by Regan Black
His head snapped up and his blue eyes swept over her. “That is not a compliment.”
She ignored the little shiver she got from those mesmerizing eyes. “Not really. But it’s not an insult either,” she said. “You’re sitting there pretending to work while you’re watching my every move through Sterling.”
With his hair tugged back, she could see embarrassment or shame staining the tips of his ears. “You must be protected at all costs,” he said. “Your life hangs in the balance thanks to a spell I cast.”
It was only the two of them and he hadn’t moved, yet the room seemed to shrink. Her body heated as if they were inches apart rather than the long length of the table. In her ears she heard an echo of her pounding heart. There was no possible way she could hear his heart from this distance. No way that didn’t involve a magical link of some kind. She cleared her throat and forced her gaze to a point where the view wasn’t full of a hunky knight from King Arthur’s Round Table.
“What was he like?” she asked.
“The hound?”
“No.” She bit her lip. His eyes tracked the move. “My mind’s jumping all over the place. Sorry.” She felt the blush rise in her cheeks and hoped repeating the question would distract him. “What was King Arthur like?”
Wayne’s eyes widened before his face relaxed into a wistful smile. “Dedicated. Understanding. Battle-tested. His views on peace, justice,” Wayne swallowed, “and equality made his enemies think he could be overthrown easily.”
“You were close?”
“We were friends long before my pledge to become a knight.” She could see Wayne’s heart and mind had traveled back to his time. His fingertips absently traced the edges of the book in his hands. The skin at the back of her neck reacted as if he’d touched her.
So much for the theory that a history lesson would relieve her inappropriate fixation with him. “Why did you agree to something as impossible as this?”
Sterling wandered over and laid his chin on Wayne’s thigh. How silly she was to envy that easy, personal contact and intimate bond. She’d never let herself that close to anyone. She’d been happier with the fantasies in her dreams.
“He needed me,” Wayne replied. “Few, even in that era, would understand or accept the assignment he proposed. It has come to pass just as he said. Rooting out Morgana requires far more than valor and heart.”
“It requires strong magic.”
Wayne nodded. “To say it plainly, yes.”
“There were more of you?”
“Arthur invited three of us to the first and only meeting. We all know he considered himself the fourth.”
“He led by example.”
“No. He denied himself that role for this quest.” Wayne closed the book and set it aside with an exasperated sigh. “I fear your cousin expects me to know more than I do.” He reached for the next book on the top of the stack.
She didn’t fight the change of subject. “He expects us to try our best.”
“While he is out there alone against her.”
“He’s not alone.”
“Because the O’Malleys are so numerous.” His smile erased any resentment from the comment.
She laughed. “You and I should both be more grateful for numerous O’Malleys. In this case I meant Nick has many friends who can help him find the cult. And my mom is rather formidable.” She raised a hand when he opened his mouth to argue. “Before you lecture me about privacy and discretion, remember Nick is a cop. His job is to uphold the law. He’ll find a way to get the information we need without putting anyone in danger.”
Wayne opened the book while he held her gaze. “Numbers won’t intimidate this woman. She is powerful.”
“So you’ve said.” Tara had seen it firsthand. She plugged in her tablet and took the chair at the opposite end of the table. “Let’s hope that makes her easy to find.”
“What will you do with your machine?”
“It’s called a tablet,” she informed him gently. “There are programs and websites that can help us trace family ancestry.”
“Backward or forward, matters little.” Wayne grunted, his face a mask of skepticism. “We don’t know who she is or who she came from.”
“We know she must be tied to one of the family-owned hotels,” Tara said, warming to the idea. “We know she has deep ties to the cult and ancient lore.” She massaged her fingers as she decided where to start her search. “She’s not some runaway who got lost in the system.”
“All right.” Wayne leaned back in the chair, his head tipped back.
“You keep reading and I’ll let you know if I stumble onto something.” It took a substantial effort to keep her mind on the search and her eyes on the results on her screen as they set to work. He made a far more interesting study than long lists of names and corporations.
On a heavy sigh, Wayne closed one book and reached for another. He read for hours, turning pages, pacing back and forth with books in hand. He read the last book of the stack in the chair and when he closed it, he folded his elbows on the table and rested his head on his forearms.
“Any progress?”
“Little.” He didn’t bother looking at her. “My eyes ache. It seems Peter preserved my original notes on the families we were sure supported Morgana and those we had doubts about. Generations of O’Malleys continued the effort.”
So why wasn’t he volunteering a name? “Then this should be easy. Give me a name and I’ll see if it corresponds to anything I’ve got here.”
That earned his full attention and his eyes sparked at the challenge. “Names can be changed through marriage or simply by deception. We can’t convict an entire family for one person falling to Morgana’s influence. We were careful not to do that in my time, a few of us anyway, and I believe this world is even more progressive.”
“You’d be surprised,” she said under her breath. “I understand we’re trying not to judge harshly, but we need to find her quickly,” she added at his arch glance. “I thought we were past the point where you kept secrets.”
