Page 15 of Enchanted Warrior

The morning’s work had made one thing clear. As a historian, she’d been trained to value meticulous research, but in this case the fae army might overrun the mortal world before she made it through all those boxes of paper. There had to be a way to fast-track a solution to this problem.

Tamsin was pondering the question when she reached the booth where brown-robed friars sold paper cups of hot chocolate. She bought the largest size and walked back into the church, ready to resume work.

Except Gawain was sprawled in her desk chair, feet stretched out and arms folded across his massive chest. She started at the sight of him, releasing a sticky dribble through the hole in the lid of the cup. With a sliver of disappointment, she saw he’d acquired a shirt. No more easy view of those abs.

Knuckles smarting from the burn, she set the drink on top of her filing cabinet and licked the sweetness from her fingers.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light despite her suddenly pounding heart. Emotion from last night flooded back—trepidation, anger and, illogically, desire. Somehow the taste of dark chocolate merged with the sight of his big body, sending a burst of need through her synapses. She wanted to touch the stubble on his cheeks to see if it was as rough as it looked—which was utterly ridiculous.

He looked up slowly, eyes traveling from her feet to her face as if committing her to memory all over again. With a quick shove, he spun the chair to face her. The lines of his face were harsh with fatigue. By the rumpled state of his clothes, he’d been up all night.

“I told you I’d come back for answers.” His voice was rough, almost a rasp.

“You lost the right to answers.” Tamsin shed her coat, hanging it on the hook behind the door.

His jaw went tight. “For your own sake, for everyone’s, I beg you to reconsider.”

“Right,” she muttered. “Evil fae, wicked queen, stone knights.”

“I promise you, I will not touch you again. You have nothing to fear from me.” Gawain rose from the chair, stepping aside as best he could in the tiny, cramped office. The movement was graceful, reminding her he was more than he appeared. A knight. A prince. Or perhaps a very good actor.

Tamsin folded her arms, protecting herself but determined to stand her ground. She wasn’t prey, and she wasn’t about to run—although her knees were trembling a bit. He might say he was harmless, but she didn’t buy it. His presence filled the room like a physical force. He gestured to her empty chair with courtly grace.

Refusing to show how much he spooked her, she retrieved her chocolate and sat down. Only then did she notice a newspaper folded and positioned in the middle of her desk. “What’s this?”

“Proof of what I’ve told you.”

She picked up the paper and glanced at the headline. “It says there was a mugging. What does that prove?”

In a single, lightning-fast movement, he snatched the paper and slammed it down on the desk. “This happened last night. I was there. Read it carefully.”

Suddenly he was too big, too physical. The fury rolling off him pinned Tamsin to the chair. “Look!” He jabbed a finger at the paper. Then he visibly reined himself in. “Please.”

At first she couldn’t. It was as if her spine had fused with fright. Then, one degree at a time, she managed to move her head. There was a picture of a narrow alley, the outline of a body marked in chalk. The owner of the gas station next door had found the unidentified corpse. “This is awful, but I don’t understand the significance.”

“The deceased male was a fae. There were two, but apparently the other survived and walked away. Now read the article below.”

She did. A man had been found wandering the streets last night. He was hospitalized now, suffering from amnesia.

“The fae attacked him,” Gawain said. “I saved his life, but I could do no more. They were consuming his soul.”

Tamsin looked up from the paper, bewildered. “They werewhat?”

“The fae were robbed of their souls, so now they devour those of innocent strangers. If I cannot find my king and brother knights, there will be no way to stop their army from taking what they want. I cannot begin to guess how many mortals will die.”

The harsh regret in his words shook her. She picked up the paper, studying the eerie scene again before she set it facedown on the desk. The articles weren’t exactly proof, but the times coincided with some of the disturbances Stacy had reported. That had to mean something.

He was utterly somber, nothing but pure determination etched on his face. “Will you help me?”

She hesitated, and not because she begrudged him her aid. Even if he were mad, it would be straightforward enough to find one of the tombs and send him on his way. But maybe—just maybe—she was starting to believe him. “What are you going to do if I find your king? Hover over his effigy and wait for him to wake up?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Tamsin imagined him sitting by a tomb for days, weeks, even years, waiting for his lord to cheat death. He had that kind of single-minded purpose. “Why spend the time looking for Arthur?” she asked. “Why not lead the attack against the fae yourself?”

“For the same reason you do not hire a blacksmith to etch the head of a pin,” he said, matter-of-fact. “We all have strengths. I am the best fighter, but Arthur is the strategist. And there are other reasons.” He looked as if he wanted to say more but didn’t. He obviously wasn’t ready for full disclosure.

Even so, his words made sense to Tamsin. She fiddled with the edge of the newspaper, fraying it between her fingers. “I’ve tried looking in the files. It’s going to take forever to get through them, and if what you say is true, we don’t have that kind of time.”

---