Vampire’s Ball
Angela Knight
Table of Contents
Vampire’s Ball
Angela Knight
ONE
Christmas had come to Walsh Drive. Every house on the block was draped in swags of icicle lights that shone through the dancing swirl of snow. Firs, cedars, and pines stood framed in frosted windows, trimmed in glittering ornaments and twinkling lights. A plastic Santa waved from a neighbor’s yard, his recorded “Ho ho ho!” booming through the night, his painted face glowing.
God, she hated Christmas.
Kat Danilo pulled into her dark driveway, aching in every muscle. She’d taught three classes at the club today—two Healthy Groovin’ and one Kickbox to Fitness—and she was in desperate need of a long, hot soak and a cup of chamomile tea.
After she made sure her mother was okay. Mary Danilo never did well this close to Christmas.
One more week. All they had to do was get through one more week, and they’d be okay. There’d be dark days, yes, but at least there wouldn’t be Santas and Christmas trees everywhere you looked, triggering memories better left buried.
Kat’s stomach balled into its accustomed knot when she got out of her little red Ford Focus. Snow crunched loudly underfoot as she approached the front door. Her hand shook in the act of unlocking the dead bolt, making the keys jingle. “Mom?” She swallowed and licked dry lips, tried for a sunny tone. “Mom, I’m home.”
“In here, baby.” Her mother’s voice sounded bright, excited.
Kat slumped in relief. It was going to be a good night. She blew out a breath and entered the foyer.
The stranger rose as Kat walked into the living room. Shining blond hair curled around the woman’s shoulders, contrasting with a deep cobalt cable-knit sweater that accented the sapphire blue of her eyes. Dark jeans made the most of her impressive height and long legs. An athletic woman, Kat judged, fit and comfortable in her own skin.
Mary stood too, a head shorter than the blonde, a certain jittery excitement in her tired eyes. “Kat, this is Grace du Lac. She’s your stepmother.”
Kat froze. “I . . . don’t understand.”
Mary gave her a smile that was a trifle too bright, a bit too wide. “She’s your father’s wife.”
Kat rocked back on her heels and eyed Grace warily. The family dynamics here were potentially touchy, to say the least. As far as Kat knew, her father had been a drunken one-night stand shortly after Mary’s truly ugly divorce. Either the condom had broken, or too many rum and Cokes had blunted her mother’s sense of self-preservation. Either way, Kat had come along nine months later.
“Lance met Mary long before our marriage,” Grace explained. There was not even a flicker of jealousy on her elegant features. She looked no older than Kat herself; apparently John Lance had a taste for cradle robbing.
“Oh.” Kat slid her hands into her jacket pockets, struggling to figure out why the woman was here. “Has something happened to . . . my father?” It felt strange to say the words. “My father” was a phrase she’d rarely spoken.
“Oh, no. He’s just on a mission. I was deputized to explain things.”
Mission? “What things, exactly?” Kat took a step closer, studying Grace with a suspicion she didn’t bother to hide. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand any of this. My mother tried to contact John after she realized she was pregnant, but he’d vanished off the face of the earth. We never heard a single word from him all the time I was growing up. Now you pop up twenty-six years later. Why now? What do you want?”
“Sometimes I could kick my husband’s ass.” Grace shook her head in disgust. “The knights have always had a cavalier attitude toward their children.”
“Knights? I thought his last name was Lance.”
“Actually, it’s Lancelot du Lac, Knight of the Round Table.”
Kat laughed, amused by the sarcastic image. The chuckle died as she gazed into Grace’s utterly serious eyes. Good God, the woman meant it. Is she some kind of nut?
The blonde studied Kat for a long moment before her blue gaze hardened in resolution. “Time to quit stalling and get it over with.” She reached out and gently laid a hand against Kat’s cheek. Her palm felt seductively kind. Soothing.
Frowning, Kat started to pull back, only to discover she couldn’t move. She opened her mouth to demand what the woman was doing.
Which was when knowledge slammed into her brain in a hurricane of images, emotions, information that battered her senses until the room spun. She didn’t even feel herself hit the floor.
Kat lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. Her aching head swam—which was no surprise, since her world had violently realigned in the last five minutes. She felt as if someone had picked up her brain and shaken it like a snow globe.
“Kat!” Mary thumped to her knees beside her, eyes wide with panic. “Kat, are you all right?”
“Fine,” she mumbled, an automatic lie instilled by years of soothing her mother’s fears. “ ’M fine, Mom.”
A surprisingly strong hand closed over her forearm, pulled her easily into a sitting position. “You sure about that?” Grace knelt at her side, a frown of concern drawing her blond brows down. “I gave you the whole package. It’s a lot to deal with.”
Kat stared at her. “You’re a witch.” It wasn’t possible, yet she knew it was true. The knowledge felt utterly solid, as if it were something she’d always known, observed, believed. Objects fall down instead of up. Grace du Lac is a witch with fantastic magical powers.
“Yes.” Grace’s gaze didn’t even falter at the admission.
“My father is one of the Knights of the Round Table. And he’s a vampire.” She took a deep breath. “And the reason you’re here is because I could become a witch too.”
Grace nodded. “We could use someone like you right now. But that’s not my decision.” She rose, pulling Kat to her feet with an easy strength that was far from human. “Ridge is going to have to make that call.”
Two Days Later
He’d fought Nazi soldiers, communist spies, and demon-infected terrorists. Dealing with Kat Danilo should be a piece of cake. Yet somehow, Ridge Champion had an ugly feeling his newest mission wasn’t going to be that easy.
Ridge pulled his Porsche 911 into the driveway of 344 Walsh Drive and switched off its rumbling engine. Ice-crusted snow crackled under his Armani loafers as he stepped out of the car. Striding up the curving brick walkway, he eyed the three-story Victorian. Snow was rare in Charlotte, North Carolina, yet icicles hung from the gray-trimmed eaves. The house’s wooden siding was as white as the landscape, and more snow dusted its steeply pitched black roof. A very pretty house, solidly middle-class.
He stepped onto the porch and thumbed the doorbell, sending a cheery four-note chime ringing through the interior.
The gleaming black door swung open a moment later, revealing a woman who had to be Kat’s mother. The skimpy dossier he’d read said Mary Danilo was fifty-five, but she looked considerably older, her face gaunt, hollows under the blue eyes, lines of pain cutting grooves around her mouth. The beige slacks and sweater were too big for her thin body. Her smile looked forced as she opened the door wide and stepped back. “Come in, come in out of the cold.” She extended a hand as he stepped inside. “I’m Mary Danilo, Kat’s mother.”
“Ridge Champion.” Her fingers felt thin, fragile, and cold in his careful handshake. He wished he could do something about her obvious anxiety.
“May I take your coat?” She gestured toward the mass of heavy black wool that draped his shoulders.
“No, I’m fine.” They needed to get moving.
Mary nodded, and turned to lead the way through the tiled foyer and into the living room. “Kat’ll be down in a second. Last-minute primping. Not that she’s vain, but she likes to look nice, and . . .” As if losing track of where the sentence was going, Mary trailed off. “Grace said . . .” She broke off again and studied him anxiously. Finally she took a deep breath, as if gathering her courage. “Grace said you’re a vampire.”
He met her gaze steadily. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I didn’t want to believe her. It sounds crazy. There’s no such thing. But . . . I couldn’t not believe.”
“No,” Ridge said. “She wouldn’t let you do anything else.”
“Oh.” She twisted her hands together, staring up at him.
“Your daughter will be safe with me,” Ridge told her gently. “Most of what you’ve heard about vampires is myth. Crosses don’t bother us, we don’t drain people’s blood, and we’re not undead. We certainly don’t sleep in coffins. We’re the good guys. And I would never hurt an innocent.”
“Grace told me that. But Kat’s my only child.”
“I know, ma’am. She’ll be safe with me.”
The searching doubt didn’t fade from her eyes, though finally she nodded. “Thank you.”
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a hell of a lot more he could say to convince her. Unlike Grace du Lac, Ridge wasn’t a Maja, able to induce belief with a spell.
“Mom?” The voice came from somewhere upstairs, sounding far too sexy for a woman who still lived with her mother at the age of twenty-six. “Zip me up, please?”
“Coming.” Mary shot him a harried, apologetic smile and left the room. Her footsteps sounded on a stairway somewhere out of sight.
Ridge tucked his hands in his overcoat pockets and studied his surroundings. The walls were painted a soft, elegant cream, the couch and chairs were covered in pale gold slipcovers, and a potted palm occupied a woven basket in the corner. There wasn’t so much as a Santa figurine to be seen.
And why was that? He frowned slightly.
Idly, Ridge wandered over to the golden marble fireplace, where an eight-by-ten photo occupied the center of a white wooden mantel. From the center of a sterling silver frame the teenaged girl smiled in the kind of stiffly posed shot taken for senior yearbooks. A pretty blonde who looked vaguely like Mary Danilo, she wore a heart-shaped locket around her neck engraved with initials Ridge couldn’t quite make out. Candles stood to either side of the frame as though it were a shrine.
He frowned. Was this Kat?
“Mom, are you sure you’re going to be okay?” The woman’s voice carried clearly to his vampire hearing, surprisingly throaty, flavored with the South, smooth and rich as Kentucky bourbon.
Ridge shifted, uncomfortable at his involuntary eavesdropping.
“I’m fine, Kat.” The answer sounded too tense to be entirely honest.
“I can cancel.”
“No! No, this is too important.”
“Are you sure? I can tell him to forget it.”
“No. I need to know. If you can find out . . . I’d like to know. Maybe . . . I think it would help. Maybe.”
“This’ll work, Mom. I know it will. You saw what Grace could do.”
“But you’ve got to stay safe. Promise me you won’t endanger yourself. I couldn’t stand it if . . .”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me, Mom. I can take care of myself.”
Yeah, well, that’s what I’m here to find out, Ridge thought grimly.
High heels clicked on the stairs, followed by the softer pad of rubber soles. Ridge turned to greet his date.
And caught his breath.
Kat Danilo paused in the hall doorway, a long, slim candle of a woman. Cream silk skimmed down a lithe and graceful body, draped seductively over hips, trailed into a short train. The gown was strapless, its cleavage framing round, sun-kissed breasts. An artful slit permitted glimpses of a gently muscled calf and one spiked gold heel.
Kat advanced to meet him, extending a hand, her smile bright and easy. In contrast to the formality of her gown, her hair was a short, spiky blond ’do that framed delicately angular features with saucy wisps.
“Ridge, this is my daughter, Katherine Danilo,” Mary said with evident pride. “Kat, Ridge Champion.”
Some bone-deep instinct had him bowing over those slender fingers. Unlike her mother’s, her hand felt warm and surprisingly strong. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled, a clear and crystalline blue. He thought he saw a hint of indigo in their depths.
She wore the same gold heart locket as the girl in the picture, but her features were stronger, her gaze years wiser. So who was that in the photo? A sister?
That dossier he’d read was beginning to seem even thinner than he’d thought. Which made him wonder what had been kept from him, and why. The Majae’s Council often played inscrutable games, even with the vampires of Avalon.
“Hello, Ridge.” The girl’s lips looked full and tempting, slicked with bronze gloss. He wanted to taste them. That Kentucky bourbon voice sounded like an invitation to sin.
“It’s my pleasure, Kat.” Or it would be, if he wasn’t careful. How the hell was he supposed to maintain his objectivity with a woman who made his every cell thrum with need?
Unfortunately, he had no choice. There was too much at stake here—starting with Kat Danilo’s life.
TWO
The vampire drove a black Porsche. And what’s more, he looked like the kind of vampire who’d drive a black Porsche.
Kat eyed Ridge Champion in the dashboard lights as he drove with speed and skill. Hair that looked as darkly silky as Russian sable, thick brows slashing over cat-green eyes. A profile that could have been chiseled by Michelangelo. Lips a little sulky, a strong cleft chin, nose a Greco-Roman sweep. And, God help her, dimples that flashed when he smiled. What the hell kind of grown man had dimples? If he hadn’t been a vampire, she’d have figured he was gay.
Gay? Kat winced. Apparently, being really nervous brought out the catty bitch in her.
Her mouth tasted as if she’d eaten a bag of cotton balls. Animated cotton balls, currently tumbling around in her lurching stomach. She tried to work up enough spit to swallow.
He whipped the Porsche between a pair of stone columns. Kat blinked at the houses that rolled past. Middle-class suburbia, nice but decidedly down-market from the Porsche. “You live here?”
“Not exactly.”
He pulled into the driveway of a bland brick split-level. Garage doors opened and then closed again behind the car’s sleek taillights as he braked to a silken stop. Kat started to reach for the door handle. . . .
The universe twisted itself inside out, taking her stomach along for the ride. A hot white starburst exploded in front of her eyes, blinding her. Kat clung to the door, blinking furiously, as the world settled into some kind of weird new configuration. Her stomach settled with it. “What the hell was that?”
The vampire looked at her and smiled. “Magic.”
“Yeah, I kind of figured that from the psychic sucker punch.” Kat gazed out the windshield and her jaw dropped in astonishment.
They were now outside, surrounded by expensive cars in a rainbow of colors. Porches, BMWs, Cadillacs, Rolls-Royces. The only thing that kept the lot from looking like valet parking at the Academy Awards was three beaters: a rusting VW bug, a panel van that appeared to date from 1972, and an ancient Model T in serious need of a paint job.
Light exploded in the corner of her eye. She jerked around to look out the passenger window. A 1957 cherry red Thunderbird had appeared in the parking space next to them. The well-dressed driver got out and went around to open the door for his date.
Kat was still gaping when Ridge opened her own door and extended a hand to help her out. Cautious of her skirt’s silken train, she took his hand. It felt broad and warm under hers as he tugged her from her seat and threaded her fingers into the crook of his arm.
“Where are we?” Tilting her head back, Kat gazed upward. She couldn’t recall a sky quite so beautiful, so incredibly black, or strewn with so many glittering stars.
Ridge followed her dazzled stare, and a slight smile curved his absurdly beautiful mouth. “This is the Mageverse.”
“The what?” She searched the magical memories she’d acquired from Grace. Unfortunately, her knowledge apparently had some very large holes.
“The Mageverse. It’s a parallel universe where magic is a natural force, like gravity or magnetism back home.” He started down the row of cars, guiding her along. “This is where we live, where we draw on the magic that we use on Earth.”
