Master of Swords

by Angela Knight

  Even Dominic hadn’t felt anything like this. He stretched her hard, balancing her on the knife edge between pleasure and pain, until he was all the way inside.

  Muscled torso pressed against her soft belly, he braced himself above her. His handsome face was intent, hungry, as he stared down into her eyes, visibly enjoying her reaction to his entry.

  “Like that?” Gawain rumbled.

  She lifted one leg and wrapped it around his sweat-damp waist. “Oh, God, that’s an understatement.”

  “Mmmmmm.” His lips curled. “It does feel like you like it.” He started withdrawing, a slick satin slide. “All wet and snug.”

  She hummed, a wordless purr of approval, and rolled her hips, enjoying the stroke of his delicious cock.

  The muscles of Gawain’s broad chest flexed under her gaze as he began to pump, slow and lazy, a man who clearly loved making love for its own sake.

  Pleasure bloomed with each long stroke, glowing brighter and brighter. Lark wrapped both legs around his waist and hooked her ankles together so she could grind up at him, chasing the orgasm that hovered just out of reach like a glowing balloon. As her need grew, she dug her nails into his shoulders, unconsciously spurring him on.

  Responding to her demand, Gawain increased the force of his thrusts until he was grinding against her clit, driving that big cock to her depths in short, tormenting digs.

  The orgasm she’d been chasing burst wide in a hot white explosion. She threw back her head and yowled at the delicious pulsing burn.

  With a hungry growl, Gawain rolled with her so that he was on the bottom, driving his cock up into her depths. Writhing astride him, she didn’t notice his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head up.

  His mouth covered the pulse beating in her throat, and she felt the sharp sting of his fangs. Shocked, she jerked, the motion driving his cock even deeper. A spurt of fear rose and she tried to pull away.

  This time Gawain didn’t back off, his big cock working in her depths, spilling pleasure with every thrust as he fed. Her fear died, drowned in blazing pleasure and the trust he’d worked to build. Stretched wide as his cock impaled her and his mouth suckled her throat, she could only come again, screaming hoarsely. He stiffened, his cry muffled against her neck, and came, pumping endlessly deep.

  Panting, dazed, Lark lay spread across Gawain’s big body, listening to his thundering heartbeat slow. He arched his back, withdrawing his softening cock with a groan. She echoed it and clung to him.

  Her throat ached, but like the burn in her sex, it was a good pain. “You bit me,” she murmured sleepily.

  “I’m a vampire. We do that.” Then he lifted his head and examined her face, worry in his eyes. “Did I frighten you?” When she didn’t answer at once, he cursed himself. “I’m sorry, I just…”

  “No, it was wonderful.” She smiled at him, pleased by his concern. “I just…wasn’t expecting it. I thought you were going to warn me.”

  He dropped his head and stroked her hair. “If I’d warned you, you’d have convinced yourself to panic again. As it was, you were too turned on.”

  Lark eyed him. “That was high-handed of you.”

  He sighed. “Yes, it was. Do you mind?”

  “Well,” Lark drawled, “I could turn you into a frog, but since you just gave me a mind-blowing multiple orgasm, I’ll let you off with a warning.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  With a silent huff of laughter, she settled back onto his chest to enjoy the sheer, sensual pleasure of lying across him. A companionable silence ticked by before he said, “Are you hungry? I feel the need to feed you again.”

  Lark lifted her head and smiled at him. “You know, I think I could get used to this.”

  Lark and Gawain adjourned to the kitchen while she ate a lazy midnight lunch—a sandwich this time, chased by ripe strawberries he fed her one by one. They were both feeling replete when Kel interrupted.

  “Gawain, we’ve got company at the door.”

  He looked at his friend, who rode his shoulder scabbard as usual. “And they didn’t call first? Who?”

  “Tristan and his new apprentice.”

  Lark looked up in surprise. “Wonder what he wants?”