He flattened his palm on the stack of books. “There were surely children born into the cult. I saw youngsters as I tracked them. None are identified by name or parentage in these notes.”
“Yet the witch who attacked you resembled her. Genes don’t lie.”
“Illusions do.”
“Okay.” She waited for an explanation. It didn’t come. She couldn’t imagine being asked to arrest or harm one of her relatives and he might be asked to do it twice. “Did your parents support your goal to be a knight?” For a moment she thought he would storm right out of the room at the change of topic.
“My parents are irrelevant, Tara.”
She’d struck yet another nerve. Backing off, she returned to her search of any name listed in the same articles as Morgana. She cross-referenced those names with the families tied to the biggest hotels in Manhattan. So far none of the dots connected. She peeked at her phone, troubled that Nick had yet to send an update.
“My apologies.” He stood up and came to her end of the table. Rather than take a chair, he leaned against the edge and stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankle.
“Like most boys, I was sent away to be fostered at an early age. That is how I became Arthur’s brother. He is my real family.”
“Brothers in arms,” she said quietly. God, he was beautifully made. She wanted to mold her hand to that strong thigh under the perfect fit of his jeans.
“Brothers in all the ways that matter,” he said. “Fostering with Arthur was my first experience with a happy home.”
“Well that’s good.” It sounded like the right thing to say, though she was having trouble focusing. He’d mentioned a sister, one who supported his magic and had given him Sterling, but she wouldn’t push him. He didn’t owe her any explanations and making him share wasn’t fair to either of them when he might not be around long.
She shook off another bout of melancholy at that thoug
ht and resumed her search. She tried to smile as she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. He’d bolt if he knew how she craved another kiss. Considering how times had changed, he might faint if she admitted she wanted so much more than kisses.
“Tell me what you found about the people involved with the cult,” she said, getting them back on track.
He listed names and she searched genealogies. After two more hours and no conclusive progress, she turned off her tablet and pressed her hands to her dry eyes. “It shouldn’t be this difficult.”
“Are you well, Tara?”
“Sure. I just need a break.” She stood up and rolled her tense shoulders. “Let’s go downstairs and eat. This whole mess is too strange. For both of us.”
“Agreed.”
The sexy man following her down a secret staircase, combined with their overwhelming task of finding the witch’s name, twisted her belly into knots. “It just hit me, how impossible all of it is,” she said when they reached the kitchen. “You being here... is that permanent?”
“I have no idea. The spell I cast was specific to containing Morgana. All of this is beyond my ken.”
“What do you think will happen?”
He sagged into a chair. “I must believe that we will stop her.”
“After that.” She surveyed the refrigerator for options to keep her eyes off him.
“As I said, I have no idea. Does it matter?”
Was that hope she heard in his voice? “No,” she said too quickly. Closing the fridge, she pulled the tie from her hair and massaged her scalp for a moment. What had gotten into her? Something about their search had made her inexplicably edgy. It was more than being cooped up with her fantasy and not being able to touch him.
“It’s taking too long. Nick should’ve called. We should have a name.”
“You wanted to stop and eat.”
“I know,” she snapped. “Sorry. It’s not your fault.” She pressed a hand to her belly. “It feels wrong in my gut.”
He stood up, the concern in his eyes calming her a little. “Intuition is important.” He laid his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around. “What are you thinking?” He sank his thumbs into the knotted muscles of her neck and shoulders.
“So many things,” she said on a wistful sigh.
“Start with the first one.”
She started with the first thought pertaining to their search. “The spell you cast was designed to wake you in the event of Morgana’s return?”
“Yes.”
Her mind cycled through the information again and again. Nick was counting on them to find a lead. “Why would a woman like the witch who attacked us want to raise Morgana?”
His hands stilled for a moment. “Go on.”
“Morgana lusted after power, right?”
“Yes.”
“The witch in my dream does too.” Tara twisted around to face him, regretting it the minute his hands fell away. “What we’ve seen her do, we know she has serious skills.”
“What are you saying?”
“Women can be catty. When people get power they usually don’t want to share it. Would Morgana have invited a woman of equal or superior skill into the cult?”
His eyes went wide as he caught her meaning. “No.”
“But you’re here so Morgana is somehow a threat. I’m guessing one witch is trying to use the other.”
“Morgana was notorious for manipulation,” Wayne said. “We knew she had taken her own precautions against our attempts to subdue her.”
“And if today’s witch is the instigator wanting to tap her ancestor’s power?”
“She’s doomed to fail. I don’t believe Merlin himself could separate the powers from the person.”
Given a chance when this was over, she’d quiz him nonstop about the people he’d known who, until now, were mythical characters to her. “Following that logic, if the modern witch is somehow Morgana’s descendant would that give an advantage to either of them?”
“Let me think on it while we eat.”
Chapter Eleven
Wayne had barely tasted the meal, though his body was grateful for the fuel. His mind still reeled from Tara’s theory. As he walked the dog, he hoped the fresh air would clear his head. And if not that, he hoped for some sign of the witch or her subordinates.