His biceps felt round and firm under the warm wool of his coat sleeve. She looked up into his elegant profile, frowning. “But how did we get here?”
Ridge lifted one broad shoulder in a half shrug. “That house we stopped at. There’s a spell gate on the floor of the garage. When a car drives into it equipped with the trigger spell, it transports the car to the Mageverse.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head, eyeing him curiously. Her fingers stole unconsciously to her locket, absently rasped it back and forth over its chain. “I thought you did it.”
“Me?” He shot her a surprised look. “Vampires can’t do magic. Well, not that kind of magic. I can turn myself into a wolf or heal some really ugly gunshot wounds, but nothing outside my own body. You need a Maja for that.”
“Why? I mean, if you could turn yourself into an animal—which sounds pretty damn major to me—why not other kinds of magic?”
“Why does gravity pull down instead of push up? That’s just the way it works.”
They joined a stream of richly clad people leaving the parking lot. Kat hunched inside her overcoat and studied the crowd as they walked. About half wore tuxedos or gowns in some shade of white, from eggshell to cream. The remaining women were dressed in a rainbow of vivid colors in silk and velvet, the men in black tuxes. Come to think of it, Grace had provided her with the white gown she wore. Some kind of color coding?
They clipped around a stand of trees with the rest of the well-heeled herd. The sight that greeted them stopped Kat in her tracks.
The five-story castle looked as if it had been transported directly from medieval England, complete with moat and thick stone walls. She could almost see Merlin standing on the ramparts, magic pouring from his hands.
Ridge gave her arm a little tug to get her moving again. As they walked across the wooden drawbridge, Kat looked over the edge at the moat below. A reflection of the full moon danced on the water’s mirrored surface.
They passed under a portcullis into a courtyard decorated with rosebushes and topiary. Statues of medieval knights and ladies gleamed in the moonlight like graceful ghosts. A keep towered in the center of it all, soaring against the black sky, spotlights illuminating its massive cream stone walls.Heart hammering with nervous excitement, Kat let the vampire lead her through the keep’s towering oak doors.
They gave up their coats to a lovely young woman man ning a coat check in the foyer, then wandered into the huge ballroom beyond.
The first thing Kat saw when they entered was a Christmas tree that had to be fifty feet tall, a massive, noble fir draped in thousands of white lights. The ornaments—a glittering collection of balls in white, silver, and gold—were easily the size of Kat’s head. It was so damned impressive, she barely noticed the usual stab of Christmas agony.
Dancers swirled around the huge tree, to the strains of some hidden orchestra. Kat was instantly grateful for the magical knowledge of waltzing Grace had given her at the same time as the dress.
“Would you like something to drink?” Ridge asked over the buzz of voices and laughter.
Kat licked dry lips. “Yes, please.” Something with alcohol, if she was really lucky. She needed to numb her fluttering nervousness.
So damned much rested on this.
Ridge led her across the gleaming white and black checkerboard expanse of the marble floor to the other side of the room. Three huge tables stood lining the long wall, spread with a dazzling selection of appetizers. A towering ice sculpture stood on the central table, depicting a woman’s arm thrust upward, holding a sword that shone with condensation.
“The Lady in the Lake,” Ridge said. “Didn’t happen like that, but Arthur loves that story.”
“You know King Arthur?” Kat’s voice spiraled upward into an embarrassing squeak.
“Yep.” He nodded. “In fact, there he is.”
The man who stepped into the center of the room didn’t look like an immortal vampire knight. He was dressed in a tux, for one thing, though he wore his curling dark hair in a shoulder-length style, and a short, neatly trimmed beard framed his square jaw. Though not tall, he was as muscular as Ridge, and an air of power lingered around him like cologne. He lifted a hand, and the music stopped. “May I have your attention, please?”
Dancers stepped away from each other and turned to listen. The ones in white studied Arthur with the same staggered, wide-eyed fascination Kat felt. The rest listened with evident respect.
“As you’ve probably heard,” Arthur said, “we’re recruiting.”
This drew a dry chuckle from a few people, though others looked grim.
“Those of you in white are Latents—the mortal descendants of the knights and ladies of the Round Table. And like all Latents, you have inherited the genetic potential to become immortal. Vampires, in the case of the men, while the women could transform into Majae.”
“Please don’t call us witches,” a dark-haired woman in a red velvet gown called. “We don’t like it.”
“And believe me, you don’t want to piss Morgana Le Fay off.” Arthur smiled as the group chuckled. “Morgana and her fellow Majae worked a spell to find all the Latents who could survive the transition without going mad.” He paused, his expression going grim. “Obviously, we didn’t invite the Latents who’d be driven insane by the process.”
“Nobody wants to deal with a case of Mageverse Fever,” Ridge murmured in Kat’s ear. “We’re usually forced to kill the poor bastards—hopefully before they start piling up victims.”
“But just because you can safely become one of us, that doesn’t mean you should.” The smile dropped away from Arthur’s face. Suddenly there was something very old and very tired in his eyes. “Despite what you may think, we’re not really immortal. We may not age, but we can be killed. And recently, a great many very brave Magekind died in some very ugly ways.”
He began to pace around the silent circle of the crowd, pausing here and there to stare into someone’s eyes. No one spoke, or shifted, or coughed. It almost seemed no one dared breathe.
“Your respective escorts have the task of deciding if you should become one of us. It’s their responsibility to determine if you have the intelligence and courage to join us in our fight. It’s not a decision to be made lightly. Any mistakes you make may cost not only your lives, but the lives of the rest of us as well. And worse, you could kill the innocents who depend on us for protection.”
Arthur paused again, this time directly in front of Kat. She caught her breath as her heart began to pound in furious lunges. Those dark eyes bored into hers. She had the feeling he saw the deep hidden core of rage, the craving for revenge that roiled inside her.
And the fear, carefully hidden and barely acknowledged.
At last he turned away. “Fifteen hundred years ago,” Arthur continued in a quiet tone that still carried to every corner of the room, “Merlin tested me and the members of my court to determine if we were up to the task of protecting mankind from its own suicidal impulses. Those of us who passed his tests drank from his magical grail and became immortal. Now it’s our turn to determine if you are up to the task. We need you, but only if you are willing to pay the price.”
The former king lifted his voice until it rang around the room. “If you are not willing to risk death, to fight and die with us, please leave now. We will honor you for your honesty and sacrifice, for it’s no easy thing to refuse the promise of power. But if you stay, know the risks. Rest assured, your Magekind sponsor does. He or she will not make the decision lightly.”
Arthur paused, sweeping his gaze over the crowd. His mouth twitched in a slight smile. “Now that I’ve killed the mood, have a nice evening.”
On cue, the music rose again. People drew together, heads tilting as conversation began to buzz.
“You still want that punch?” Ridge asked.
“Is it alcoholic?”
He grinned. “I think so.”
“God, yes.”
Laughing softly, he started toward the punch bowl. Kat licked her dry lips, and frowned at the sudden sensation that someone was staring at her.
She turned to meet the stare of a tall, brawny blond man with such sharply chiseled features, he could have posed for an Armani ad. His eyes were pale and gray as winter ice, and just as cold. “I couldn’t help but notice your necklace.” In contrast to his gaze, his smile was as charming and warm as a sunny day. “It’s lovely. Where did you get it?”
Kat’s fingers closed over the engraved heart. “It was my sister’s.”
His smile widened. “Really?”
She went still, going on the alert. “She died.”
“Did she?” Sympathy, rich as cream, filled his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
“Trey?” An older dark-haired man appeared at his elbow. “I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet, son.”
“Sorry to bring up painful memories,” the blond said, and turned away with his father.
Kat frowned after him, tense. It wasn’t the first time she’d met a man who made her instincts howl. But here, among people who were, by definition, the good guys? She snorted in disgust at herself.
She was getting as paranoid as her mother.
THREE
Adelicate crystal cup appeared before Kat’s eyes, held in a strong brown hand. “You making friends with the werewolves too?”
“Werewolves?” Startled, she looked up at Ridge. “I thought you were all either vampires or witches.”
“Majae,” he corrected, and took a sip of his own cup. The contents were a delicate pink. Apparently he wasn’t restricted to blood. “They don’t like the ‘w’ word, remember?”
“Majae. And vamps are called Magi.” Kat sipped, and smiled at the spicy-sweet bite of alcohol blended with fruit. “Grace gave me the lecture. She didn’t say anything about werewolves, though.”
“We didn’t know about them until recently.” He rested a warm hand on the small of her back, and she walked along with him. “Seems Merlin didn’t entirely trust us, so he created a race of Direwolves to make sure we didn’t step over the line. They’re immune to magic, so in a fight they’d probably kick our collective asses.”
“So why’d Arthur invite them?”
Ridge shrugged. “Why not? They’re our allies now, and it’s Christmas. Arthur invited all kinds of people to the party.” He nodded at a small glowing figure that darted past through the air, looking rather like a giant firefly. “Fairies, dragons, a shape-shifting unicorn or two.”
“Y’all have interesting friends.” Absently, Kat put her drained cup on a passing tray. As the tray retreated, she did a double take. No waiter carried it. It just glided along through the air, apparently surfing on a wave of sparks. “I am definitely not in Kansas anymore.”
“Want to dance, Dorothy?” Ridge gave her a rakish smile and held out a hand.
“Why not?” She rested her palm on his and let the vampire lead her into the ballroom.
he Latent waltzed very well, following his lead with an athletic ease and grace. Her train had some kind of wristband she’d hooked one hand through, and she held her arm out to the side so the skirt swirled around them like water. The slit flashed glimpses of long leg that heated his libido to a smoky simmer.
He found his gaze lingering on her sultry mouth under its coat of bronze gloss. Her scent was intoxicating—female flesh, some exotic floral perfume, Latent potential singing a siren song in her blood. The combination made his fangs ache.
It was far too easy to imagine how she’d taste.
He’d never Turned a Latent—doing that kind of thing without permission could get you an order of execution. Mageverse Fever was nothing to screw around with.
But he’d heard there was no experience quite like having a woman Change as you spilled yourself into her. Merlin’s Gift igniting in her cells, activated by contact with a vampire’s magic. . . .
Yeah. They said it was something.
Assuming you could ignore the cost she could end up paying for all that power.
Janice, screaming as she burned in the demon’s fire . . .
Ridge smelled her blazing hair as her shrieks of agony deafened him. The magical flames seared him as he tried to beat them out with his bare hands. . . .
Too late. Too goddamn late.
His feet faltered, and he lost the rhythm of the dance.
“Hey, you okay?”
Janice was gone. The eyes that looked up at him were Kat’s, blue and smoky and concerned.
“Fine,” Ridge said curtly. “I need some air.” He released her and strode toward the French doors that led out into the moonlit garden.
It was warmer out there than it had any business being this time of year. Apparently one of the Majae had cast a spell to ensure it was just cool enough to be pleasant on a dancer’s heated skin. Ridge drew in a calming breath and walked across the stone-paved patio.
Kat trailed him, frowning in concern. “You sure you’re all right?”
He turned to look down into her lovely moonlit face. “Why do you want to do this? Become a Maja?”
She gave him a smile that looked a little too tight as she caught up her locket in long fingers and began to rasp it along its gold chain. “Well, immortality sounds pretty cool.”
Impatiently, he waved off the statement. “Somehow I doubt you’re stupid enough to really believe that.”
Her blond brows flew upward, and she drew back, visibly offended. “I’m not stupid at all.”
“Good. Because Arthur wasn’t kidding when he said you need to be damned sure you want to do this. It can get you killed in some really ugly ways.”
Her gaze went chilly. “Not being immortal is no guarantee you’ll die in bed, Ridge. And I like the idea of being able to defend myself.”
There was a bitter note to that Southern Comfort drawl. “Is there a particular reason you need to be able to defend yourself?”
She turned away and moved to the stone balustrade. “The world is full of predators.”
“True.” He followed her to study her expressionless profile. “And we tend to encounter a lot of them in this job. Mostly because we go out and look for them. If you stay human, you’d have a reasonable chance of avoiding all those killers.”
“Only if you’re lucky. Not everybody’s lucky.” Her fingers found her necklace again.
“Who do you know that was that unlucky?” Realization dawned. “The girl in the picture on your mantel? The one who owned that necklace?” He reached for the locket.
Kat lifted one delicate shoulder in a half shrug, pulling away before he could touch her. Her fingers tightened protectively around the locket.
Ridge brushed his fingertips along the line of her jaw. Her skin felt warm, silken. She automatically looked up at him. The pain in her eyes deflated his own useless anger at past failures. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
Her mouth twisted into a bitter line. “It’s a little late for that.” But as she studied his expression in the moonlight, the tension in her face slowly melted into sympathy. “You’re grieving too.”
He looked off over the gently rolling lawn. Its clusters of moonlit trees glowed with the soft magic of the Mageverse. “A friend of mine died in the Dragon War. She . . . burned. One of the demons threw a fireball and hit her. She was standing six feet away, but there was nothing I could do. I didn’t have the magic to put it out. And neither did she.” Ghostly shrieks rose in his ears again.
“A lover?” There was no pity in those lovely eyes, only understanding. Yes, Kat had her own memories that sliced the mind like broken glass.
“We hadn’t been together like that in decades. But she was the one who made me a vampire. You never forget the one who Changes you, whether there’s real love there or not. Watching her die . . .”
“Hurt.” Kat said it as if she knew how utterly inadequate the word was to express such howling agony.
“Yes.”
She rose on her tiptoes, caught the back of his neck, and drew his head down until she could reach his mouth. It was a surprisingly tender kiss, less an act of passion than an offer of comfort.
Her lips felt exquisitely soft as they brushed over his, a delicate seduction. She started to draw back.
Ridge caught her nape, felt the cool silk of her short hair against his fingers, impossibly soft. Opening his lips, he deepened the kiss, drinking in her taste, savoring the sweet comfort she offered.
Kat responded with a tiny moan, a whimper of breath against his mouth. She leaned into him, the silk of her gown warm from her body, her breasts lush and full against his chest. Her long legs moved restlessly, brushing his thighs.
Her scent filled his head, some delicate perfume tinged with jasmine. And beneath that, the heady musk of female arousal. He hardened in a hot, sweet rush, his balls going tight.