  Gawain rose from the table. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  Somehow he had a feeling this wasn’t a casual visit, though he and Tristan were good friends. They’d fought side by side for centuries, saved one another’s lives, gotten drunk together, even shared a woman or two. As Bors had said, Tristan didn’t have a high opinion of women in general; his failed romance with Isolde had left scars that had never really healed.

  Something told Gawain, however, that Tristan was going to be protective of Lark. Hell, he felt protective of Lark, and he’d known her less than a day.

  So he wasn’t surprised when he opened the door to find his friend on the other side looking tense and uncomfortable. Beside him stood one of the most gorgeous women Gawain had ever seen in his very long life. Well over six feet tall, she had the blond Nordic beauty of a particularly lush Valkyrie. She was also icily pissed off. Those sapphire eyes were snapping.

  A round of introductions revealed her name was Helen Satterwhite. She and Lark were apparently acquainted, judging from the commiserating look they exchanged.

  “May I have a word?” Tristan asked, after what he apparently judged was a decent interval.

  Gawain nodded, mentally bracing himself. “Of course. Tour of the garden?”

  “Sounds good,” said Tristan, despite the fact he’d helped Gawain plant it.

  Lark looked at Helen. “Want some coffee?”

  “Love some,” the blonde said crisply. “Somehow I have the feeling this is going to be a long night.”

  The two women headed for the kitchen as the Magi stepped outside. Gawain walked over to the fountain and sat down on its stone lip. After a pause, the knight joined him, looking, if anything, even more uncomfortable.

  They sat listening to the falling water until Tristan finally broke the silence. “I heard you’d been assigned to mentor my great-granddaughter.”

  Gawain raised his brows at the pointed mention of the familial relationship. “She’s a good kid. Recovering from a nasty trauma during the invasion the other night, but she’s dealing with it well. She has some decent combat skills, too. I gather you’ve been working with her.”

  “Yes, for the past six months. We’ve built a good rapport.” Tristan looked him in the eye. “My apprentice has some very strong skills, too.”

  Gawain went still.

  Somehow I don’t think he’s talking about combat, Kel said in their psychic link.

  Probably not.

  Tristan didn’t drop his gaze, though Gawain suspected his own was going cool. “I was wondering if you’d like to switch students. I’m comfortable with Lark, and Helen, well, she’s very beautiful.”

  “Tristan, Morgana made those assignments. I don’t think we’re supposed to swap.”

  Tristan shrugged his broad shoulders. “Why should she care?”

  “If she worked a spell to determine who should work with whom, she’d care.”

  “If she worked such a spell. Would you object to my asking her?”

  As a matter of fact, he would. A great deal. He didn’t want Helen the Ice Goddess. He wanted brave, clever Lark.

  But Gawain had also fought alongside Tristan for sixteen hundred years, and that was not a bond he was willing to sacrifice. Besides, he suspected he already knew Morgana’s answer. “Go ahead.” Somehow he managed to say the words pleasantly.

  “I’ll establish a connection for you,” Kel told Tristan. He murmured a chant.

  After a pause, an image shimmered into the air. Morgana lay curled like a sated cat in a bed scarcely smaller than Gawain’s, dressed in a cream silk gown that revealed a great deal of spectacular cleavage. Soren, in human form, lay next to her, barefoot and lazy-eyed, his pale skin shimmering with a faint blue tint suggestive of his true form’s scales.
He and Kel exchanged a sibilant Draconian greeting.

  Morgana, however, did not look pleased at the interruption. She barely waited through Tristan’s exquisitely polite request before she snapped, “Those assignments were not capricious, Lord Tristan. I cast that spell specifically to determine who should best serve with whom, because I knew someone would come whining up asking them to be changed. I just never thought it would be you.”

  “Morgana, she’s my great-granddaughter…”

  “And if family ties were that important to you, you would have known her longer than six months.”

  Gawain winced on his friend’s behalf.

  Tristan stiffened. “You’re correct, of course. If I’d remained involved in John’s life as I should have, he wouldn’t have gotten so sick, and I could have trained Lark from the beginning.”

  “Tris…” Gawain murmured.

