you?"
A dimple peeked out of one chiselled male cheek. “I have told you My lady. I am..."
Gennie snorted another laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Excalibur. Tell me Cal, how did you get yourself out of Merle's basement wall?” Unconsciously, she used her grandfather's pet name for the sword. Her fingers curled around the swell of an arm muscle that held her locked into place. Under his intense gaze, fiery licks of desire shivered in her belly.
"I never understood...” Cal ignored her question. His soft words brushed over her cheek, as if savouring the wash of magic and sexual energy that charged her skin. “Why a king, a man of great power and influence..."
Gennie melted. Her eyes slid shut as his breath stirred over the sensitive whorls of her ear. Another shiver worked down her back, beading her nipples into hard nubs.
"Why men cast away everything for the taste of a woman...” Cal's tongue danced behind her ear before he captured the lobe, sucking on it gently. The hard line of his body grew harder, and more rigid, against her belly. His lips drifted over her cheek, stealing the remainder of her senses. “For the possession of her."
The moment their lips touched, the world, the universe exploded.
Gennie wrapped her arms around his neck, her only anchor, sinking her hands into the silvery sheet of his hair. Opening her mouth, she welcomed the questing intrusion of his tongue. The gentle slide and thrust deepened, mimicking sex, making her want to feel the thrust of him deep inside. She arched against his body, the tiny sound of her growing passion swallowed by another searching kiss.
Excalibur, Cal, pulled away first, nearly unbalancing her.
"Whaa?" A magic sword. She had King Arthur's magic, sentient sword. Here. In the spare bedroom of Camelot Home, kissing the holy bejeepers out of her. Blinking in the cold emptiness, Gennie tried to get her bearings and her racing hormones under control. Magic she'd shut away since that horrible night, so long ago, hummed in her veins. The finger of accusation rose in her mind. Damn her traitorous body for wanting what she should not. More than once, her lack of control had cost her the chance for a normal life. She took a deep breath. Magic demanded a steep fee for its service.
"The wizard also calls me Cal. I like it.” The sword-turned-man reluctantly gave up his hold on her. He circled the room in a slow perusal, taking in every detail. “What place is this, my lady? Your bedchamber?” His simmering blue gaze pinned her again. A slow sexy smile flashed a dimple.
Gennie's head spun, magic-drunk, her senses tingling with hers and the sword's combined magical energy. She shivered, remembering the last time that happened. She'd forgotten the screaming tantrums after her grandfather cemented the sword in the wall. Beating the concrete with her fists in an effort to reach the magic denied her. For her own protection, Merle told her. She was too young and unskilled. Gennie jumped out of her daze, the deep timbre of his voice sent another shiver through her.
"Now tell me lady, where is Merlin ... Merle? It stands to reason that there is trouble if I am no longer in the wizard's safekeeping."
Oh, she'd like to do some safekeeping on him. She shook her head. Get a grip, she told herself. When he made a step towards her, Gennie held up a hand. She needed distance to clear her mind, if not the rampant lust. More in control, she ignored the urge wrap herself around the muscle-bound sex god.
Oh, yes. This had all the makings of a major Merle-disaster. She would choke her grandfather for his latest plot to get her to accept her ‘heritage'. Just like the time Merle smuggled Loki, the creep of a Viking god, onto her cruise vacation. Thank goodness, Odin yanked home the spoiled mischief-maker before the sea monster did more than throw some hefty waves at the ship. “First off, you're in the spare room of a group home for the impaired. As to how you got here, I don't know. Merle has a knack for trouble and he's not answering his cell phone again."
* * * *
The magic supplied answers for simple things, but not larger concepts. Cal opened his mouth, curious. What type of impairment would place a man here? He imagined soldiers
with missing limbs. Caring for those who'd lost protecting others was a noble cause.
"Shhh!" Gennie waved him silent and resumed her pacing. “I don't want to talk about who or what you are. Or what I'm going to do to Merle once I get my hands on him."
After thousands of years of mute observation, a few more moments were no bother. Gennie's fire and energy called to him. Her irritation as she fought the compulsion to possess the sword was amusing to watch.
Cal had to admit, the stubborn Pendragon nature, which she inherited in spades, caused him quite a bit of trouble over the years. King Uther's wilful womanising and Arthur's guilt ridden lack of action against his rebellious firstborn made Cal thankful for the long sleep between wielders. Several of his owners kept him locked away in vaults, no different than Merlin's stone prison. Historians and monks, while good men with just causes, made terrible heroes. “Perhaps..."
"Shhh!"
"Lady..."
She turned a baleful glare on him, flashing fiery brown-gold. “What part of shhh don't you understand? First, we find Merle."
A rumbling noise sounded from his middle where an interesting, but uncomfortable hollow feeling persisted. The urge to say something more and watch her temper crackle prodded at him. Instead he waited, watching her with his lips pressed tight.
"Well, first. I suppose we feed you.” Once more she became a flurry of energy. Ushering him towards the doorway, she paused to twist the knob open. “You know, you look sort of like someone I know.” Before he could answer, she waved her spoken thought aside. “Nah. I'm just crazy.” She shoved him through and into a bright room.
Seated at a great round table, three men stared at him. One waved, offering a welcoming smile. Cal recognised the child inside an adult's body. “Hullo Mister Man. I'm Stevie. You sure slept a long time. Gennie stayed over."
Encouraged, another man, older and shyer than the first, pointed at an empty table setting with his one good hand. The other twisted with paralysis against his chest. “Hey, Mister. You hungry? I saved you a place. It's pancake night. Gennie already told us you were scared and didn't mean to hurt her."
Conjuring Cal Page 3