Vampire hearing picked up the rush of her pulse, the sea tide of her blood. His fangs slid from their housing in his jaw. He bent his head, nuzzling, and she tilted her chin, giving him access to the big, pulsing vein. . . .
What the hell am I doing? The thought blew through the smoky heat of his arousal, chill as a sudden draft. Ridge blinked.
Oh, hell, he was losing it. If he didn’t stop this, he’d be balls-deep in her and coming before he knew what hit him.
And that was a really bad idea. Tempting, yes—Merlin’s Cup, he was tempted—but there was no way he could maintain his objectivity if he banged the girl.
No, not banged, a voice whispered from the back of his brain. Nothing with this woman would be as simple as a bang. Kat Danilo wasn’t the kind of woman a man used for meaningless physical release. She might draw you in with that pretty body, but she’d snare you tight with her intelligence, with her questing mind and dry wit. Not to mention the subtler temptations of shared grief.
That might be the most dangerous snare of all.
There was far too much Grace had kept from him when she’d asked him to sponsor Lance’s daughter.
Stepping away from Kat took a surprising amount of effort. She looked up at him, those beautiful eyes a little dazed, a bit disappointed. His fangs twinged in frustration.
“I think we’d better go back inside,” Ridge managed hoarsely, “and dance.”
hey drove through the moonlit night, the Porsche’s headlights spearing the darkness. In the green glow from the dash, Ridge shot Kat a look of concern. She’d danced and joked throughout the evening, teasing him subtly with a brush of fingertips here, a ripple of laughter there. She knew just how much he wanted her now, and she’d seemed determined to test his control.
But as the evening wore on, Ridge had sensed a growing tension in her. Now as they drove into her housing development, the tension hit a vibrating peak that irritated him like the rasp of sandpaper over bare skin. Does she think I’m going to lunge for her throat?
Yet, as they wheeled into the driveway, Kat’s attention seemed focused on the house rather than him. She was out of the car before he had time to turn off the engine.
Ridge’s brows shot up as he watched her clip up the brick walkway as fast as her tight skirt would allow, fumbling her keys out of her overcoat pocket as she went. He opened the car door and strode after her.
“Mom?” she called as she wrestled the door open.
“Baby?” Her mother’s voice floated from somewhere upstairs.
Kat’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I’m home!”
She turned and gave Ridge a smile as he walked up behind her. “I had a lovely evening.”
“That’s good.” Ridge studied her with narrow eyes. “What were you so afraid of?” He could smell the fading scent of her fear, hear her heartbeat slowing its desperate thump. “I was starting to wonder if you thought I was going to jump you.”
Kat looked honestly startled. “Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Her laughter sounded a bit forced. “I just . . . worry about my mom. I guess I’m a little paranoid.”
“You want me to check the house?”
“No. No, that’s fine. We’re fine.”
Ridge tucked his hands in his overcoat pockets and studied her thoughtfully. “All right. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” That smile was definitely forced.
“Look, we need to meet tomorrow night. I’d like a better idea of how you’d handle yourself in a fight.”
Her blond brows lifted. “Ridge, I’m a fitness instructor.”
“I’m aware of that.” The dossier had mentioned that much at least. “But being fit doesn’t mean you know what to do when someone’s trying to hurt you.”
He got the distinct impression she was grinding her teeth, but she restricted herself to a nod. “You’re the boss.”
“Yes. I am. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
FOUR
Ridge’s house was a three-story Mediterranean villa in golden stucco, its windows arched, its low roof red ceramic tile. Impressive though it was, it looked modest next to towering Mageverse neighbors that included a Germanic castle and a sprawling Gilded Age mansion.
“Who builds these houses?” Kat asked, eyeing the crenellated walls towering over the trees next door.
Ridge shrugged. “Majae, usually. It takes a lot of magic to build a house like this. Generally you barter services, though a Maja may give you a house as a gesture of gratitude.”
She grinned, swinging the athletic bag she carried in one hand. “And what did you do to win a witch’s gratitude?”
“Saved her from a Death Cult assassin.” His smile was sly and very male. “She was very, very grateful.”
“I’ll bet.”
He led her inside, past plaster walls, wrought iron fixtures, and timber-trussed ceilings. Their feet padded over gleaming tile floors in warm shades of rose, gold, and cream. The combined effect was both intensely masculine and very beautiful.
Yep, that had been one grateful witch, all right.
At last Kat followed Ridge into a cavern of a room with a towering ceiling supported by heavy dark timbers. Padded mats covered the floor, sinking underfoot with every step.
“We’ll work out here,” Ridge told her, and gestured at an arched hallway. “You’ll find a bathroom down that corridor where you can change.” he bath in question was nothing short of sybaritic, Kat
discovered, all smooth cream marble with pale gold accents. You could practically swim laps in the tub, while the shower was an elegant freestanding affair with multiple showerheads protruding from the rounded glass walls.
It was all enough to give a girl ideas, especially after last night’s toe-curling kiss.
The memory of Ridge’s mouth had left her shifting restlessly in the sheets all night. He’d felt so tall and deliciously strong against her, yet he’d touched her with exquisite care, as if she was something fragile and valuable. The simple brush of those lips had been enough to leave her aching.
When her tongue touched the tip of one fang, Kat had felt a strange erotic jolt, a delicious blend of fear and desire. Ridge was so utterly unlike any other lover she’d ever had. Next to his elegant restraint, every other man seemed a fumbling boy in retrospect, overeager and graceless.
Kat might have thought Ridge a little too cool, in fact, had she not sensed the patient predator beneath his gentleman’s mask.
Vampire.
Grace had told her the genetic spell that was the Gift could only be triggered by making love to one of the Magekind. Which meant Kat would have to brave that dark and alien masculinity. Feel those fangs break her skin, that thick cock pump into her sex.
Dry-mouthed, Kat began to undress. Her nipples stood stiff and aching as she took off her bra. She shivered in anticipation and bent to dig hastily in her workout bag for her clothes.
hile Kat changed, Ridge retreated to his own room two floors above to don a pair of loose cotton pants. Barefoot, he padded back downstairs a few minutes later.
To stop in his tracks and stare.
Kat was bent double in the center of the room, one hand wrapped around her left ankle as she stretched, chest flat against her thigh. Her legs were amazingly long and deliciously bare, displayed by a pair of thin cotton shorts. When she straightened, he saw she wore a cropped tank that revealed a tight, lean belly. Her breasts rode her chest in round little handfuls that made him want to peel that thin tank off for a better look.
As he watched with hungry interest, she bounced on her bare toes, eyeing him. “What now?”
Somehow he resisted the impulse to suck in his stomach. He knew his body was hard and strong from years of swinging a sword in practice bouts against his fellow Magekind.
But immortal, ageless vampire or not, he was still a guy.
Ignoring his ego, Ridge stepped closer and gave her a come-ahead gesture with his fingers. “Show me what you can do. Hit me.”
He’d trained his share of Majae over the years, and he knew what to expect. An awkward swat he’d barely feel, delivered with a complete lack of speed or skill. And no strength whatsoever.
Smoky blue eyes narrowed as she stepped up to him. That was all the warning he got.
Kat came up off the floor, her fist blurring at his chin with the full weight of her body behind it, clean and hard as a heavyweight’s jab. If he’d been human, she’d have bloodied his nose. As it was, he barely ducked in time to avoid the punch. The breeze of her fist fanned his hair.
Her eyes narrowed, delicate lip curling up in a feral snarl, as anger crackled like a lightning strike in those cool blue eyes. Kat didn’t like missing.
She came after him then, throwing first a left, then a right, snapping both punches with speed and skill and no hesitation at all. When he automatically avoided both, she whirled into a spinning kick he was forced to knock aside with a thrust of his forearm.
She didn’t even stop for breath. Every blow was harder, faster, punch flowing into punch flowing into kick. She picked her targets like a pro, aiming for ribs, head, knees, ankles at seeming random.
Just to see what she’d do, he finally started throwing punches of his own, human-slow at first. She blocked them with all the strength and speed her Latent genetics gave her.
“You’ve done a hell of a lot more than teach kickbox ing,” he commented, jerking aside to avoid a kick that would have knocked a human cold. He caught her ankle and flipped her like a poker chip.
Kat hit the ground on her back and rolled to her feet, as cleanly and easily as if she’d practiced it a thousand times. She probably had. “Black belt.” She was breathing a little faster now, but the anger was gone from her gaze. She’d obviously realized she couldn’t afford the luxury of rage against someone like him.
Ridge snaked a fist past her guard and popped her on the nose. He pulled it, but it still rocked her head back.
She retreated, smooth and graceful as a dancer. Her guard never dropped. He watched anger flicker in her eyes, then melt away into intense concentration. He could almost taste the determination that gave her blue gaze a cool, metallic glint.
His own eyes narrowed in response. Let’s see what you can really do, Kat Danilo. Let’s see just how far you’ll go.
at went after the vampire with everything she had, every skill she’d built over fifteen years of martial arts training. That was saying something. As a Latent, she was faster and stronger than most women and a good percentage of men. She’d brought down brawny male fighters twice her weight.
Yet trying to hit the vampire was like punching water. He flowed aside from every punch, every kick. Then he’d flick out a casual hand, shoot right past her guard, and slap her just hard enough to sting. She never even saw the blows coming.
He was beginning to piss her off. That was bad. Getting angry was the first step to losing. Stay cool, Kat. Stay in control.
She couldn’t afford to lose. She had to prove she was worthy of the Gift.
Breathing hard, sweat rolling down her thighs, her arms, Kat took a step back and began to circle. Ridge moved with her, all warrior’s grace. At least he was sweating, hard muscle gone slick and gleaming under the lights. Those loose pants of his had slid down, riding low over his hips, revealing a teasing glimpse of dark hair snaking down his belly.
His green eyes burned at her, intense, hot. Hungry. His sensual mouth curled in a smile she suddenly wanted to bite.
I’ve never seen any man more beautiful.
The thought streaked past her guard like one of his taunting little slaps. She caught her breath.
He lifted his fists, raising his guard. Muscle flexed and rolled. His biceps bunched, tight and round. There was an intriguing little pucker high on his shoulder that looked like the scar from a gunshot wound. A second scar, this one long and slashing, ran down one side of his abdomen and disappeared into his waistband. She wanted to trace it with her fingers.
Focus, dammit.
What the hell was wrong with her? She never got distracted during a bout. Though to be fair, none of her opponents fought half-naked.
Or looked like Ridge Champion. Sweat-slicked, strong, so deliciously male.
Focus, Kat!
To force her mind back to business, she spun into a roundhouse kick. He ducked under her slashing leg, kicked out a foot, snagged her ankle, and dumped her on her ass.
Ridge pounced before she could roll away, one hand capturing her wrists, legs twining around hers, his big body crushing her into the mat.
Kat snapped into action, trying the half-dozen tricks she knew to get out of this kind of hold. None of them worked. He even jerked his head out of range of her attempted head-butt. And smiled.
Think, dammit. He’s too freaking strong. You’re going to have to out-think him.
“All right,” Kat gasped, forcing her muscles to relax, watching him under half-closed lids. “You win.”
“Do I?” That sensual mouth twitched. “There’s a promising admission.” He relaxed fractionally, strong legs loosening their grip on her thighs. His lids drooped to a lazy half-mast, and he lowered his head.
Kat went still under the kiss. It was slow, lazy, a thorough exploration of her mouth, as exquisitely tempting as the one the night before.
No, even more so. Sweat and effort gave his body a sultry heat that eroded her sense of discipline. She could feel him going hard against her belly, the long width as intriguing as his soft, sinful lips.
Kat opened for him with a moan. Her head spun, and she let herself yield. His free hand slid up to cup her breast, sending teasing heat spiraling despite the thick fabric of her athletic bra.
She squirmed, letting her legs fall apart. He nudged her chin up to give her throat a teasing nibble, then lifted his weight to allow her to spread her legs around his. She braced a palm against his muscular ribs. . . .
And gained precisely the leverage she needed.
With a twist of her legs and a heaving thrust of her arms, Kat threw him off and bounced to her feet, falling into a combat crouch. “Let’s try that again,” she growled through gritted teeth.
And Ridge, lying flat on his back, began to laugh.
Frustrated, she raked her sweaty hair out of her eyes and glared at him. “What’s so damned funny?”
“Grace did explain how you actually become a Maja, I trust?”
“Yeah, we have to have . . .” She trailed off. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He gestured at the erection still tenting his pants. “Oh.”
She blinked at him, trying to decide whether to feel triumphant or moronic. “You mean I passed your test.”
He chuckled, folding his arms behind his head as he gazed up at her. “Honey, you knocked it out of the park.”
“I thought I had to beat you.” Kat frowned in confusion.
He snorted. “Not very damned likely. I’m an eighty-year-old vampire with sixty years of combat experience, and I once deadlifted a Cadillac off a pedestrian. You’re good, but you ain’t that good.”
Realization struck. “I never had a prayer.”
“You did better than I expected.” He grimaced. “Then again, I didn’t expect you to be able to throw a punch without detailed instructions and a map. Most new Majae can’t.”
Puzzled, Kat dropped to her knees on the mat. “So what the hell was the point?”
Ridge knelt in front of her like the sensei he could have been. “I wanted to know if you could think on your feet. If you’d panic when faced with overwhelming odds. Whether you could take a punch without running home to Mommy.”
She raised a brow. “And?”
“And you don’t panic. When you got pissed off, you controlled it instead of making stupid mistakes. Pain doesn’t stop you. And you kept fighting long after anybody with any sense would have thrown in the towel. What’s more, you just played me for a sucker, which is both embarrassing and seriously impressive.”
Her heart was thundering a heavy metal beat in her ears. “So you’ll make me a Maja?”
The humor faded from his eyes, leaving his expression grim. “Yeah. We need people like you. I just hope you don’t end up regretting it.” He rose to his feet. “Come on. I don’t know about you, but I could use a bath.”
Kat blinked, imagining Ridge naked and covered in bubbles. Oh, this is going to be good.
FIVE
She’d been right, Kat decided. You could swim laps in Ridge’s tub.
He was down on one knee, testing the water temperature and adding some mysterious oil that formed aromatic clouds of bubbles. His back looked deliciously broad, muscle flexing and working as he moved, and she contemplated it in happy anticipation.
