Master of Dragons

by Angela Knight

  The endless night rolled over him, and he was gone.

  Varza opened Gamal’s eyes and sat up, barely in time to catch the green-haired body as it fell sideways. She laid it out on the bed and paused, watching the narrow chest rising and falling as it waited to be possessed again.

  Rolling to Gamal’s feet, Varza looked down at his now limp, wet penis with some distaste. What a ridiculous appendage.

  On the other hand, there were compensations. Varza stretched and bounced on his brawny legs, enjoying the raw strength of this new body. Conjuring a mirror, she studied her own reflection. Gamal was tall and powerful, capable of swinging a sword or axe with equal ease.

  A natural killer.

  Oh, yes, Varza decided with satisfaction. This would do nicely.

  There was only one problem. His hair had turned from platinum silver to verdant green, while his eyes had gone as yellow as a cat’s. Something about the possession process always had this effect on Varza’s stolen bodies. It hadn’t been a problem with her previous form, but it would certainly give her away now.

  Varza let the magic spill. Gamal’s hair paled back to silver as his eyes returned to their proper shimmering violet. Varza smiled slowly, a dead copy of Gamal’s charming grin.

  Much better.

  She conjured the armor of a palace guard, then covered the female’s form with a blanket. Varza arranged its limbs into a more natural sleeping pose, just in case someone should come in and discover it.

  She might need the form later if all went badly. Besides, Arralt seemed fond of it.

  Now all Varza had to do was await her chance. One way or another, it wouldn’t be long in coming.

  EIGHT

  Nineva woke cocooned in warmth and comfort that surrounded her back and wrapped around her breasts and hips. She opened sleepy eyes and sighed in pleasure.

  The instant before she stiffened.

  The warmth was a man’s body. She jerked her head around—and met Kel’s sleepy crimson eyes. “Good morning.” His voice was deep and raspy. His cobalt hair lay in tousled disarray around his angular face and spilled across her pillow.

  Nineva blinked at him, torn between the need to cuddle closer and the equally powerful urge to roll away. She cleared her throat and managed to do neither. “Morning.”

  Kel smiled, slow and sexy, and rested his chin on her shoulder. “What would you like for breakfast?”

  She was lucky most mornings to score a bowl of cereal and milk that wasn’t past its expiration date. “Whatever you’d like. I’m not picky.”

  “Pancakes and bacon?”

  “That sounds good.” Her upbringing reared its polite Southern head. “I can make it, though. After all, you fixed that great dinner last night.”

  “You cook?”

  “Professionally, in fact. Well, at least in the sense that somebody paid me. Between bartending stints, I’ve worked in assorted greasy spoons.” She grimaced a little, remembering how apt that particular phrase had been when applied to some of her jobs. “Though that might not strike you as much of a recommendation.”

  “Now you’ve got my curiosity up.” Rolling over on his back, he arched his spine, showcasing a fascinating bulge beneath the thin sheet. “Among other things.”

  Nineva eyed that promising ridge, but before she could throw off the sheet for a closer look, a high, musical chime sounded. As they lifted their heads, a glowing ball of swirling golden light floated into the room, the outline of a dragon swimming in its depths.

  “That’s a Sidhe communication spell,” Kel said, sitting up with a frown. “And that dragon is Llyr’s heraldic sign.”

  “He probably wants me to turn myself in.” For a moment Nineva hesitated, trying to decide what would be the proper thing to wear to speak to a king. Finally, with a grunt of disgust, she conjured a pretty pink top and jeans and rolled to her feet. Hell with it—if he meant to arrest her, she was damned if she’d kowtow to him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Kel had dressed, too, in the jeans and polo shirt that seemed to be something of a Magi uniform. Apparently every day was casual Friday in Avalon.

  “Your Majesty, you honor us,” Kel said, in the deep courtier’s voice he’d used with Arthur the day before.

  “Well met, Kel.” The globe’s swirling gold cleared, revealing a handsome face framed by pale hair and opalescent eyes.

  Nineva started. He looked so much like her father, she felt pain stab her heart. She hadn’t expected that.