  But his friend continued with that icy dignity. “Still, I—”

  “I thought Arthur made himself clear on this subject at the funeral,” Morgana interrupted. “Was I mistaken?”

  A muscle flexed in Tristan’s jaw. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “No. He was quite clear.”

  “Good. Now, gentlemen, your respective apprentices are waiting. I suggest you take care of them.” The image winked out.

  Gawain spoke in the ringing silence. “Tris, I’m not going to hurt her.”

  “You won’t intend to, no.” The knight rose from the fountain lip and walked into the house.

  Gawain remained where he was and scrubbed his hand over his face. “That was ugly. I think I’d better sit out here while he talks to her.”

  “That would probably be wise,” Kel agreed.

  “Do all my friends think I’m an asshole?”

  “You’re not an asshole,” Kel replied. “But you’re not exactly a father’s dream date for his daughter, either.”

  “…the minute he heard Gawain had been assigned as your mentor, he charged over here. I had to run to keep up,” Helen told Lark, adding another shot of whiskey to her coffee. “I get the distinct impression I’m about to get kicked to the curb.”

  Lark winced. “I can’t believe Tristan would do that.”

  The blonde shrugged. “You know what they say. Men are pigs. And Magi are pigs with fangs.”

  “Lark?” Tristan said from the doorway, “would you walk with me, please?”

  Lark shot her fellow Maja a look and rose from the table. “Sure.”

  Helen lifted her cup in a toast as Lark started into the living room with her great-grandfather.

  “What’s going on, Tristan?” Her tone was cool, reflecting her growing annoyance with the whole situation. Where the hell did he get off, sticking his nose into her life?

  He moved to the couch and sat down, motioning for Lark to join him. “I wanted to talk to you about your new…partnership with Gawain.”

  Don’t tell him off. John wouldn’t like that. “What about it?”

  Tristan hesitated, a frown on his handsome face. “Gawain is a very brave, skilled knight. You could learn a great deal from him.”

  Lark eyed him. “Somehow I get the feeling there’s a but attached to this.”

  Tristan sighed. “He is also very good with women. But he’s not very good for women. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl and…”

  The knight leaned forward and met her gaze earnestly. “Gawain has romanced some of the most beautiful, most powerful Majae in the Mageverse. Many of them fell in love with him. But he always walks away.”

  “Tristan…”

  He held up a hand to stop her words. “I know you, Lark. You see us in romanticized terms to begin with. You’ll fall for him if you’re not careful. And he’s going to hurt you, because he always does.”

  She spoke between her teeth. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Morgana was one of his lovers, Lark. If she couldn’t keep him…”

  Now humiliation replaced her anger. Her cheeks burned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Tristan studied her with sympathy. “Another man will love you. But it won’t be him.”

  “You’ve made your point, Tristan.”

  He hesitated, distress in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lark. But I had to say something.”

  “I realize you’re trying to help. Thank you.” She just wanted him to leave.

  The knight started to speak, then sighed, and rose. “Good luck.” Lifting his voice, he called, “Helen? Let’s go.”

  The blonde walked out of the kitchen, her mouth tight. “Yes, master.”

  He stopped and stared at her. She stalked past him toward the door. Tristan’s jaw firmed as he strode after her. “We’ll talk again later, Lark.”

  “Sure. ’Bye.”

  Lark listened to the front door close behind them with a soft click. For a long moment, she sat on the couch without moving, trying to sort through the tangle of emotion she felt.

  “Well, that was uncomfortable.” Gawain walked into the living room, took off Kel’s scabbard, and lay it down on the coffee table. Sitting down beside her, he studied her. “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “Well, at least he cared enough to say something. But it wasn’t terribly flattering to either of us.”

  “It was also slightly hypocritical,” Kel growled. “Tristan’s not exactly a poster boy for sweet romance, centuries of poetry notwithstanding.” The dragon’s ruby eyes were narrow with indignation.

  Lark found herself smiling. “So you’re saying I can trust Gawain?”

  “Weeelllll,” Kel drawled with a sly smile, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  Gawain rolled his eyes. “Thanks a lot.”