When the tub was filled and fragrant, he stood and turned toward her. He stood tall and impossibly handsome in the golden light of the candles that rested on every flat surface. They’d all burst simultaneously into flame when he and Kat walked into the room.
Ridge claimed the candles were magic, but she suspected they’d been ignited by the sheer lust in the air. You could almost see it, sparking and swirling around them like amorous fireflies.
He moved toward her, his eyes heavy-lidded with need. A long, distinct shape strained against the soft cotton of his pants. She wanted to tug down his waistband for a shameless ogle.
Ridge tipped her chin up for his kiss. If he felt the same impatience she did, he hid it well, taking his time with the slow mating of mouths, teasing, stroking, lip-to-lip, tongue dancing around tongue. Kat sighed, relaxing into his solid strength. His hands came to rest, one cupping her butt, the other on the dip of her waist.
The kiss spun on, lazy and drugging. The taste of him intoxicated—a hint of salt, a trace of mint, and over it all, that dazzling masculinity.
Deep inside her, something woke, responded with a hot leap of need. Something furious and demanding that had never risen for another man.
The Gift?
The thought shot a little shiver of mingled excitement and fear through her. Grace had given her a rough idea what to expect, but how was it going to feel? Magic igniting in her every cell, changing her, making her immortal. Something other than human. . . .
“Shhh,” Ridge breathed against her mouth. He drew back enough to smile into her eyes. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Ha. Showed how much he knew. That, or she was a coward, because she could think of any number of things to fear.
Mostly failure.
But then he caught the hem of her top, peeled it smoothly off, and tossed it aside with an offhand little flip. Her bra followed a moment later.
She swallowed, looking up at him uncertainly as he gazed down at her breasts in the warm candlelight. Did he think them too small? Too big?
You never knew with guys.
“Lovely,” Ridge sighed, and she relaxed at the honest delight in his eyes. He lifted one hand, gently brushing his palm over one erect nipple before slowly cupping her in warm, gentle fingers.
Kat let her head fall back at the feather-soft pleasure as he stroked her. His fingers traced delicate patterns over the full curves, brushing the tight peak, thumb sliding back and forth.
“Sweet.” She sighed. “It feels so sweet.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Yes. It does.”
He dropped to one knee and caught the waistband of her shorts and panties in both hands. Tugged slowly downward. Leaned forward to press a kiss to her belly, right below her navel. She giggled at the ticklish sensation.
“God,” Ridge murmured, still drawing the shorts down, “you’ve got the longest legs.”
She smiled shyly and stepped out of the bottoms, bracing one hand on his broad shoulder.
He knelt there, gazing up at her, admiring. His green eyes looked almost black, shadowed by the fall of his hair over his forehead.
Then he leaned forward, and his mouth found her.
Kat gasped, startled, as his tongue slipped across her clit. The hot, wet pleasure hit her like a silken lash, fiery yet impossibly sweet.
He spread her lips for better access, and licked lazily. First tiny flicks, then exquisite little circles. He reached between her legs. The sensation of one finger slipping deep tore a gasp from her lips. She threaded her hands into the cool silk of his hair and held on for dear life.
He drew back just as she was about to spill over.
“Ridge!” she protested, as he rose to his feet with that pacing panther grace. “Has anybody ever mentioned you’ve got a sadistic streak?”
He smiled, very male, just shy of smug. “A time or two.” And he pulled down the waistband of his cotton pants. His cock sprang free.
She forgot her irritation in anticipation. His erection looked delicious, a thick, rosy length that jutted from his muscular belly.
He ignored her shameless, hungry gape and calmly drew his pants down his brawny thighs, stepped out of them, and straightened.
And let her stare.
God, he was beautiful. Kat was no stranger to physical power—there were plenty of muscular men at the gym— but there was a sculpted elegance to Ridge’s body you didn’t get from pumping iron. His was a warrior’s build, long and lean, with a swordsman’s grace and agility.
A big hand closed over hers, shocking her out of her lust-induced trance. Smiling indulgently, Ridge guided her over the side of the tub and down into the delightfully warm water.
Kat sighed in pleasure as she sank onto the low bench just beneath the foamy surface. Little wavelets sloshed as he joined her, drawing her back into his arms.
Picking up a bar of fragrant soap, he began to run it over her skin, lazily stroking. Kat let her eyelids slide closed, the better to concentrate on all the wonderful sensations.
Bubbles caressed her arms, her breasts, as gentle currents swirled around her body, seductively warm. The cake of soap felt slick, cool, as he stroked it over her nipples, around her arms, down her torso to her legs.
She let her head fall back against his shoulder. “I feel like melting chocolate. Like there’s not a bone in my entire body.”
“Mmm,” he purred. “That’s okay. I’m hard enough for both of us.”
Kat chuckled without opening her eyes. “You’re a bad, bad man, Ridge Champion.”
“And getting worse every minute.” The cake of soap slid wickedly between her legs. He turned it on edge, used its slick, rounded surface to maddening effect. Kat caught her breath in delight as it slid over her clit, teasing until she squirmed.
“Like that?” he rumbled in her ear, his voice deep, almost thrumming.
“Mmm.” She couldn’t seem to manage anything more coherent.
“How about this?” Fingers replaced the soap, slick and skilled. Circled, danced, strummed. She panted, rolling her hips in tiny, needy jerks as he tormented her gently.
His mouth found the side of her neck, nibbled until she turned her head to find his lips blindly. They kissed, his hands skimming her with soapy fingers. He stroked nipples, followed the curve of breasts, traced belly button and hip bone. Found erogenous zones she didn’t even know she had, and played over them until she quivered in response.
No lover had ever made her body leap like this. Lost in the hot honey rise of passion, she reached back and hooked an arm around his neck, arching into his hands, gasping.
No, she’d never had a man like this.
very fluid movement of her long, lush body was an act of seduction. She twisted and rolled, stroking herself against him like a cat, purring and lazy with pleasure. Her nipples jutted, hard and pink and sweet as candy atop breasts that filled his hands with satin warmth. Foam rolled down her body, hissing and popping in gentle accompaniment to the lapping of warm water around them.
Ridge was hard as marble against her ass, and his fangs ached with the need to taste her. Her heartbeat pumped a demanding beat in his ears. He knew he must have wanted a woman this much in his decades as a vampire.
But damned if he could remember when.
Need beat in his blood, pulsed in the root of his fangs and the thick jut of his cock. He felt like distilled lust, a pure and blazing psychic heat. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep from claiming her.
Sliding a finger deep into creamy flesh, Ridge moaned. God, she felt so tight, yet so impossibly slick and ready. The thought of how she’d feel clasping him made him shudder.
Kat rolled her head against his shoulder, arching her neck in invitation. He bent his head to kiss her there again . . .
And felt the big vein pulsing against his lips in thumping temptation. His eyes slid closed, and he pressed the tips of his fangs against that vein.
“Yes.” She gasped. Her Southern Comfort voice sounded even more throaty, and her gaze met his, fey and witchy with need. “Do it. Take me.”
He somehow wrestled enough self-control to ask, “You sure?”
“Yes!”
The hunger demanded he fall on her like a wolf, but he fought it back and kissed her there slow, teasing.
Then he bit. Her flesh gave under the sharp slice of his fangs, blood filling his mouth. She arched with a shocked little cry. He started feeding pleasure back to her in long pulses, keeping time with every swallow of her blood.
he felt the first bright, scarlet sting of his teeth as a sudden shock. But delight flooded in behind the flash of pain—a dark, intense pleasure that was somehow all feral male, as if he magically shared what he felt.
All the while, those big hands stroked, one tugging slippery nipples, the other seeking between her thighs. Sliding parted fingers back and forth around her clit until long curls of delight spiraled up her spine like red ribbons.
The orgasm took her by surprise, a dazzling explosion that made sparks flash in front of her eyes. She cried out.
He growled at the sound. Lifted his head.
Before she quite knew what was happening, he rolled with her, sweeping her under his body, bracing her backside on the seat rimming the tub. Then he was between her thighs and inside her in one long, breathtaking lunge. Kat yowled again at the sheer overwhelming wonder of the sensation.
It felt like he filled her to the throat, deliciously ruthless, surrounding her in slick male muscle, hot and wet and very, very ready. With a rumbling growl, he began to thrust.
Kat hooked her heels over his ass and ground back at him, giving as good as she got, mindless with the clawing rise of need. Wanting more. On the razored verge of something she couldn’t identify. Something she had to have, if only . . .
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. More. Only a little bit more, and she’d . . .
He roared, a deep bellow of passion, stiffening against her, pulsing deep.
At first she thought it was another orgasm. Hot white, blinding, a delicious, searing pleasure that had her convulsing against him.
And then the pleasure bled away, and she could see again. It seemed she was somewhere else, a room she recognized.
And she saw—
idge threw back his head and roared again as his orgasm pulsed in liquid fire. The pounding intensity of it made him shudder and gasp.
Until at last he collapsed, wrapping himself around Kat in exhausted, desperate gratitude.
A thought penetrated his dazed lassitude. We’re going to have to do this again. Takes three, maybe four times to activate the Gift. Thank Merlin.
It came to him that the edge of the tub was probably digging into her butt, so he rolled over with her, draping her across his body. “Damn, Kat,” he said, half-laughing as he lifted his head to look down into her face. “You’ve kicked my . . .”
He broke off. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, her expression blank. He jerked upright in alarm, but she only lolled limply in his arms. “Kat! Kat, what’s . . . ?”
“Mom,” she whimpered. Not exactly the word a man wanted to hear from his new lover. Then she blinked and snapped into focus, her eyes widening in terror. One small hand clamped onto his shoulder, nails digging deep. “Ridge! Ridge, there’s something wrong with my mother!”
SIX
Kat scrambled out of the bath, naked, wet, bubbles streaming down her luscious backside. Ridge would have been entranced by the view, had it not been for the panic in her eyes. He levered himself out of the tub and handed her a towel as she looked around in panicked help lessness. “What did you see?”
Kat took the towel automatically. “Just a flash of her face. She looked asleep. But I felt a sense of terror, like there’s something horribly wrong.” Fear and doubt warred on her face in heartbreaking combination. “Maybe I just imagined it.”
“You saw this just as you came?” He strode toward the bathroom door, drying his shoulders with the towel he’d snatched off its rack.
“Yes.” She padded after him, her clothes bundled in her hands. “Does that make a difference?”
“Yeah. You haven’t come into your Gift yet—we haven’t made love often enough—but many Latents get visions the first time. If you saw it, it either has happened or is about to.”
Kat’s face paled, and she swayed. Seeing her stagger from the corner of one eye, Ridge turned and caught her elbow.
“My mother’s suicidal.” Her eyes looked huge, and she pulled away from him to begin dragging on her clothes, though foam still clung to her wet skin. She hadn’t taken the time to use that towel. “Mama’s battled clinical depression for years, but it’s worse in the Christmas season. She’s attempted suicide twice, but I always got to her in time.”
Ridge cursed, a rolling string of gutter Latin he’d picked up from Arthur.
Kat met his gaze and swallowed, obviously fighting to control her panic. “We’ve got to get back now, Ridge.”
He nodded sharply and headed for the wrought iron staircase. “There’s no time to fool with the car. I’ll get Grace.”
idge found the cell phone where he’d left it, upstairs on his dresser. It was not, of course, a real cell phone—such a thing wouldn’t work in the Mageverse—but when Ridge spoke the word “Grace” into it, the magical device nonetheless chirped obligingly.
He was acutely aware that Kat watched him anxiously, damp but dressed.
“This had better be good,” a male voice growled.
“Your daughter thinks your old lover just attempted suicide. That good enough for you?”
Lance’s reply was a single pungent curse. “Grace?” he said. “We need to get over to Ridge’s now.” There was a gratifying urgency in that “now.”
The air rippled into a gate just as Ridge pulled a shirt over his head. Grace and Lancelot stepped through.
“Where’s your mother?” Grace demanded of Kat, the gate still rippling the air behind them.
“In her bedroom, I think. She looked asleep, but I have the feeling there’s something wrong. Really wrong.” Kat took a deep breath and balled her hands into fists, obviously working to get her fear under control. “Fatally wrong.”
Without another word, Grace turned, gesturing. The gate rippled again, now revealing a bed with a woman lying in a fetal ball under an embroidered quilt.
“Mom!” Kat lunged through the gate, and Ridge followed, Grace and Lance at his heels. Ridge was barely aware of the ripple of magic surging over his skin as he dove through the dimensional door.
at’s stomach rolled itself into a quivering, ice-filled ball as she plunged into her mother’s bedroom. Mary appeared deeply asleep, and Kat found herself hoping she’d just scared the hell out of everyone for nothing.
But when she grabbed her mother’s shoulder and shook her with a loud “Mom!” the still form did not respond.
“She’s alive,” Grace said grimly. “Barely.” The Maja reached past Kat, putting one slim palm in the center of her mother’s chest.
Ridge’s warm hands closed gently around Kat’s shoulders and drew her away from the bed. “Give Grace room to work, babe.”
As Kat watched anxiously, Grace’s fingers began to glow. Sparks spilled from her flesh, dancing over Mary’s body, cutting spirals around the woman’s still arms and legs, circling her head in a halo of light.
Kat caught her breath. Grace’s magic had made her believe in witches, but actually seeing the otherworldly light show at work around her own mother was something else again. This is real. All of it. Vampire knights, witches, Merlin, all of it. Real. “Is she going to be all right?”
Grace grunted, but made no answer, an expression of deep concentration on her face.
“I think we’d better go downstairs and wait,” said the dark-haired stranger who’d accompanied Grace. “It’s not a good idea to distract her when she’s doing work this delicate.”
Kat looked up at him. This man must be Grace’s husband. Which made him . . .
Her knees went weak.
Ridge caught her forearm and steadied her. “You going to be okay?” His steady green gaze was dark with compassion.
Kat took a deep breath and blew it out, managed a quick nod. As Ridge guided her toward the door, her gaze fell on a small pill bottle beside the bed. She scooped it up and was not surprised to find it empty. A glance at the label confirmed her suspicions.
Sleeping pills.
“Dammit, Mom.” Anger stiffened her back. Kat pulled away from Ridge’s supporting hand and stalked out to clatter down the stairs. “God forbid she leave another bloody corpse for me to find. This is the third fucking time she’s pulled this stunt.”