  Unable to help herself, she stared at him hungrily. This is how Eirnin would have looked if he’d survived—barely older than thirty, with long, elegant features and a sense of regal power.

  Yet despite his kingly looks, Llyr had killed Ansgar. In retrospect, there was a certain satisfaction in the thought that her father’s cousin had slain the monster. As though Eirnin had been avenged after all.

  Belatedly, Nineva realized the king was watching her with an intensity equal to her own. “Hello, Cousin.” His voice was deeper than her father’s had been, resonant with power.

  But then, he was Cachamwri’s Avatar.

  She swallowed and gave him her best curtsy, silly though it felt in jeans. She should have worn court garb, dammit. “It is an honor, Your Majesty.”

  One corner of Llyr’s familiar mouth curled. “Is it indeed? I’m told you’re reluctant to meet with me.”

  Nineva stiffened. Despite his resemblance to her father, he was a different man altogether. She couldn’t afford to forget that. “Your brother murdered my parents.”

  His gaze softened fractionally. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. And I know exactly how you feel, since he also murdered my first four wives and all my children.”

  She winced. “I wasn’t aware of that.”

  “I killed him.” He said it flatly, the words unadorned, without even a hint of boasting.

  “Yes, Kel told me. I am…grateful.”

  “Has he told you my new bride is expecting the Heir to Heroes?”

  She felt a bead of sweat rolling down her spine. “That…he did not mention.”

  “You understand, then, why I consider it vital we meet. Particularly since you claim to be the Last Avatar.”

  She managed not to grind her teeth. “It’s not just a claim.”

  Llyr lifted a cool blond brow. “No? Then you should not fear meeting with me. After all, if you are all that stands between my kingdom and the Dark Ones, I would be a fool to hurt you.”

  “It’s said the Last Avatar will free the kingdoms.”

  “From ‘he who would usurp them.’ I’m no usurper. Like you, I’m a descendent of the Morven Sidhe royal house. The throne is mine by my grandmother’s blood and my grandfather’s right of conquest.”

  “I do not doubt it. You could be my father’s brother.” She hadn’t intended to say that last.

  Again, those hard opal eyes softened. For a long moment, they stared at each other. “Come to me, child.” He said it softly. “On my royal oath, I’ll not hurt you.”

  Nineva took a deep breath. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Kel watched Nineva stand frozen as the communication globe vanished, an expression of building panic on her face. “He’s a good man, Nineva. He’ll keep his oath.”

  “He really does look like my father.” She twisted her hands together. “Almost exactly, even though he’s just a distant cousin. His grandmother was my grandfather’s sister. Llyr’s grandfather married her after he conquered my people.”

  “You look a lot like him, too. Same eyes, same coloring.”

  “The goddess’s blood tends to be dominant.” Sighing, she dragged both hands through her hair. “What the hell am I supposed to wear? Jeans aren’t going to cut it, but I have no idea…”

  Kel smiled reluctantly. “Calm down, Nineva. I’ve seen the Sidhe in full court garb. I’ll conjure something for you.”

  Closing his eyes, he paused, trying to imagine the best costume to set off her pale beauty. When he thought of it
, he reached for the magic, then sent it spilling over her.

  When the glitter faded, Nineva wore a forest green velvet gown trimmed in gold and opals. Its train pooled around her delicate gold slippers. She looked down at it and blinked, her expression awed as she gingerly fingered the heavy skirt. “It’s beautiful, Kel. Thank you.”

  “It suits you.” Rising to his feet, he conjured his own costume—a green velvet doublet that matched her gown, its sleeves slashed artistically to show the flowing dark blue shirt he wore underneath it. Boots and hose of the same color finished off the ensemble.

  Kel looked up to catch an expression of pure feminine appreciation in her eyes. “You look very handsome.”

  “Poofy shirt notwithstanding?”

  As he’d intended, she laughed. “Nobody would ever accuse you of being effeminate.” Her gaze dipped, and her lips tilted into a wicked smile. “Not with that ass.”

  “Flatterer.” Moving toward her, he offered her his elbow. “Let’s go meet the king.”

  Taking a deep breath as if to steady herself, she hooked her arm in his. Together, they headed for the door.