He knew how to fight, with arms and spells, and he needed to release some of this pent up energy. His body longed for the lush redhead inside. As mistakes went it would be huge.
Returning to the house, he forced his mind back to their dilemma and traipsed back up the secret stairs to join Tara. “Any word from Nick?
She shook her head without looking at him. She was squinting at the tablet picture. Monitor, he corrected himself. He didn’t like how hard she pushed herself on his behalf. Granted, her life was on the line, but he knew this wasn’t a selfish effort. Tara was a fighter. She was tough and strong and determined.
And the prettiest woman he’d met. Her hair smelled of lemons and her skin was rose-petal soft. He wanted to take her in his arms and forget all of this existed. Except she wouldn’t let that happen. “Have you found something?”
She made a disgusted sound he took as ‘no’.
“I’ve been thinking. Morgana would have hidden any children. For both her safety and theirs.”
Tara faced him, her lips parted in shock. “Are you saying you would have killed her babies?”
Wayne heard the anguish in the whispered query. “I will not insult you with an excuse,” he confessed, wishing his answer could be different. “While I myself never did such a thing, I cannot say I would not have done. Morgana was barely human by the time I cast that binding spell. Anger and bitterness had twisted her into an evil creature bent on destruction and control.”
Wayne’s chest ached when she looked at him as though he was a stranger again. “I will not lie to you, Tara. About the past or the present.”
“Thank you.”
He wanted to take her in his arms and show her the man he always wanted to be, but this wasn’t the right time. There might never be a right time for him.
“This witch who sent the thief wields a power that does not match her age. I discounted it as illusion at first. There must be more to it. In those moments on the street, she cast a spell far too effective for a stranger. Being Morgana’s descendent, having access to my family history, would explain a great deal.”
Tara stood up and paced away from him. She turned on her heel, retraced her steps. “How do we start any kind of search? You said the records Peter kept didn’t account for kids.”
“He went to Avalon for some reason.” He picked up one of the oldest record books. “Any child known to be Morgana’s would be watched closely for signs of her darkness.” Just as his mother had watched him, expecting the worst in every circumstance.
She stopped, her lips slowly curving into a disarming smile. “God bless the foster system.”
As she hurried to her chair, he brought over the second book, pointing out the family names and foster children he thought were the right age. He liked her sharp mind and the way she persistently chose inquisitiveness over fear. She held a healthy respect for magic she didn’t quite understand, but she didn’t let it stop her. From the moment he’d met her, he’d been curious, attracted, and plagued by the slow burn beneath his breastbone.
It was half past ten and they’d completed exhaustive research on two family trees, when he realized they still had not heard from Nick. “I should have sent my hound along.”
Tara snorted. “Sterling makes an interesting spy, I’m sure.” She gazed fondly at the sleeping hound. “My mother and Nick will be fine.”
“You aren’t worried she’ll be recognized?”
“Not a bit. Even if the witch somehow figures it out, Mom was never the heir to the dagger,” Tara reminded him. “That came from my father.” Her auburn eyebrows snapped into a frown. “Do you think me being the first girl to inherit has something to do w
ith this?”
“No.”
“You don’t have to say what you think I want to hear.”
“I have given the matter some thought,” he assured her. “This would have happened to one of you eventually. It’s a wonder it’s taken this long.”
“Well, I think it must be related,” she declared. “And being so close to the solstice is important.” She drank deeply from the bottle of water and licked her lips.
Wayne cleared his throat, seeking a better path for his wandering thoughts.
“What if that building she used is significant too?”
Tara clearly wasn’t as distracted as he was. He watched her fingers fly across the keyboard attached to her machine. Tablet. Every lithe movement enchanted him. It was a small dance, unusual and lovely as she adjusted this or that, peered at her monitor and then started again.
His ears buzzed and his palms itched to touch her again. He yearned to hold her close and take another taste from that wide, luscious mouth. He took in a slow breath and it stuttered in his chest.
“Here we go!” Her eyes sparkled when she faced him. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask?”
Ask what? Would she let him kiss her, let him uncover all the secrets of her exquisite body if he asked? “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t you want to know about the building? This may be the name Nick needs.” She picked up her phone and tapped quickly on the small device.
“Of course.” He snapped his fingers for Sterling, needing the anchor the hound provided to maintain his composure. While he rubbed at the dog’s long neck, he prompted her to explain. “Please.”
“Nick said that building where we saw her sits on a leyline, remember? I’ve been on the neighborhood council for a while now. It just dawned on me that the building has been family-owned almost as long as we’ve owned the pub.” Her shoulders quaked. “The current owner is listed as Collette Fairchild. It’s creepy to think she might have been watching us all this time.”
“Do you think she is here, rather than in Manhattan?” If so, he and his hound could go right now and reclaim the dagger, putting an end to all of this.
“No, I wouldn’t second-guess Nick. He knows way more than I do.” Her fingers started moving again. “I’m taking a deeper look now. Give me a minute.” She jerked back from the screen. Gingerly she turned it his way. “What do you think?”