Kat didn’t look back to see if the men were following her as she made for the kitchen. They’d need coffee to get through this. At least, she would; she had no idea what stressed vamps drank.
Besides, there was something soothing and familiar about the ritual of making coffee. At least it gave her something to do with her hands.
“I gather this has happened before,” Lancelot said as she put the pot on to brew.
Kat glanced over at him. He was almost ridiculously handsome, with dark, thick brows arching over eyes the color of warm sherry. His hair was thick and curly, his cheekbones broad, his nose narrow over a wide, curving mouth. It was obvious why her mother had fallen into bed with him twenty-six years ago.
It was impossible to think of him as her father. For God’s sake, the man looked only a few years older than she was. Thirty or so, tops, though she knew he had to be sixteen hundred years old, at least.
Yet as she studied him, Kat realized there was something vaguely familiar about the shape of his face. Damn, he looks like me. She saw a softer, feminine version of those angular features every time she looked in a mirror. The shape of his eyes and chin, the curve of his mouth. Yet because he appeared to be only a few years older than she was, strangers would probably mistake him for her older brother.
“Kat,” Ridge prompted her softly, “do you know why your mother would do something like this?”
She went to the china hutch for the sterling silver coffee set her mother used for guests, then added three cups and saucers and carried the heavy tray back to the central island where the coffeepot hissed. “I had a sister.”
“I remember,” Lancelot said unexpectedly. “Mary mentioned her. She was a little girl at the time. Seven or so. She was spending the weekend with Mary’s ex-husband.” A deep frown line formed between his thick brows. “The divorce had just been finalized.”
Which was why Mary was out getting drunk. “Karen had a stormy childhood. Spent a lot of time shuttling back and forth between her father’s house and Mom’s. Me . . .” Kat managed not to let her gaze slide toward Lancelot. I had no father. “I stayed with Mom all the time, which became kind of an issue. Karen accused Mom of favoring me, but Mom said it wasn’t true. Said I was just younger, needed her more.” She shrugged. “It got really bad when Karen hit eighteen. Typical teenage stuff. Beer, boys. Lots and lots of really bad attitude.”
But Kat had worshipped her beautiful big sister anyway. Cheerleader and boy magnet, Karen had been as blond and popular as a living Barbie doll. Ten-year-old Kat had probably annoyed the daylights out of her, constantly tagging at her heels. “There was this boy. She said his name was Jimmy Chosen, and that he was a college senior. Mom tried to get him to come to the house, but he kept making excuses, ducking her invitations. That really set off all her mommy alarms.”
“I’d imagine so,” Lancelot said.
“Then, that Christmas Eve, Mom found a package of condoms in a pocket when she went to wash Karen’s coat. It all hit the fan. Lots of screaming, lots of crying. Mom threatened to throw Karen out if she kept dating Jimmy.”
“Probably not the best way to handle the situation,” Ridge observed, moving over beside her.
“No, which is just one of the reasons Momma periodically tries to eat entire bottles of Seconal.” Kat gave him a slightly bitter smile. He brushed a comforting hand across the small of her back. Feeling oddly soothed, she continued, “I heard Karen get up before dawn Christmas morning and attempt to sneak out of the house. I got up and begged her not to go—I was afraid Mom really would throw her out. Karen threatened to kick my ass if I ratted on her. Swore she’d be back in an hour, long before Mom woke up. So I went back to bed.” She stared down at her own reflection in the shining surface of the coffeepot without really seeing it. “I wish to God I’d been the little snitch Karen always swore I was. If I had been . . . ”
She broke off to transfer the coffee into the silver pot, then picked up the loaded tray and led the way into the living room. “By the time two hours had passed, I knew Karen was in serious danger of getting caught.”
Sitting down on the couch, Kat began to fill the delicate cups. Ridge sat down next to her as Lancelot took one of the armchairs. “We lived in one of those lakeside developments then, very upscale. I knew Karen liked to meet her boyfriends out beside the lake, where there was a shady stretch of grass. So I went to get her.”
She glanced up. Lance was watching her, his gaze brooding. “The day before, I’d seen a dog dead on the highway. Been hit by multiple cars, I guess. Probably a truck or two. Its body was all ripped up, red ropes of . . . Well.” Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. “Karen lay on the grass in her favorite picnic spot. And I thought when I saw her that she looked just like that dog. I wouldn’t have known who she was if it wasn’t for her long, pretty blond hair. I recognized the hair.”
“Sweet Jesu.” A muscle flexed in Lancelot’s handsome jaw, and his eyes looked . . . haunted. As if he was remembering something just as unpleasant.
Ridge caught Kat’s cold hands in his own big, warm ones, stilling her mechanical efforts with the coffee. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She managed a tight smile for the compassion in his eyes. “I ran back home, screaming. Mom didn’t believe me at first, thought I had to be wrong. But then we walked to the lake . . . ” Kat broke off for a long moment. “We spent Christmas day talking to cops.”
“And you were ten years old.” Lancelot rubbed both hands over his face. “Merlin’s balls, girl, I’m sorry.”
Now that she’d started telling the story, Kat felt unable to stop. “Some of the cops thought it must have been some kind of animal. Maybe a bear. Something big, with claws, though nobody could say how a bear had gotten to the middle of Lakeside Village without being seen.”
Next to her, Ridge stiffened and shot Lance a significant glance.
“Mom and I knew they were wrong. It had to be Jimmy Chosen, especially since it turned out there was no Jimmy Chosen anywhere in town. Not enrolled at the college, not anywhere. And he was never caught.” She stirred her coffee slowly. “Ever since then, we’ve tried to deal. I started taking martial arts, became something of a jock in school. Ran track, played basketball, the whole bit. Momma tried to hold it together for my sake, struggled with periodic bouts of depression.”
“But it got worse.” Ridge rested a hand on her knee, a silent offer of support.
Kat nodded. “When I left home at twenty-one, determined to become a cop, Mom attempted suicide the first time. She was convinced I was going to end up like Karen. So I gave up the cop idea and moved back home. Got a job at the fitness center I worked out at. Spent the rest of my time trying to make sure Mom kept taking her meds.”
“And then Grace showed up.” Lancelot picked up one of the coffee cups and started adding cream and sugar, his movements as mechanical as her own.
“I had hoped that by gaining the Gift—by becoming a witch—I could find Karen’s killer and finally get some justice. Lay Mom’s ghosts to rest.” Kat’s fingers stole to the heart locket.
Ridge nodded at it. “That’s hers, isn’t it? Karen’s?”
“She was wearing it when . . . I hoped I could use it to home in on him. The killer. But Mom—she’s never liked me getting out of her sight, particularly not with a man. I thought she’d know I was safe with you, especially after Grace worked her magic. But apparently her old demons got the better of her.”
A long silence trailed by, broken only by the hum of the refrigerator.
he’s stable.”
“S Kat looked up. Grace smiled at her from the door to the living room. She looked drained, pale. “I’ve saved her life, repaired the worst of the damage to her body. But her brain . . . She’s very, very ill.” The woman dropped into the chair next to her husband. “She’s been suffering for years. It’s going to take a lot of neurochemical work, plus some very delicate repairs of all that burned-in psychic trauma. All beyond my skill. I’ve made arrangements to gate her to the Healing Clinic.”
“Good.” Lancelot gave Kat a reassuring smile. “They’ll be able to help your mother there.”
Kat frowned. “Healing Clinic?”
“The Magekind can heal most physical injuries, but sometimes we—or our mortal relatives—need outside help,” Grace explained. “There’s very little the clinic’s healers can’t do something about.”
“Good,” Kat said grimly. “My mother needs all the help she can get.”
SEVEN
When the four trooped back upstairs, they found Mary still deeply asleep, though Grace assured Kat it was no longer the unhealthy coma they’d found her in.
Grace conjured another gate, and Lancelot carried Mary through it, directly into the room his wife had arranged at the clinic.
It was reassuringly pleasant, Kat decided, glancing around as she helped tuck her mother into bed. The furniture was homey rather than the kind of stark, utilitarian setup one would find in a regular clinic. The blond wood of the bed, nightstand, and dresser was engraved with twining vines and flowers, and the thick quilt appeared handmade.
Her attention fell uneasily on a pretty ceramic pitcher and matching mug on the bedside table. Both were painted with elegant pink roses. “You may want to take those out of here,” Kat told the woman Grace had identified as the healer on duty. “The mood she’s in now, she might try to break one and use the shards on herself.”
The healer, a slender redhead, gave her a steady, sympathetic look. “You couldn’t break either of those with a sledgehammer. Don’t worry, dear. We’ll take good care of your mother.”
“When will she wake up?”
“We’ll keep her asleep until Petra, the spiritual healer, arrives in the morning. They’ll begin work then. We’ll call you when she’s recovered.”
Kat frowned. “Shouldn’t I be there when she wakes? Mom won’t know where she is.”
“She won’t be afraid, Kat. Petra is very good with this kind of case.”
“She is,” Lancelot put in. “Petra helped my daughter-in-law Caroline deal with the aftereffects of the Dragon War.” He grimaced. “Post-traumatic stress from the final battle has kept all our healers busy.”
“Yeah,” Ridge agreed. “I’ve been meaning to see Petra myself.”
Well, that was a pretty solid recommendation. “So when will I be able to see my mother?”
The healer shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, since I’m not a psyche specialist. But given her condition, I’d say at least a week.”
“By then, Petra will have her healthier than she’s been since Karen died,” Grace told Kat kindly. “She’ll feel as if she’s been reborn.”
Kat stared in astonishment. “In one week?” God, what if they’d been able to get this kind of help fifteen years ago? How much pain could have been avoided? For that matter, what about all the other mentally ill people on Earth? What about all the sick and dying, the starving, the victims of war and genocide? “Well, aren’t we fortunate,” she said, then winced at the bitterness in her own voice. She sounded like an ungrateful bitch. “I’m sorry. Thank you so much for everything you’re doing for my mother. I’m very grateful, and I know she will be.”
The healer waved the thanks away. “Think nothing of it, dear.” She studied Kat a moment, her gaze penetrating. “When was the last time you ate? You look a little pale.”
“Ah.” Kat frowned, trying to remember. “I had dinner around five P.M.”
“It’s almost three in the morning now. You should get something.”
“I’ll take care of her.” Ridge rested a strong hand on her shoulder. She gave him yet another tired smile. Seemed she’d been doing that a lot tonight, probably because he’d been beside her for every step of this ordeal.
Something to think about, there.
“Sounds good.” The healer touched Kat on the shoulder. “Try to get some rest. You’ve had a rough night.”
She nodded mutely and followed the others out of the room as the healer bustled off to check on another patient.
Together, Kat, Ridge, Grace, and Lancelot walked down the hall to a reception area. Comfortable armchairs clustered around a crackling fireplace trimmed with pine boughs and Christmas lights.
Lance opened the gleaming front door, and the four exited to descend a set of stone steps to the cobblestone street beyond.
The sky was still dark, but streetlamps shed pools of warm, bright light. The air felt cold and sharp against Kat’s face, and snowflakes danced and fluttered through the shafts of light.
“I am sorry,” Lancelot said roughly, turning to face Kat, shoulders drawing back under her gaze. “I wish I had known your mother had gotten pregnant.”
“But you did find us eventually.” Kat eyed him, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “So it wasn’t impossible, if you’d bothered to check. Which might have been the logical thing to do, considering you hadn’t worn a condom.”
“We don’t,” Lancelot said, the words clipped. “The Gift is genetic. Unmarried knights”—he slanted a glance at his wife—“are expected to father children whenever possible. Sexually transmitted diseases aren’t a problem for us, so . . . ”
She stiffened, stared. “You got my mother pregnant on purpose?”
“I didn’t know whether she was fertile, or if she’d made arrangements of her own.” He sighed. “I know that sounds callous.”
“It is callous—Dad.” Kat rocked forward on her toes and glared up into his eyes. “Regardless of all the other shit that happened, you gave her another mouth to feed and did absolutely nothing to help support me.”
Lancelot met her furious gaze without flinching, though a flush spread across his high cheekbones. “Yes, I got her pregnant. And no, I made no effort to find out if she needed help. I can’t change that, but I would if I could. And I will do everything in my power to make it right.”
Yeah, right, Kat thought bitterly.
Lancelot pulled a thick gold signet ring off his finger. “I asked Grace to prepare this for you. If you need me, say my name, and it will bring me to you. At any time.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “And yes, I know it would have been nice to have it fifteen years ago.”
In her anger, Kat wanted to snarl something dramatic and throw the ring in his face. But judging by the icy dignity in his eyes, he was expecting just that, so she gave him a slight, cold nod instead and accepted it. “Thank you.”
He gave her a courtier’s bow that looked automatic and completely natural, then reached for his wife’s hand. “We’ll see you later, Kat. Ridge.”
The four exchanged nods—Grace’s was a little cool—then turned and went their separate ways.
Silence spun out between Ridge and Kat, filled only by the click of their heels on the cobblestones. “I don’t understand how she can just ignore what he does.” Her voice sounded clipped to her own ears, smoky with anger and frustration.
“Grace?” Ridge slanted her a look.
“Yeah. I mean, the man is a legendary seducer. He and Arthur’s wife . . . ”
“Legends often exaggerate. It really wasn’t that simple. Besides, Grace and Lance are Truebonded. Neither of them could cheat now even if they wanted to.”
“Truebonded?” She glanced over at him, curious.
“A deep magical union Magekind couples create. Truebonded partners can sense each other’s emotions, even thoughts. They can use the bond to reinforce one another’s powers magically. It’s the most profound kind of marriage two people can share.”
She frowned deeply, considering the idea. “Doesn’t sound like you’d have a lot of privacy.”
“I’m told you learn how and when to give each other space.”
Looking up into his handsome face, Kat found herself wondering what it would be like to share that kind of relationship with Ridge.
It sounded . . . intriguing.
at leaned against the gleaming stone countertop in Ridge’s kitchen, sipped her wine, and watched him chop salad vegetables with impressive skill.
For a man who didn’t eat, he certainly seemed to know his way around a kitchen. The mouthwatering smell of cooking meat curled up from the oven, where a steak was currently on the broil.
“There’s something you need to know,” Ridge began as he tossed the salad. “It may make the situation with Lance a little more understandable. And besides, nobody needs to become a Maja without knowing this stuff.”
