Master of Swords (8 page)

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.”

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. Meeting 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.”

“It's not that I don't trust you…”

The Maja made a dismissive gesture. “Don't worry about it, dear. Letting someone muck around in your head isn't a pleasant prospect.”

Caroline smirked. “Yeah, she might discover all your secret fantasies about naked cops in shiny motorcycle boots.”

Lark blinked. “I don't have any fantasies about naked cops in shiny motorcycle boots.”

“Oh. That must be me, then.” She threw her head back in mock ecstacy. “Bust me, officer! Ticket me again!”

Lark shook her head at her friend's antics. “Why would you fantasize about cops when you're married to Galahad, stud of the Round Table?”

Caroline grinned salaciously. “You should see him in motorcycle boots.”

“Pervert.” Diera sniffed.

“Goody Two-Shoes.”

Caroline's eyes narrowed at their friend. “Come to think of it, didn't I see you strolling in the park last night with a vampire boy toy of your very own?”

“That was Antonio, and he's my apprentice, not a boy toy.” But her attempt at an aloof tone was spoiled by a small, secret smile.

“Apprentice. Yeah, right.” Caroline cut her eyes at Lark and intoned. “‘The Force is strong in this one. You should see his light saber.'” She held her index fingers apart in the universal symbol for Big Dick.

Lark snickered, then stopped as her eyes went wide. “Are you talking about the same Antonio that's been training with us?” Antonio Calendri had joined in on their practice sessions several times, engaging Lark in swordplay while Diera critiqued her magical attacks. Muscular and handsome, he'd been a Magus for just over a year.

Diera nodded. “That's him.”

Caroline's eyes widened in delight. “The one with the crush on you?”

A flush stained Diera's delicate cheekbones. “Antonio does
not
have a crush on me.”

“Yeah, right.” Lark turned to Caroline. “That poor man is so far gone, and she just pretends not to notice.”

“But getting back to Lark's problem…” Diera said, just a little desperately.

Lark grinned and propped her chin on her fist as she studied the Maja wickedly. “I'd rather talk about Antonio. So, is it a two-handed light saber, or just a hand and a half?”

“This is serious, Lark,” Diera snapped. “It's not just your life at stake now. It's Gawain's.”

The humor drained from her. “Dirty pool, Diera.”

Her mentor didn't flinch. “I'm sorry, darling, but this is vital, particularly after what happened the other day. You have a lot more power than you think you do. You
must
stop hamstringing yourself and use it.”

“Believe me, when Fangface latched onto my jugular, I used all the power I had.”

Diera leaned forward and met her gaze earnestly. “At that point, yes, but by then, he'd taken too much of your blood. You need to start drawing the full load
before
you're down and bleeding out.”

Frustrated, Lark glowered. “What makes you think I'm not doing that now?”

“Because I've watched you fight Antonio. You're holding back. You don't trust what you are. Deep down, you don't really believe you've got these abilities, so you're not drawing on the Mageverse the way you could.” To Caroline she added, “You see this kind of thing all the time with new Majae.”

“I gave Fangface everything I had! He was just too damn strong.”

Her mentor sighed. “Lark, the death magic the sorcerers use is powerful, but it's also finite. Once the psychic energy from their last murder is gone, it's gone. But the power of the Mageverse has no limit. You just have to learn how to draw on it.”

Sometimes she really hated this mumbo-jumbo crap. “Is that your way of saying, ‘Use the Force, Luke'?”

“Something like that. The next time you confront one of the sorcerers, just remember the power is there. You simply have to let yourself use it.”

“But what if I can't?”

“The time will come when you've got to. And the way things are going lately, it will be sooner rather than later.”

Lark snorted in disgust at her friend's warning. “Thanks a lot, Diera.”

The Maja smiled dryly. “What else are friends for?” She hesitated. “And as long as I'm giving out sage wisdom…”

“Oh, God, now what?”

“Your assignment with Gawain concerns me.”

“Not you, too!”

Caroline propped her chin on her fist. “You mean somebody else has been sticking her nose in your private life?”

“Yeah, only it's a him. Tristan.” She told them about her great-grandfather's warning.