  As the king of the Sidhe paced down the line of bodyguards, Varza concentrated on being a dead man.

  The entire plan hinged on this inspection. She couldn’t let Llyr Galatyn catch even the faintest whiff that anything was wrong with his newest captain of the guard, Gamal.

  Depending on Galatyn’s degree of paranoia, though, Varza should be fairly safe. The king had done a deep magical scan on his guards just the day before, checking for loyalty and spells that didn’t belong. It had been an exhausting process, and it was doubtful he’d do such a scan again today.

  Yesterday Gamal had mentioned the loyalty test in passing to his pretty green-haired lover. Varza had instantly known this was the moment she’d been waiting for.

  Gamal’s loose tongue cost him his life.

  Now the only trick was to keep the king from suspecting a switch had taken place. Varza had to shield tightly enough to prevent any magical leakage from warning Galatyn.

  “Not quite a year ago, a detachment of my own guard tried to kill me,” Llyr said, as he stalked down the line of men. With every step he took, power boiled around him—both from his natural talent, and from the magic that was his as the Avatar of Cachamwri, the Dragon God. “I slew all four of them. Just days later, ten of my men gave their lives protecting me from another of my brother’s assassins. We all honor their memory.”

  As one, the guard gave a deep-throated shout, half-agreement, half-vow. “Galatyn! Galatyn! Galatyn!”

  Varza was careful to join in.

  The king’s voice dropped to a rumble of rage. “Yet just last week, another of your number betrayed me. He took the Sword of Semira and gave it to my enemies. I am shamed by this loss—and so are you.”

  Actually, of course, poor Ilbrech hadn’t stolen anything or betrayed anyone. He’d been dead when the sword was stolen, having fallen to Varza’s possession just hours before his body walked away with the weapon.

  “Now I’m entrusting you with Cachamwri’s most precious gift to me and the Sidhe people: my wife, who carries the Heir to Heroes in her womb. Too many times, I have lost wives and children to killers. Let us be clear, my warriors—I will not lose her.” The king’s voice dropped into a low, icy whisper that managed to communicate his determination more clearly than a shout. “You will fight for her. If necessary, you will die for her. Any man who allows harm to so much as a single hair on her head will face my rage. And you will wish the Dark Ones themselves had you instead. Do you understand?”

  “Aye!” Varza led the men in the shout.

  “Good.” Galatyn reached Varza’s end of the line and stopped. Opalescent eyes bored into Varza, who, braced at attention, did not move or speak. Confronted with Galatyn’s boiling power, she scarcely dared breathe.

  Blond brows drew down in a faint frown.

  Did he sense something?

  Finally the king spoke. “Gamal, you’re in charge of the queen’s safety while we’re in Avalon. Don’t let her out of your sight. She’s not going to like that—she’s used to taking care of herself. And usually, she’s more than capable of doing just that, but right now, she’s vulnerable. I realize you’ve got a soft spot when it comes to women, but don’t let her bully you. Take care of her.”

  “Aye, sir,” Varza said, not letting her triumph show. “I assure you, your wife won’t get away from me.”

  Her arm hooked through Kel’s, Nineva walked the cobblestone streets of Avalon. It was bustling tonight, men and women walking briskly to whatever destinations they had on this chilly winter evening. Most of them would have looked at home in any American city, with the same blend of ethnicity and casual clothing, their skin tones ranging from deep chocolate to Celtic pale. Others were dressed as elaborately as she and Kel, while some were garbed in still more exotic costumes.

  Nineva watched a tiny Japanese woman take mincing steps in a beautiful kimono, magic trailing her in colorful swirling sparks. A powerfully muscled man walked beside her in equally gorgeous silk robes, a pair of swords thrust through his belt. They seemed to be having an intense argument in musical Japanese.

  A wolf whistle brought Nineva’s head jerking around as a female voice shouted, “Hey, Kel—nice legs!”

  A deep laugh booming, Kel bowed like a medieval courtier, his free arm sweeping as if waving an invisible plumed hat. “My thanks, milady.”

  “Who’s the babe?” the same woman asked, her dark eyes sparkling as she looked them over. A tall bearded man stood beside her, one brawny arm thrown over her shoulders.