She studied him over the rim of her wineglass. The Riesling was delicately fruity and sweet. “And that would be?”
“Only about one in a hundred of our children can become Magekind without going insane,” Ridge told her bluntly. “And it’s not an insanity that we can treat. That’s why the Magi are under orders not to use protection when they have sex. We need every Latent we can get in order to have any chance of finding one who can survive the Gift.”
Kat’s eyes widened. “But that means—”
“We have to watch the vast majority of our children die of old age. Lance told me once that he’d lost fifty-two children and grandchildren that way, before he decided he could no longer stand to have any contact with his mortal offspring.”
“Fifty-two?” If the loss of one child had almost driven her mother insane, how had Lance tolerated watching child after child die?
“Then there’s the problem of raising mortal children in the Mageverse, among immortals who do magic without even thinking about it.” He turned toward the stove, opened the oven door, and reached in with a pair of tongs to turn the steak. “The results are often not particularly positive for the child.”
“How?” Kat frowned, chilled.
“Well, take Sir Bors’s son.” Closing the oven door again, Ridge turned to lean against the counter, muscles shifting as he crossed his arms. “He was so furious when he was denied the chance to become immortal that he became a follower of a magical demon. He attempted to sacrifice Arthur in an act of death magic that would have destroyed us all. Luckily, Arthur and his knights got to him first.”
“My God.” Kat rubbed her hands over her face. “So you’re saying if I become a Maja, I won’t be able to risk children.”
Ridge shrugged. “You can have them. You may not want to raise them. Many Majae put their children up for adoption on Mortal Earth. That way the child has a chance of a reasonably happy life, without ever knowing about the one-in-a-hundred chance of winning the genetic lottery.”
“And that’s the real reason Lancelot made no attempt to contact my mother.”
“Yeah, that would be it.”
After Kat ate, she and Ridge retreated to his bedroom. “Sun’ll be coming up in an hour,” he told her. “I’ll go into the Daysleep then.”
Kat nodded. Grace had told her vampires had to sleep during the day as their bodies recharged. They needed the magical energies of the Mageverse every bit as much as blood.
Ridge stepped closer and drew her into his arms. “But I’ve found over the years,” he purred, “you can do a lot in an hour.”
EIGHT
Ashaft of rose light woke Kat. She opened her eyes to the sight of a glowing stained-glass window, apparently designed to render the sunlight safe to vampire skin.
She blinked sleepily, enjoying the play of color through the muscular unicorn the window depicted. Roses wreathed its thick blue neck as it pranced through a sunlit wood to greet a blond lady in a long medieval gown in dark blue and gold. Ivy twined up the great animal’s spiral horn. The woman looked as besotted with the unicorn as he did with her no-doubt virginal self.
Kat sympathized. She felt pretty besotted herself.
Turning on her side, she gazed down into Ridge’s sleeping face, painted in glowing color in the window’s light. He appeared younger asleep, his handsome features relaxed, almost boyish. A curl of dark hair brushed his forehead. His shoulders looked very broad and tanned against the soft linen sheets.
He’d made such slow, sweet love to her the night before. When they’d come, she’d seen magic burst around them like a fireworks display, though thankfully there had been no horrific visions.
Today they would make love for the third time. Chances were she’d come into her full Gift then. Ridge had said sometimes it took more than three times, though never less.
Kat almost found herself hoping it would be more, because afterward, Ridge would have no reason to stay.
Would he?
Settling onto her elbow, she frowned uneasily at the thought. Was she allowing herself to get too involved? As supportive as he’d been, she was nothing more than an assignment to him. A pleasant assignment, maybe, but still, just another mission, like all his others over six decades as a vampire of Avalon.
But Kat knew she would not forget him. Ever. She’d never had a lover like him, and it wasn’t just the biting—which was a hell of a lot more fun than she ever would have thought. Nor was it simply his lovemaking, spectacular and life-changing though it was.
It was the look on his face when he’d seen her fear for her mother, the compassion in his eyes when she’d told him about her sister’s death. And the way he’d held her before the sun came up, his arms warm and strong. As if she were something precious.
As if she were more than an assignment.
Ridge stirred, green eyes slowly opening. The sun must have set.
He smiled the moment he saw her, a lazy, sated curve of the lips, and stretched, his beautiful torso arching as he extended brawny arms. He caught her waist and tumbled her down across his chest. “That was a serious look you were wearing when I opened my eyes.”
“Thinking.”
“You know, if it’s about your sister, you don’t have to go through with this.” His gaze turned serious. “I’m sure Lance and Grace would be happy to help me track that bastard down and take care of him. You’d have your closure.”
Kat studied him. “But I thought you guys needed the reinforcements.”
“Yeah, but as I told you last night, there’s a price to pay, and it’s pretty steep. You can still back out.”
She hesitated. “No, actually, I can’t. I need to do this, Ridge. That monster murdered my sister, destroyed my childhood, and drove my mother crazy. I want to get the bastard myself. I have to.”
Then a new thought struck. Kat tilted her head, considering it. “And too, there’s the way Grace saved my mother. If I had that kind of ability, I could keep people from suffering the way I did. I could stop bastards like my sister’s killer before they had the chance to ruin so many lives. That’s worth a little sacrifice.”
Ridge nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’ve always thought so. I’ve never regretted becoming Magekind because we do so much good. But it’s not a choice to make casually.”
“I’m not making it casually.” Kat bent down and kissed him slowly, thoroughly, before lifting her head again. “But I am making it.”
Ridge smiled. One big hand lifted to trace the line of her cheekbone. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?”
Kat blinked at the change of subject. “Umm.”
“Guess not.” He caught her by the back of the head and drew her down. “You are”—he breathed against her mouth—“incredibly beautiful. Those big, smoky eyes, those soft lips . . .” He kissed her, taking his time, a slow seduction of tongue and teeth and lip, teasing, yet so gentle her breath caught. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, the rounded curve of her chin, and came to rest on her pulse, pounding hard in her throat.
Kat moaned, shivering a little at the sweet pleasures he spun with his lips, his tongue, his long fingers, the motions so delicate, yet producing such intense sensations.
“You’re good,” she panted. “Damn, you’re so good.”
He smiled as he nibbled his way down toward her breasts. “You’re so inspiring.”
When his mouth found her nipple, the pure, intense delight drew her spine into a bow. He rumbled in response to her hot reaction and settled down to lick, tongue swirling, teeth gently raking. She bit her lip and let her eyes drift closed.
God, it really did feel incredible. Each sensation seemed more intense than it ever had before, as if her every cell had become sensitized to his touch.
He gave one nipple a delicate nibble, using just enough tooth, just enough pressure. Swirls of candied heat made her writhe. Unable to help herself, she twined her legs around his waist and rocked her hips slowly against his. She felt his cock jutting ferociously hard against her soft belly. Seduced, Kat reached between them and wrapped her fingers around the shaft. Warm satin over steel. She moaned in anticipation.
Ridge growled something, a hot male rumble of encouragement. Kat continued to explore. The head of the big organ felt like velvet, soft and a little nubby. A slick tear of arousal met her fingertips, and she smeared it over the hot tip. He sucked in a breath.
And rolled with her, tumbling her onto her back. He rose, spread her legs with his big hands, started to lower his head. “Sixty-nine,” Kat managed to gasp.
The sound he made was so raw and ripe with anticipation, she shuddered. Ridge rearranged himself, head down along her body, giving her access to the hard jut of his shaft. She wrapped one hand around it, angled it downward, and sucked the round, warm head into her mouth. Salty, musky, a little astringent, but so deliciously, utterly male.
Best of all, it was Ridge—Ridge who had comforted her, who had offered the solid support of his strength through the nightmare of her mother’s latest meltdown. Ridge, with his powerful body and kind eyes.
Kat opened her mouth wide and raised her head, sucking him in, taking him so deep, her throat muscles clenched in discomfort. She didn’t care. Closing her lips tight around the smooth satin shaft, she suckled in long, rippling pulls, intent on giving him pleasure.
He made a strangled sound of agonized delight. Kat grinned a little smugly around him.
And then male fingers spread her delicate lower lips, and his tongue found sensitive flesh. She almost jolted into orbit herself.
His tongue circled her clit, tracing tiny, delicate patterns. His dark hair tickled the inside of her thighs as he worked, an extra flourish of delight.
With a purring hum of pleasure, Kat suckled, one hand cuddling the soft furry pouch of his balls, the other sliding up and down his shaft. Losing herself in the sweet eroticism of his cock, his mouth, his tongue.
Losing herself in him.
Ridge looked up along her body, watching the play of smooth muscle in her belly, the flex of those strong thighs as she writhed under his touch. He gave her a slow lick, dancing his tongue around her clit as he slid a finger inside her. She was hot, deliciously wet, snugly tight. His cock twitched in hungry anticipation. She rewarded it with another mind-blowing suckle and swirl that made the muscles in his legs jerk and his toes twitch.
He shuttered his eyes and watched the magic dance. Sparks of it eddied around them to his vampire vision as her body readied itself for the Gift. Ridge could almost taste it, foaming like champagne on his tongue.
His beautiful, magic Kat. So damn young, yet with such ancient eyes. The same pain and tragedy that had broken her mother had made her strong, tempered her like a sword blade in a forge.
I’m in love with her.
The thought sliced through his mental guard, ringing with truth. He caught his breath, half in fear, half in sheer, dazzled delight. The smell of her filled his senses, her taste flooded his mouth. He felt intoxicated. Kat-drunk.
And Ridge knew in that moment that he had to find a way to keep her. Letting her get away was just not an option, any more than he could live without oxygen.
His lips peeled back from his teeth, and he jolted back onto his heels. His cock protested losing the delightful contact with her mouth, but he ignored it, grabbed her by the hips, and pulled her around until their bodies were aligned.
“Ridge!” She laughed, catching his wrists as he spread her legs wide.
He caught his cock in hand, aimed for her rosy, glistening opening, and thrust his way home.
“Ridge!” Her beautiful eyes widened, but not in pain. “Oh, God!”
Half-crazed from a need that was far more than a craving for release, he began to thrust in long, sawing drives of his cock, plunging in and out. She felt so incredibly slick and tight as she gripped him, the friction glorious. He wasn’t sure he could hold on, but he was damned well going to try.
Teeth gritted against the pleasure, Ridge bucked against her. And with every thrust, magic gathered around them in a hot dance of light.
Head spinning at the sheer feral sensation of his cock plunging inside her, Kat clung to Ridge’s sweating shoulders. She felt a savage pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter inside her belly, until she had to writhe. Her legs coiled around his hips, tightening instinctively, dragging her hips harder against his, seeking that last bit of sweet friction.
Something flashed at the edges of her vision. Automatically, Kat’s eyes shifted to track the glow. The small golden orb promptly exploded like a silent skyrocket, spilling sparks over her skin. She gasped at the hot pinpricks of pleasure.
Ridge kept thrusting. He felt huge, a thick, tunneling possession that pulled and twisted at her inner flesh, filling her utterly. More fireballs appeared, popping like bubbles, spilling bright sparks over them both.
Kat yowled as his cock drove deep and magic showered her skin.
He nuzzled her throat. She automatically tilted her chin, knowing what he wanted. Giving him access.
Ridge bit deep, his fangs sinking into her flesh even as he drove to his full length in her sex. He stiffened, coming as he drank.
And the world detonated.
The magic burst from Ridge, a searing explosion that triggered an answering burst in Kat. Fire blazed up from deep inside her every cell, a silent whirling detonation. Clinging helplessly to his broad shoulders, she watched the room disappear into dazzle, as if a small sun had suddenly exploded right in the center of her chest. Heat seared her, as intense and furious as the pleasure of her orgasm.
Magic shot between them like a fountain, spearing through Ridge’s chest and out her back, then arching around to pierce Kat again. Growing brighter with every circuit until it formed a blazing loop of energy.
Suddenly she could feel what he felt—every pulse of his cock, the tight creamy grip of her own sex, the rake of her nails down his back. Something seemed to click between them, locking down, linking them mind to mind, heart to heart.
Kat screamed, a long, singing note of pleasure and pain as the magic built and built and built. She barely heard Ridge’s answering howl.
he birth of Kat’s power thundered in Ridge’s ears like the roar of tornado-force winds. He could only wrap both arms around her and hold on for dear life. Her blood filled his mouth as her sex milked his cock, and he writhed.
Never in his life had he felt anything like this.
Then it all just . . . stopped. The eye-searing energy disappeared, leaving him clinging blindly to her lithe, sweat-slick body. Kat fell limp under him, her strong legs releasing their desperate hold, her fingers relaxing their grip on his shoulders. His skin stung, and he suspected she’d dug her nails deep.
“My God.” She gasped. They were both panting. “What the hell was that?”
Ridge gently disengaged his fangs from her throat and licked the blood away. “That,” he said, his voice hoarse, “was magic. You’re a Maja now, Kat Danilo.”
NINE
Kat lay dazzled and panting. With a last, sated groan, Ridge collapsed beside her. She could feel his pleasure echoing in her own body like a deep thrum in her cells. Incredible. She wasn’t sure if it was his thought or her own. Never felt anything like that.
Magic swirled around her like dust motes in a shaft of sunlight, a dancing glitter. Half-hypnotized by the swirling patterns, she watched the tiny flashes dance around her head. Every time she inhaled, she breathed them in.
Experimentally, Kat puffed out a breath. Magic rolled from her mouth in a glowing plume, reminding her of chilly childhood mornings when she’d watch her breath mist.
“You look stoned.” Ridge rolled onto one elbow, watching her with an indulgent expression.
“I feel stoned. Sort of . . . floating.” Kat frowned suddenly. “Is it real? The magic, I mean?”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t see it often, but sometimes when it’s particularly dense, vampires can perceive it. And I’m told Majae see it all the time. After a while, you quit noticing it as much.”
He looked different, she realized. Vivid, sharply solid. More real somehow. When she looked away, she could feel his presence like a low hum.
As if he was a concentration of pure magic.
A weaker hum came from a closed door across the room. “There’s something magic in the closet.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.” He yawned hugely.
Curious, Kat rolled out of bed and swung the door open. A pile of metal objects lay heaped on the floor. Kneeling, she picked up a helmet, scorched and dented. There was a cuirass too, along with greaves, gauntlets, and other assorted bits of armor. All of it was blackened, as if it had been through a fire, and most of the pieces showed dents and smears of old blood.