  SIX

  Gawain woke from the Daysleep as he always did—abruptly, catapulting into full wakefulness without any drowsiness in between. It was as if his warrior’s body hated being trapped in sleep and came alert the instant it could.

  Immediately, images from the night before cascaded through his mind—Lark’s sweet bare breasts and long legs, the wicked humor in her face as she’d teased him, the hot taste of her blood. He grinned in anticipation and rolled over, expecting to take up where they’d left off.

  But the bed was empty.

  Frowning, he sat up and listened hard with his vampire hearing. The house was just as empty as his bed.

  Bloody hell, she’d jaunted off somewhere. And if the sorcerers attacked again before Gawain could get to her…He remembered the helpless terror in her eyes as she described the sorcerer’s attack. “Dammit, Lark,” he growled, then raised his voice to a bellow. “Kel!”

  There was a metallic ring from beside the bed, as if the sword blade had rapped against a bedpost. “What?” the dragon yelped.

  “Where’s Lark?”

  “How should I know? She’s not in bed?” The sword paused as if extending magical senses. “Oh, hell, she’s not even in the house! And she didn’t check in with me before she left.”

  “Find her.” He reached for the scabbard and drew the sword.

  The dragon glared at him from within his loose hold. “Watch the tone, mammal. I’m not your slave. She’s…” Kel broke off. “Damn. Morgana’s calling.”

  A stab of fear surprised him. “Has there been an attack?” Lark, her delicate face pale with terror…

  Kel frowned. “I’m not sensing anything.”

  He relaxed fractionally. “Good. Put her on.” Though Morgana wasn’t going to be happy when she found out Lark had vanished.

  An image of the Maja formed in midair, her expression cool with disapproval. “Nice of you to answer my call, Lord Gawain.”

  “Just woke up. Is Lark all right?”

  Dark brows winged upward. “She’s not with you?”

  “No.”

  Her dark gaze chilled even more. “You haven’t even had her forty-eight hours, and you’ve already lost her?”

  “She’s at the Ladies’ Club,” Kel put in. Meet
ing Gawain’s gaze, he added, “I just located her. She’s having a meal with her friends.”

  “Well, when she can tear herself away,” Morgana said coolly, “tell her I’ve got a murder I want you two to investigate.”

  As they often did, Lark, Caroline, and Diera met at the Ladies’ Club, a sprawling Mediterranean-style villa that occupied the central square. In stark contrast to the masculine decor of the Lords’ Club, it was decorated with a jungle of plants, statues of Roman and Greek goddesses, and clusters of wrought-iron furniture. The best cooks among the Majae rotated duties in its kitchens, and its evening buffet was to die for.

  “He fed on you without warning you?” Caroline demanded, her expression scandalized over her salad.

  Diera gave an uncharacteristic snort and sipped her wine. “Yes, that sounds like Gawain.”

  Lark swallowed a bite of her BLT. “The really disgusting thing about it is, he was right. I probably would have freaked if he’d asked my permission first. Instead, he seems to have gotten me over the hump.”

  Caroline grinned. “So to speak.”

  “Actually, not quite,” Diera said. “Gawain’s little…efforts did help…”

  “I wouldn’t call them little.” Lark smiled and sipped her tea.

  Diera went right on as if she hadn’t spoken. “…But you’ve still got a psychic wound in your aura big enough to drive a Toyota through.” Magical sparks flared in her gaze like tiny fireworks. “I can see it.”

  Lark put down her glass and stared at her mentor in dismay. “So what you’re saying is, this is still going to be a problem.”

  “Yes.” Diera searched her gaze and offered delicately, “I could heal it for you, the same way I fixed that bite. Blunt your memories a bit. We do this kind of psychic surgery all the time with mortals.”

  Caroline nodded. “You have to. Otherwise they’d either have major psychological scars or sell us out to the National Enquirer. Or both. It doesn’t hurt them if you know what you’re doing.”

  “And I certainly do.” Diera examined Lark’s frozen expression and gave her a slight smile. “But you’re still not comfortable with the idea.”