  Two couples accompanied them, equally attractive, equal affection in their eyes. It was obvious they knew Kel and liked him.

  He indicated Nineva with a gesture. “This is Princess Nineva of the Morven Sidhe.” Turning to her, he introduced the three couples, who shook hands and gave her friendly smiles.

  It turned out the dark-haired woman and her escort were Caroline and Galahad du Lac. The second dark-haired man was Galahad’s father, Lancelot, who looked no older than his son. His wife, Grace, was tall, slender, blond, and breathtaking.

  But the pair that really captured Nineva’s fascinated attention was the towering, strikingly handsome blond man Kel introduced as Gawain and his petite, lovely wife, Lark.

  “I’ve heard a great deal about you,” Nineva said, giving Gawain a smile as she offered her hand for his warm clasp.

  Gawain’s white teeth flashed. “Take it with a grain of salt,” he advised, with a sly glance at Kel. “The gecko loves to stretch the truth.”

  Nineva lifted her brows. “Gecko?”

  “The nickname fit him better when he was in the sword,” Lark explained dryly.

  “Why are you two so dressed up?” Gawain asked his friend.

  “We have a meeting with Arthur and Llyr.” As if to stave off questions, he added, “Where are you all headed?”

  “The MageClub,” Caroline replied, hooking her arm through her handsome husband’s. “Us girls are going to drink a pitcher of margaritas, and then I’m gonna get Galahad drunk and take advantage of him.”

  Kel snorted. “Since when do you have to work that hard?”

  Galahad grinned and held a finger to his lips. “Shhh.” Nineva laughed at the wicked humor in his blue eyes.

  “So what has you girls hitting the tequila, Caroline?” Kel asked.

  She grimaced as Grace explained. “We just got back from Iraq.”

  “Ouch,” Nineva said.

  Curious, she opened her mouth to ask for details, but Kel closed a gentle hand around her elbow. “We’d better get moving. We don’t want to keep Llyr waiting.”

  “Join us after you get done,” Gawain said, slapping his friend on one muscled shoulder.

  “We’ll do our best,” Kel agreed. “But given the circumstances, I’m not making any promises.”

  As they walked away, Nineva dropped her voice, awed. “That was Lancelot, Gawa
in, and Galahad!”

  Kel smiled at her. “Yeah.”

  “Wow.” She gave him a sly smile. “They’re cute.”

  To her delight, a warning glint lit his eyes. “And very, very taken. They’re all Truebonded.”

  She listened as he explained the magical psychic bond Magekind couples formed—a link so strong, they could feel each other’s emotions and communicate telepathically.

  It was a surprisingly seductive idea.

  Nineva tried to imagine what it would be like. Not only being in love, but feeling the love of your lover.

  Not being alone.

  “It sounds…tempting,” she said finally.

  “Yes.” A trace of longing appeared in Kel’s eyes. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  Nineva stepped through the door Kel opened for her. And tried not to gape like a tourist.

  Gorgeous medieval tapestries hung on the walls of the circular room, depicting unicorns and dragons, ladies and knights in glittering thread. Yet beautiful as the hangings were, what really dominated the room was the enormous circular table of dark wood, richly carved and massive, surrounded by twelve equally beautiful chairs.

  She caught her breath. “Is that…”

  “The Round Table? Yes.” Arthur rose to his feet. Unlike the previous times she’d seen him, he wore formal court garb, a scarlet doublet embroidered in gold and encrusted with gems. A jeweled sword hung from a belt around his waist. Excalibur?

  Nineva stared at it, wide-eyed, but not quite able to bring herself to ask. Kel touched her waist, gently bringing her back to herself. She followed him to a place next to Arthur, where Kel pulled one of the exquisite chairs out for her. She seated herself gingerly with awe.

  “I expect Llyr any moment,” Arthur told them. “Along with his usual complement of bodyguards, poor bastard. You’d think with that brother of his dead, he’d be able to relax. No such luck.”

  “‘Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,’” Kel quoted softly.

  “Yeah, which is why I don’t miss mine.” Arthur shot Nineva a look. “You may want to keep that in mind, kid.”