“I should have cleaned and repaired it, but I didn’t have the heart. Some bad memories there.” Ridge said from behind her.
“You were hurt.” She could feel the magical echo of old wounds, a reverberation of pain in her own flesh.
“Not as bad as some.” His voice was grim. “I lived.”
The flow of magic in the dented helm seemed to be disrupted. Acting on pure instinct, she fed her own power into it, straightening and reinforcing the flow. Light swirled around the helm, and the dents disappeared, leaving it gleaming as if brand-new again.
“Cool!” Kat looked around at Ridge, surprised. “It wants to be whole. I wonder if I could fix it all . . . ” Extending her hands over the pile of battered armor, she concentrated, sending a wave of magic swirling over it.
When she dropped her hands again, it was all repaired and shining. “Damn. That was . . . surprisingly easy.” Kat cocked her head, considering the pile, mentally tracing the smooth flow of magic. “All I had to do was straighten the kinks in the energy patterns, and everything popped right back out.”
“Can you make armor of your own?” He knelt beside her and lifted a long sword out of the pile, then handed it to her. “Creating the stuff’s a bit harder.”
“You mean copy it? Maybe scaled to fit me?” She weighed the big blade in her hands. It was well-balanced, but definitely made for a vampire’s strength. Too heavy for her by far. Transferring the weapon to her left hand, she bit her lip and concentrated. Magic swirled into her right hand, formed a column of light, solidified.
The new blade was shorter, lighter. She handed Ridge the original, then extended the copy, weighing it in her hands. The balance was a little off. She dissolved it and tried again. Better, but still off. Tried again until she was satisfied.
“What do you think?” She handed the sword to Ridge.
He took it, held it at full extension, then gave it a slow swing, careful in the limited space. “Good work.” Handing it back, he eyed her. “You know how to use that?”
Kat nodded. “My sensei taught me a little kendo, and I fenced competitively in college. I’m not a knight, but I know which end of the blade goes in the target.”
Next she tackled the armor, dragging magic in and pouring it out, following the patterns of force in Ridge’s armor. It was, she thought, a bit like singing a song someone else had written. Her first try at a full suit was a bit misshapen, but she kept working, destroying the suit and recreating it until she was satisfied.
Finally Kat stepped up to the full-length mirror and considered her gleaming reflection. Her head ached from the effort of all that ferocious concentration, but at least the thing looked right. The armored plates followed the contours of her body, and the joints matched her own, with no gaps to allow a weapon to penetrate. She twisted back and forth to test the armor’s flexibility. And smiled in satisfaction. It was light as construction paper, but strong as the steel it appeared to be.
So she’d passed the first test she’d set herself. “Okay, now let’s try the hard part.” She reached down the gorget of her armor and drew out the silver locket she’d been wearing for days now. Concentrated.
“Uhh, Kat . . . ” Ridge said uneasily.
She ignored him, all her focus on pouring magic into the locket and listening to the returning echo of energy. First came a familiar scent she hadn’t smelled in so many years, she’d almost forgotten it.
Kat found herself smiling. “Cherry lip gloss and my mother’s Nicole perfume. My sister always filched Mom’s perfume when she went out.”
Then another odor cut through the familiar smell. Like the smell of dog fur, only ranker, tinged with the copper taint of blood and the nauseating reek of death. Kat sent more magic pouring into the necklace. “Show me. Let me see him!”
At first nothing happened. She gritted her teeth and concentrated harder on the killer’s feral reek.
“Are you sure you should try to do this now?” Ridge’s green eyes narrowed in worry.
“No, but I have to do it anyway.” Her heart raced with a sense of urgency. “I’ve got this really bad feeling.” As if something horrible was going to happen if she didn’t act now.
The scent vanished. “Shit! I’ve lost it.”
“Don’t try to force the magic.” Ridge dropped a hand on her armored shoulder, encouraging her to meet his eyes. “It’s like fighting. If you overthink it, you get in your own way.”
That made sense, thanks to all those years of martial arts training. She forced rigid muscles to loosen, then sent her magic rolling into the locket again.
A woman shrieked. Kat jumped, eyes snapping wide. “That’s real. That’s happening now!”
Somewhere, Karen’s killer was closing in on another victim.
Ridge bent to jerk his jeans off the floor. “We’ve got to get to her.” He stepped into the pants, jerked them up his legs, zipped, grabbed his sword. “Open a dimension gate.”
“How the hell . . . Oh.” She remembered the swirling iris of magic Grace had created, the rippling sensation as she’d stepped through. Gathering her magic, Kat sent it pouring into the air.
It began as a single glowing point that rapidly expanded into a swirling opening that showed a view of moonlit trees.
Another scream rang out, raw with pure panic.
“Bloody hell,” Ridge snarled, and leaped through the gate. Kat shot after him, praying the dimensional door wouldn’t dissolve with them halfway through.
Leaves crunched underfoot as they landed, and she puffed out a relieved breath. Still dressed in her conjured armor, Kat lifted the sword she held. Ridge had grabbed his own blade before he jumped, but he wore only the jeans. She bit her lip and concentrated, but his armor did not appear. “Nothing’s happening!”
“We’re on mortal Earth,” he hissed back, scanning the night with narrow eyes. “Magic doesn’t work as easily here. Try again.”
Kat sought her magic again. After a moment she found it: a thin, burning thread glowing inside her mind, instead of surrounding her as it did in the Mageverse.
No wonder magic was harder to use here.
Reaching deep, Kat concentrated ferociously on the armor she’d repaired. Called it.
And watched in satisfaction as it swirled into being around Ridge, covering him in magical steel.
He didn’t even look down to watch it appear, instead tilting his head back, inhaling deeply as if seeking a scent. “This way.” He set off, moving swiftly and silently through the woods.
Another scream rang out, and he broke into a run, bounding through the night with a vampire’s blurring speed. Kat conjured a light and raced after him in its bobbing glow.
Ridge grabbed her, dragging her to a halt just before she charged headlong into a clearing. He held a finger to his lips and pointed silently.
“Won’t do you any good to scream, bitch.” A big man stalked a slender blonde, who backed away from him in evident terror. Kat had the ugly feeling he was familiar somehow, as if she’d seen him before. A chilling thought, considering his next words. “I’m going to rip out your heart and eat it.”
“Why?” the blonde cried. “You said you loved me!”
“And you bought it!” He laughed. “Stupid little cunt. None of you bitches are anything to me but gullible meat.”
Kat’s lips peeled back from her teeth in a silent snarl of rage. Meat? Her sister? This poor girl? Meat?
A scream tore from her throat, a shriek of distilled fury. She jerked out of Ridge’s hold, swinging her sword up as she charged into the clearing. I’m gonna hack that bastard’s head off his shoulders.
“Kat!” Ridge snapped. “Wait!”
She ignored him, wanting only to kill, to make the bastard pay for years of fear, anguish, and guilt, of missed childhood Christmases and birthdays experienced as grief instead of joy. Make him pay for her mother’s suffering. Make him feel all the pain he’d caused.
The man whirled in surprise as she exploded out of the dark. “What the fuck?”
“It’s your turn to die, you son of a bitch!”
She got a glimpse of blond hair, of a big, muscular body, of cold eyes widening with a trace of astonished fear.
And then she was on him, her blade swinging in a long, flat arc. By rights, it should have hacked his head from his shoulders.
He ducked. Moving far faster than a human had any business moving, in a fluid explosion of speed.
And he laughed at her. “I always wanted to kill a Maja.”
What? How did he know about . . .?
A gleaming blur tore past her. “Why don’t you try a vampire instead, you bastard? Or don’t you like fighting somebody that can kick your ass?”
Ridge didn’t hesitate when the killer ducked his first whirling blow. He just kept hacking, swinging his sword in great arcs that twisted effortlessly into flashing thrusts. “Kat, dammit, get the girl out!”
Ridge was right—the victim was the priority. Kat threw a look over her shoulder. The blonde just stood there, white-faced and wide-eyed, as if paralyzed by sheer fear. Kat bolted over to grab the girl’s hand and jerk her back toward the woods. “Come on!”
“No!” the killer bellowed. “She’s mine! My prey!” Magic burst from the center of his chest in a bright blue explosion. His glowing outline grew. And grew. And grew.
When it vanished, a huge figure towered there, looking like something out of a horror movie. Easily the height of a grizzly bear, the thing was lean, with a long wolf head and cold blue eyes. His fur was the same blond as his human hair, thickening to a mane on his head and bushing around his naked genitals. Where the hell had his clothes gone?
“Kat, get that girl out now!” Ridge bellowed again.
Kat whirled to drag the girl away even as she realized the monster was the blond man they’d seen at the party, the one who’d been so interested in her locket. She’d felt his evil then, but she’d ignored her instincts.
Ridge had told her the man and his father were werewolves, but she hadn’t imagined anything like this towering monster. No wonder the cops had believed Karen had been attacked by some kind of animal.
She had been.
“Come on!” Kat hauled furiously on the blonde’s arm, dragging her out of the clearing by main strength.
“What . . . what are they?” The girl stumbled, staring over her shoulder as the vampire charged the towering werewolf, sword flashing in great arcs. “What are you?” Like Karen, she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. She even looked like Kat’s sister—same long blond hair and big blue eyes in a heart-shaped face.
“Don’t worry about it!” A gate. They needed a gate. She reached for the magic . . .
And Ridge shouted in pain.
Kat jerked around. Blood rolled down the vampire’s armored side from a huge gash that ripped across his cuirass.
In the flashing instant it took her to register her lover’s injury, the werewolf was on Kat and the girl, snarling mouth gaped wide to reveal teeth the length of her fingers, clawed hands reaching. Kat shoved the girl clear and swung her sword at the monster’s torso.
He threw himself back, avoiding her stroke, then lunged again. She hacked at the clawed hand swinging at her face.
Fast. God, he was fast. He darted right past her guard with that enormous reach. Even as she threw herself back, she felt claws rake her torso, heard the shriek of metal tearing like paper. It didn’t hurt. I’m not going to get out of this alive. The thought cut through the furious blur of action. There was no fear in it, just cold reason. Just her brain’s calculation of the odds.
Fuck it. If I die, I die. But I’m taking this bastard with me.
Kat flew into full extension, the kind of fencer’s lunge she’d used in college, thrusting her blade toward the monster’s chest. And it bit deep.
He roared in pain and fury. She didn’t see the blow coming until it hit her with the force of an armored Humvee. Pain detonated in her shoulder, a bright and sickening blast, and she went flying. Hit the ground hard, light bursting in her head as she struck. Blinking, Kat stared blankly at the moonlit trees overhead. She’d never been hit that hard in her life.
Get the fuck up, Kat!
Somehow she rolled to her feet, staggering, shaking her head, sick and aching.
Ridge had faced off with the monster again, despite the scarlet flow that slicked the right side of his armor.
The girl was crawling on the leafy ground, trying to get away from them all, blood running down her face. Impossible to tell if it was her own.
We need reinforcements. The thought slashed through Kat’s consciousness a breath before she remembered the ring her father had given her.
“Lancelot du Lac!” she bellowed. “Dammit, I need you!”
And nothing happened.
TEN
Lancelot!” Kat bellowed again. Nothing.
“So much for his magic ring. “Say my name, and it will bring me to you,” my ass. The bastard had never been there for her before. Why should he ride to the rescue, just because she happened to be fighting nine feet of psychotic fur?
Shaking off the growing dizziness—she suspected a concussion—Kat lifted her sword and prepared to charge.
“What?” her father snapped from behind her. Then: “Holy God! How did you piss off a Direwolf?”
The relief she felt was so great, she wanted to kiss his handsome, irritated face. “That’s the bastard that killed my sister.”
Lancelot swore.
Ridge ducked a vicious clawed strike, came up, thrust, missed when the werewolf twisted aside like a matador. Kat raced toward them, swinging her own sword up. Damned if she’d let that monster kill Ridge too.
Before she could reach her target, a streak of black fur shot past her with a snarl like a chain saw. She jerked back—another one?—and almost swung her sword at the great black wolf. Then she realized it was slashing at the Direwolf’s huge muscled haunches with fanged jaws.
Lancelot had vanished. Where’d he . . . ? Holy hell, he’d become the wolf. Ridge had said shape-shifting was a vampire ability.
At least the blond girl was making good use of the distraction the vampires had provided. On her feet again, she staggered from the clearing, throwing panicked glances back over her shoulder as she ran. Her would-be killer howled in frustration, but couldn’t get past Ridge and Lancelot to follow.
Where the hell was Grace? Kat had hoped the other woman would come with her husband, but apparently not. Too bad, because they could have used a Maja who knew what the hell she was doing.
Well, Kat had a sword and a couple of vampires. That would have to be enough.
She focused on the towering monster. Ridge and wolf Lance were circling him, one distracting him while the other darted in to slash with sword or teeth. Kat slid into the space between them, looking for an opening for her own assault.
Now—while he was focused on Ridge. Kat lunged, swinging her sword.
He wheeled, quicker than any cat. One huge hand snapped around her armored neck and jerked her right off her feet. His other hand wrapped around her helmeted head, started to pull . . . Oh, Jesus, he’s going to rip my head right off my shoulders! She yowled in terror and swung her sword, but he was too close, and the blade’s guard glanced harmlessly off his shoulder.
The werewolf howled in agony, his clawed hand losing its grip. Kat fell like a rock, hitting the ground in a teeth-rattling heap of armor and blade.
Over her head, Lancelot the wolf had buried his fanged jaws in the werewolf’s groin. The monster swung one enormous paw, catching the vampire across the skull. Lance’s furry body went flying, slamming with vicious force into a tree. The wolf bounced off the trunk, hit the ground, rolled.
And did not get up.
“Lancelot!” Kat’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest.
idge assessed the situation with all the skill his sixty years of combat experience gave him.
We’re screwed.
Kat had taken a raking stroke down her torso, Ridge was wounded, and Lance was unconscious. At least they had all done damage to the . . .
Magic flared and pulsed around the Direwolf, blinding and blue. When the glare died, the creature had become a golden-furred wolf the size of a pony. It gathered itself to dive on Kat, who still lay stunned at its feet.
Ridge stepped in, swinging his sword like a baseball bat. The wolf fled, snapping. Before Ridge could catch it, magic swirled around the big beast again, and the Direwolf was back, injuries fully healed by his magical transformation.