“He's got a point, Lark,” Diera said. “Don't read too much into whatever you and Gawain have going on. Yes, he's handsome and charming, and Merlin knows he's skilled, but he's not interested in more than a night or two. You definitely won't be getting a Truebond out of him.”

The bitterness in her voice made Lark's brows climb. Caroline gasped exactly what she was thinking. “Ohmigod. You and Gawain had a thing!”

Diera shot her an exasperated look. “When you've been around as long as we have, everybody has had a
thing
with everybody else. And everybody knows it.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Avalon—the biggest small town in either universe.”

Ignoring her, Diera turned an intense gaze on Lark. “Have you ever wondered how Kel stays alive? Obviously, he can't eat, he's a sword.”

Lark blinked, taken aback by the abrupt conversational detour. “Well, I assumed he absorbs energy from the Mageverse.”

Diera shook her blond head. “He and Gawain have a symbiotic relationship. He draws on the knight's life force.”

Caroline whistled soundlessly. “In other words, Gawain is eating for two.”

“Exactly. Which means that unlike most of the other Magi, he can't subsist on bottled blood. He needs the psychic charge from taking it directly from a woman during sex. And he's never had a problem getting it.”

Caroline grinned. “So you're saying if he were mortal, he'd have, like, six thousand STDs. Talk about a Magic Johnson.”

Lark groaned at the pun. “You should be ashamed.”

The grin only broadened. “It's a gift.”

“Stop it,” Diera snapped, out of patience. “This is serious.”

The humor fled Caroline's gaze. “No, actually, it's not. Lark is a big girl. She can protect herself. And not all relationships with knights of the Round Table end in broken hearts. There's a good chance Gawain will see what the rest of us do, that she has a lot to offer.”

Lark was so absurdly touched, she had to turn it into a joke. “Awww, I didn't know you cared.”

“Ignore her, she's a newlywed,” Diera growled. “Not all of us get happy endings. And I don't want you to end up miserable.”

Her friend meant well—she might even have a point—but Lark was getting tired of the conversation. “Speaking of those who haven't had a happy ending, do you know how to break the spell on Kel?”

Diera gave her a long look before she evidently decided to allow the shift of subject. “If I did, it would already be broken.” She curled her lip. “We all know the method the original spell-caster had in mind, but obviously nobody's going to do
that
.”

“Wait. Whoever turned Kel into the sword told him how to break the spell? Why the heck hasn't he done it already?”

“Because he'd have to kill Gawain.”

Lark stared at her, appalled. “I thought you said they have a symbiotic relationship?”

She nodded. “As long as Kel's a sword. If he slays Gawain, the spell breaks and he's free again.”

“Wait a minute, how could he do that?” Caroline demanded. “He doesn't have a body.”

“Death spell,” Lark realized. “If they're linked, Gawain would have no way to block it.”

“That, or someone could use Kel to run him through. Either way, Gawain's dead.” Diera shrugged. “On the other hand, if Gawain dies from some other cause before Kel is freed from the sword…”

“…Kel will die,” Lark finished.

“Deprived of Gawain's magical sustenance, his consciousness would begin to fade. Eventually, there would be nothing left but the steel of the sword.”

Sickened, Lark pictured it: the tiny dragon, slowly freezing into metal…. She shuddered.

It was almost as appalling as the thought of Gawain himself dead, all that seductive power gone, the green eyes lifeless.

“Diera?” The voice was rich, deep, and familiar. The three women turned to see a tall, dark-haired vampire moving through the Ladies' Club as the other diners watched him with tolerant amusement. Generally, men were encouraged to stick to the Lords' Club, but all of them recognized a lovesick Magus when they saw one.

Reaching their table, he looked down at Diera with heat in his dark eyes. “I woke from the Daysleep and you were gone.”

Antonio Calendri had a long, lean swimmer's build, a gorgeous mouth, and a lusciously slurred Italian accent that seemed to breathe sex into every syllable he spoke.

Caroline and Lark threw each other a knowing glance. Caroline, irrepressible as always, rose and extended her hand. “You must be Antonio. I've heard so much about you. I'm Caroline Du Lac.”

Antonio shook her hand, white teeth flashing against his olive face in a charming smile. “Ahh, Galahad's wife! I've heard much about you, too.” Sweeping the table with a glance, he asked politely, “May I join you?”