Yeah. We’re screwed.
He could heal his own wounds by transforming—so could Lance, when he regained consciousness—but there was always a moment of disorientation to the process. It wasn’t much, but the Direwolf wouldn’t need much of an opening to lay one of them open with those claws.
The son of a bitch was not only nine feet tall, with the strength to match, he was incredibly fast. It was no surprise they were having so much trouble defeating him: Direwolves had been created by Merlin himself to kill rogue Magekind. Too bad the alien wizard hadn’t realized the problem they’d face if a Direwolf went rogue.
If they could get a call to the Mageverse, they could bring in reinforcements. Unfortunately, Kat was having trouble with her magic. Which was no surprise; Ridge knew more about using magic than she did.
Kat was up at last and running toward Lancelot, apparently intent on helping her father. The werewolf lunged after her, jaws snapping. Ridge cursed and raced in the creature’s wake. The monster whirled on him, a long arm lashing out. Metal shrieked as those huge claws ripped a hunk out of his helm. Blood flew. He ignored it, swung his sword. Cursed under his breath as the Direwolf ducked with that incredible speed and agility. Ridge continued his attack, forcing the monster away from Kat, who whirled away from Lancelot and moved to help him.
They had one chance—and it wasn’t much of one. If he and Kat could Truebond, they could reinforce each other’s power and experience.
Normally it would take hours of work and magic to form the intense psychic link of a Truebond. Luckily, Ridge and Kat were already partially linked from triggering her Gift earlier that evening. If he could deepen that link . . .
He found the thin connection already fading in the back of his mind and threw his consciousness along it. Kat . . .
Ridge? Astonishment rang in her mental voice. How . . . ?
We’ve got to Truebond. Combining our abilities is the only chance we’ve got to beat this bastard and survive.
But I don’t know how!
I do. He hoped.
He’d better.
pen to me. Ridge’s voice whispered the words in her mind, a seductive mental purr. Reach out to me. Use your magic. His gaze met hers, intense, demanding. He didn’t seem aware of the towering furred figure stalking him.
If this doesn’t work, we’re both dead. So I’d better make it work. Concentrating hard, Kat caught at that mental cord to his consciousness, simultaneously drawing on the magic in her own core.
Bind us, he breathed, staring deep into her eyes. Braid us.
Behind him, the Direwolf’s cold blue eyes narrowed, seeing Ridge’s distraction.
Ridge . . .
Don’t worry about him. Concentrate on me.
Kat saw what he wanted her to do; the image was so plain in his mind. She caught her breath as she realized in a flash the risks and implications. The connection would be so strong, the death of one would kill the other.
So we just won’t die, he said, even as he pivoted like a dancer, swinging his sword in a hard arc that drove the werewolf back.
Kat grabbed the magic, forced it into the thread, raw energy pouring faster and faster, binding them tighter. Mind to mind, heart to heart, will to will, as frozen seconds ticked past. The werewolf’s lips drew back from those dagger-blade fangs as he circled them, waiting for his chance.
In slow motion, Kat watched the monster’s clawed hand draw back. Ridge lunged at him, deliberately focusing the creature’s attention even as his bond with Kat grew stronger. His magic flowed into her as hers flooded him, a burning circuit of power that brightened with every passing second.
Her muscles grew stronger, responding to his strength. Her skin felt hot, swollen. Kat lifted the sword and waited for her opening, even as her heart howled at the risk.
Ridge swung his sword, deliberately leaving himself wide open. The Direwolf lunged just as it had before, clawed hand catching the vampire’s chest, ripping through armor and flesh and muscle. Ridge bellowed in pain, keeping the creature’s attention. The towering beast’s lips drew back from his teeth, and he prepared to rip out his foe’s throat.
Kat stepped up behind the werewolf, leaped upward with all the vampire strength Ridge had loaned her through the Truebond. Her sword swung in a blinding arc of steel and magic, slicing into the werewolf’s thick neck. She felt the crunch of bone against her blade, and then the great head spun from the beast’s shoulders. It hit the ground, eyes wide with astonishment in the instant before they glazed into death. The massive body slowly crumpled, collapsing in a pile of fur and claws beside its severed head.
Kat didn’t stop to gloat. Ridge toppled, his body convulsing from the fatal wound he’d deliberately invited from the monster’s claws. She hit the ground beside him and planted a hand in the center of his bloody armor. Light flared around her palm as she gave him back the magic he’d loaned her. In a flash of light and power, he transformed into a wolf.
And scrambled to all four feet, his horrific injuries instantly healed.
Kat wanted to throw her arms around him, but there wasn’t time. Lancelot needed her. She wheeled . . .
Just as a gate whirled into glowing being halfway across the clearing. Grace leaped through it, racing for her fallen husband with fear vivid on her pale face. “Lance!”
The moment her hand touched the wolf’s furry head, he shifted in an explosion of light. Lancelot raised his now-human head wearily and gave his wife a tired smile. “Took you long enough.”
ELEVEN
It turned out Grace and Lancelot had been working a terrorist bombing at an Iraqi school when they’d gotten Kat’s call. Grace had stayed behind to help dig injured children from the wreckage while Lance had gone to help Kat.
“Scared the shit out of me when I felt him lose consciousness through the Truebond,” Grace told them once Ridge had returned to human form. “I was afraid I wouldn’t get to him in time, but there was this little boy who was dying.” She shrugged. “I had to heal the child first, and that took time.”
“As well you should have,” Lance told her, rising to his feet and offering his wife a hand up. “I can take care of myself.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Right.”
Kat frowned. “Speaking of magic, we need to find that girl the Direwolf tried to kill. He’d caught her with his claws at least once, and she’s going to need healing.”
“And that’s just the physical damage,” Ridge said, his face grim. “The psychological stuff is going to be even rougher.”
Grace nodded. “Better let me take care of that. I’ve had a lot more experience in dealing with that kind of psychic injury.”
“What are you going to do?” Kat asked, curious.
The Maja raked a lock of long hair back from her face with scratched and bloody fingers. Apparently she had her own injuries from digging through all that Iraqi rubble. “Blunt the kid’s memories. And it needs to be done now, before they burn in and she winds up with post-traumatic stress.” She caught her husband’s arm and gave it a tug. “Come on. Use that vampire nose of yours and find her for me.”
Lance cast a grim glance toward the werewolf’s body. “Then we’re gonna have to contact the bastard’s father and tell him what happened. He’s not going to like hearing he raised a serial killer.”
Grace winced and sighed. “No. We’d better take Arthur and Morgana along. We’ll need all the firepower we can get, if we’re going to have to break news like that.” She twined her fingers with her husband’s, and the couple started to turn away.
“Lance . . . ” Kat said.
The big knight looked back at her. “Yeah?”
“Thank you for riding to the rescue.”
He shrugged. “Hey, you’re my daughter.”
She gave him the first genuine smile she’d had for him. “Yeah, that I am.”
at listened to the fire crackle as it shed a golden glow over Ridge’s gloriously naked body. He lay sprawled on the huge fur throw she’d conjured in front of the fireplace, his skin contrasting with the dark, shimmering mink.
Selecting a strawberry from the silver tray at her elbow, she took a tart, juicy bite, then another sip from her champagne glass. “I could get used to this magic thing.”
Ridge’s long fingers curled around his own glass, lids dipping lazily over brilliant green eyes. “It does have its appeal.” He wasn’t talking about the champagne, either. She could feel the sexual heat humming through him as he admired the full curve of her breasts and the line of her long legs.
Kat smiled at him and chose another strawberry. Took a slow, taunting bite. His rumble of male hunger made her grin.
For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful. Struck by the thought, Kat considered it. She’d always known she was reasonably attractive—she’d been hit on often enough, though she’d never really felt comfortable with male admiration. Maybe because she’d never really trusted any of those men.
She trusted Ridge. Would have trusted him even without the Truebond.
He smiled at her, sensuous and lazy. I trust you too, babe.
“Good, because you’re stuck with me.” She hesitated, a new and vulnerable thought flashing through her mind. Does he mind? We’re connected now. We couldn’t break the Truebond if we wanted to.
Of course, Ridge read that flash of insecurity. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His green eyes met hers in the fire-light, serious and intent. “Kat, I love you.” And he meant it. She could feel the love in his mind, a pure, warm glow.
She smiled in delight, basking in that lovely sensation. “And I love you, Ridge Champion.” He sat up, put his glass aside, and reached for her. Kat fell into his arms with a soft moan, quickly muffled by his kiss.
Ridge tasted of champagne and his own distinct male heat. His tongue entered her mouth, a slow, tempting slide, rich with seduction. His body pressed against hers, all hard, hair-roughened muscle. She let her fingers drift over him, exploring the warm ridges of definition, the shape of his back, his broad shoulders, his strong throat. He purred in pleasure against her fingertips, a delightful male rumble. And began to explore her in turn, finding curves and hollows, tracing the contours of a jutting nipple until she quivered at the arousing, velvet sensations.
Each sensation had a lovely, shimmering echo as he experienced what she did, returning the pleasure in a sweet feedback loop. Making love to Ridge had always been amazing, but the Truebond gave passion an entirely new dimension. For one thing, she could feel what felt best to him, could zero in on precisely the right pressure, the right combination of nail and fingertip and tongue and tooth to drive the delight even higher.
Somehow that rising passion quickly turned into a sensual contest there on the thick fur throw, as each sought to drive the other crazy.
Ridge won by simply lifting her onto her knees, spreading her legs, and pinning her astride his face with a hand on each of her thighs. All her helpless squirming did her no good at all against his vampire strength.
“No fair!” Kat gasped, and moaned as he dragged his tongue the length of her sex.
His only answer was a wicked little chuckle as he settled down to lick swirling circles around her clit.
God, the sensations were mind-blowing. Ridge’s mouth felt so hot, so perfect, as he used his tongue in tiny, delicate little flicks. Even as she gasped, he reached up her body to find one nipple. His fingers strummed and plucked the furled bud, creating jolt after sweet burning jolt of delight, like a series of delicious electric shocks.
But Kat wasn’t so easily overwhelmed. She twisted with the agility of a natural athlete, reached back, and found his cock. Big as it was, it made an easy target. A smile of satisfaction curling her mouth, she began stroking her fingers along the hard, sensitive shaft, tracing the long, snaking veins, the plump head and fat, furry balls.
He growled at her from between her thighs. She had no trouble translating the sound, even without the Truebond. Keep that up, and this will be over too soon.
Then you’ll just have to exert a little self-control, won’t you?
He punished her with a particularly long, evil stroke of his tongue that ripped a gasp of pleasure from her mouth. Writhing, she returned the favor with a stroke of her fingers from the base of his cock to its head, smearing the silken drop of pre-cum over the sensitive curve.
The sensations were so intense, their mutual arousal was so hot, neither of them could hold out long. Soon Ridge tumbled her onto her back, rose over her like a hot-eyed wave, and spread her wide.
Kat gasped as he positioned his thick organ at her opening and drove home in one hard lunge. The sensation of being so utterly filled blended with his sensation of filling her. The mental reverberation seemed to make their very bones vibrate. They yowled in chorus.
Ridge started thrusting. Kat rolled her hips to meet him, grinding hard, desperate for every bit of friction, hungry for the hot release of climax.
Even as he powered into her, thrust rolling into thrust, Ridge tipped up her chin. Knowing what he wanted, she gave him her throat.
The sweet, piercing pain of his bite edged the hot pleasure of entry and retreat. Kat screamed out, overwhelmed by the complex brew of sensations. Ridge bellowed in reply, shooting into climax at her heels, in a whirling, dizzy detonation.
fterward, they collapsed together in a limp, boneless pile, breathing hard in happy exhaustion. “I don’t think I can move,” Kat moaned.
“You don’t need to move,” Ridge murmured, sounding thoroughly sated. “We’ll just lay right here and pant.”
Kat smiled, watching sparks of magic swirl dizzily around them, as if dancing on the air currents they’d stirred up. She followed one particular bit of glittering green with her eyes. Something about it reminded her of something she hadn’t thought about in years. “I’ve got this memory. I must have been really young.”
Ridge turned his head to look at her, surprised at the remembered image in her thoughts. “A Christmas tree? I didn’t think you had any good memories of Christmas trees.”
“This was . . . before. I must have been eight or so, because all I remember thinking about is how beautiful it was. A green Christmas tree light shining on the surface of a ball. One of those old-fashioned ones, cut out in a faceted mirrored shape in the middle. I thought it was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.”
Acting on sheer impulse, she spread her hands and concentrated. Magic flew from her palms, spinning into the empty corner beside the fireplace. The corner that needed something.
The swirling magic formed a column of green light, flashing and glittering. When the blaze of energy disappeared, a live fir stood in the corner, decorated with colorful balls, striped candy canes, and long strings of silver tinsel. Magic flickered and swirled around the tree’s limbs in bright reds, greens, yellows, and blues. Christmas colors.
At the very top of the tree stood a blond angel dressed in white robes, with feathered wings spreading from her slender shoulders. Her delicate face looked just like Karen’s.
Looking up at the angel’s serene and lovely features, Kat felt her eyes sting. She’d always felt pain at the sight of a Christmas tree, but there was a sweetness to the ache now, a weary satisfaction. “I got him for you,” she told the angel.
“Yeah, you did.” Ridge’s fingers threaded with hers as he looked up at the tree. “It’s beautiful.”
For a long moment, they lay silent, watching the light flicker off tinsel and fragile, gleaming balls. “I spoke to that healer at Mom’s clinic,” Kat told him at last. “Petra said I can go see Mom tomorrow. She’s . . . healed.” Kat smiled up at the angel. “Just in time for Christmas.”
“That’s wonderful.” Ridge sat up and reached for his discarded jeans, dug around in a pocket. “Personally, I’ve been thinking about how I want to celebrate New Year’s.”
The box he produced was small, covered in dark blue velvet. When he flipped its top open, the ring’s central ruby glittered in the light of the Christmas tree, surrounded by a circle of smaller emeralds. The Truebond told her he’d asked Grace to create the ring for him while Kat had been busy with the healer.
“Will you marry me?” His lips curled up even as he asked the question, his green eyes glowing with the love he felt.
She went into his arms with a low laugh of delight. “God, yes!”
Christmas was never going to be the same.